What's the first image that comes to your mind when you think about Cuba? Do you think about classic cars and cigars? Rum? Or maybe Che Guevara and communism? These were always the first things that came to my mind when I was thinking about this Caribbean island. I thought maybe that would change during my visit to Cuba. Spoiler alert: that did not happen. In fact, this is what went through my mind during my Cuban adventure!

Varadero, Cuba, is known for one thing: its beach. It's about 12 kilometers long, the sand is a beautiful shade of broken white and you can walk into the ocean for up to 60 meters without the water ever reaching higher than just up to your hips. Needless to say, the place attracts tourists like crazy. The Cuban government wasn't born yesterday, so they built big all-inclusive hotels along what's called the Most Beautiful Beach in the World. After two decades of this, the peninsula of Varadero has turned into one big strip of hotels. Early in February, I was staying at one of those places, sulking over the fact that I was stuck in this overly touristy place after my trips to the Yumuri Valley and Havana. I only had one full day left in Cuba and was not looking forward to spending it on the hotel grounds. I'd already been to Varadero's center and thought there was nothing new for me to explore within 10 miles of my hotel. I was wrong.

Early in the morning of our day in Cuba, my parents and I walked to the bus stop of the Hop On Hop Off bus. Our plan was to see where it would take us and visit the far end of the Varadero peninsula.
The bus had just left when we arrived at the bus stop, but stopped literally in the middle of the roundabout when the driver saw us coming. We paid 5 CUC per person for a day-ticket. Even though we had no idea what we were going to do and where we'd end up, it was nice to know we could take the bus back to our hotel at any time.

The bus first took us to the center of Varadero, then turned around to follow the Autopista Sur to the other end of the peninsula. I'd more or less insisted on sitting on the upper deck of this open-top double-decker, where the sun quickly burned me to a crisp. I can't even say it was worth it, because there wasn't much to see. Hotels, trees, beach. Then I spotted a sign telling me there was an old cave just off the road that could be visited for 5 CUC. We remained seated though, as we thought the entrance fee was a little high.
A few minutes later we saw another sign. 'Muslims Trail - The Other Varadero' it said. This sparked my interest, but we still remained seated: there wasn't a bus stop in sight. We eventually got off when the 'Giant Cactus' stop was announced. It sounded funny, so we decided to check this Giant Cactus out. After a short walk, we arrived at a gate with a sign next to it: 'Giant Cactus - The Other Varadero'. We stepped through the gate and were soon greeted by a park employee. Bienvenido al otro Varadero!


'The Other Varadero' turned out to be a hidden gem. Most tourists staying in Varadero barely leave their hotel and have no idea this actually exists. It's made up out of three minuscule nature preserves, carefully tucked away between the highrise hotels and crowded beach. The cave and Muslims Trail were two of these preserves, the Giant Cactus the third. There's an individual entrance fee for every single one of these areas. It's not cheap, but believe me when I say it's worth it. You're not just far away from the Cuban illusion that the all-inclusive hotels provide, you also get the chance to discover a unique little part of the country by yourself, without tour guides and other tourists. That's right up my and my parents' alley, so we happily paid the park employee the entrance fee and followed the path to the Giant Cactus.

The Cubans weren't exaggerating when they called their cactus Giant Cactus. It was huge. Seriously huge. At over 8 meters tall, it was an impressive sight. I couldn't quite believe this cactus was already around when pirates still roamed the Caribbean. That awesome piece of nature made me appreciate Varadero a whole lot more. It also made me want to see more of el otro Varadero. After a short discussion, my parents and I decided to skip the cave because of the high entrance fee, and walk the Muslims Trail instead. I was very excited about this trail. I thought Muslims weren't really a thing on the island of Cuba, at least not a big enough thing to get their own trail, so I couldn't see what this place was all about.


After a fifteen-minute walk and another entrance fee later, we were at the start of the Muslims Trail - which had very little to do with people who pray to Allah, as it turned out. The leaflet we received upon entering told us that Cuban smugglers from centuries ago were called Muslims. They'd had their hideouts here in Varadero, so they could overlook as much of the ocean as possible and see the Spanish Armada coming. But that wasn't all this little leaflet with a map of the trail told us. As we started walking, we came across stones with numbers on them. The corresponding number on the paper gave information on the flora, fauna and history of the area. The English was very weird and at times unclear, but I loved the effort that was put into it. Once you'd gotten the hang of the peculiar use of the language, it was very interesting and informational.

Within minutes we were far away from the Autopista Sur and in the middle of a subtropical jungle. I loved every second of it. The trail was uneven and scattered across the forest floor were the most intriguing sandstone formations I'd ever seen. I saw caves, rock formations, trees growing on top of all of it. I even saw a 2000-year-old grave in one of the caves. As I was walking, I felt like I was going back in time to when Muslims had used this trail and no one had the idea of destroying the peninsula with countless hotels.

My sandals and feet became a sandy shade of brown when I neared the end of the trail. I could hear the Autopista Sur again when the trail split in two. I took the right path into the mangrove, where I hopped, skipped and jumped my way from stone to stone until I reached a small lake. Tiny fish came swimming right up to me. I fell in love with that place. I loved Cuba already. I'd snorkeled at Playa El Coral, seen the countryside in the Yumuri Valley and walked the streets of Havana. But even though I'd enjoyed all of that a lot, I loved exploring this little bit of Cuban nature by myself even more.


I'd lost all track of time and most of my sense of direction when I finally reached the end of the Muslims trail. The exit was literally a small opening in the solid wall of shrub by the side of the Autopista Sur. I came scrambling out of it with dirty feet, scratched legs and a huge smile on my face. I thought Varadero's peninsula had nothing to offer but hotels and souvenir stalls. But that's the Varadero that was carefully constructed for tourists. El otro Varadero is, like the name says, different. It's calm, quiet and a place you definitely need to see if you're every in the area. I promise it's more than worth your time!

In the weeks prior to my trip to Cuba, its capital Havana became some sort of mythical place in my mind. Camila Cabello's single Havana had just started getting airplay in the Netherlands, my parents and I had been watching documentaries on Che Guevara and on top of that I was reading Cuban Heels, a book by Emily Barr, which takes place in Havana. But the thing that stuck with me most was the line 'Sunrise again, over the city of Havana', from a song by a band called Colourshop. That song made me dream of Cuba's capital every night, until the day finally came when I got to visit La Habana myself.

Had I been by myself, on a three-week backpacking trip, I probably would have spent three or more days in Havana. I had neither time nor money for such a trip, so I booked an all-inclusive for nine days and planned as many excursions as possible. After a full-day jeep safari and a trip to the city of Matanzas, it was time to go to Havana.
Early in the morning, my parents and I were picked up from our hotel and boarded a big tour bus full of Dutch tourists. I'd taken a book with me, because even though the distance from Varadero, where I was staying, to Havana is just over 100 kilometers, I'd heard it could take ages to get there thanks to bad Cuban infrastructure. I ended up reading a grand total of five pages. The roads were actually decent, but the real reason the journey flew by was our tour guide, Jesus. He told us all about Cuba's history, heritage and current situation. Plus, because his name was Jesus, he called us his apostles, which made me laugh.


We arrived in Havana before we knew it. Literally before we knew it: one moment we entered a tunnel in the middle of nowhere, the next we came out of it in the middle of the city! We had an entire program of activities ahead of us, but first we drove through the city center on our bus. Classic cars drove by on all sides as we passed El Capitolio and the museum where the boat Castro and Guevara took to start a revolution on Cuba is on display. For the first time, I also saw street art that was more than a simple tag. The sun put everything in a beautiful light. I was falling in love. Havana felt so alive.


Once we got off the bus, our group was spread out over a few classic cars dating back to the 1960s and even a few from the 1920s. I immediately claimed a blue Plymouth; you can't tour Havana in a classic car that's not your favorite color, so I had to have a blue one.
Our drive took us to El Malecón, Havana's sea barrier. He told us that the latest Fast & Furious movie had a scene shot here. I have no idea about that, because I only saw the ending of that movie when I snuck into the theatre early to get a good seat for Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2.
We drove past the almost abandoned US embassy, a former mafia hotel and stopped at a tiny park where we switched cars with other people from our group. This time I claimed a beautiful red convertible. We continued our way through Havana, driving down El Malecón again. We left the ocean behind eventually, drove past Plaza de la Revolución and ended up at a cigar factory.


The visit to the cigar factory was by far my least favorite part of my day in Havana. Apparently, it's one of those things you absolutely have to do if you visit Cuba, but I didn't like it. I appreciated the talent and effort that goes into hand-rolling those big fat Cuban cigars, I really do. But the place smelled awful, I'm willing to bet at least half the employees have pit black lungs and they try to illegally sell you cigars. Not my cup of tea.

I left the cigar factory as soon as possible and took my time photographing street art on the walls near where our bus was parked. I also bought one of those Che Guevara hats and wore it all day. I bet my one communist friend would be proud of me.
A few moments later our group boarded the bus again and we were brought to Plaza de la Revolución. Now this square is truly legendary. History was written here. Fidel Castro held tons of his famous speeches here. The faces of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos look down on you from the facades of two government buildings. It's one of those places where you feel like you can touch history. I ran around like a headless chicken to get all the pictures I wanted. Had I been alone, I would have sat down at the base of the José Martí Memorial, overlooking the Plaza de la Revolución, drafting this blog post right then and there.


Way too soon I had to get on the bus again to go to Habana Vieja, or Old Havana in English. Here we had a complete three-course meal in just over 15 minutes before starting our walking tour. I'm supposed to have seen places where Ernest Hemingway drank cocktails, but I was more focused on the colonial architecture and finding good places to leave my street art stickers than anything else. At one point I almost lost the group, because a colorful portrait of Che Guevara had caught my eye. I went running down the cobblestone street for pictures, ran back when my camera refused to focus, grabbed my parents' camera right out of their hands, ran back again and finally took a good shot. You can't imagine how happy I was to see this piece of art in real life that day.


When the walking tour ended, we had about two hours to roam the streets of Habana Vieja by ourselves. I spent this time taking even more pictures of a certain Che Guevara portrait, buying souvenirs and looking at beautiful buildings and cars. I was enjoying Havana a lot, until a guy came up to me on a busy square, said 'Long hair', and walked on. To this day I still don't know what that was about. Even in Southeast Asia people didn't react to my hair like that. In the end, I just nervously laughed it off.


The sun was already beginning to set when my parents and I walked back to the meeting point where the bus would pick us up. We followed the Canal de Entrada. People were fishing, meeting up, happily chatting away in rapid Spanish. I felt almost sad because I wasn't part of that relaxed life. It reminded me of the book Cuban Heels, of its main character studying Spanish in Havana. I could see myself doing that too. Havana was as enchanting as the Colourshop song had painted it. So maybe one day I'll be back in Havana for more than just a day. Maybe I'll be studying Spanish. Maybe I'll be living there for a short while. Who knows? Life can take you to some unexpected places, and I'm more than ready for it.

If I say 'jeep safari', what's the first thing that comes to your mind? Whatever it is you're now thinking about, I'm willing to bet it's not snorkeling. Snorkeling was in my case the very last things I thought about when I booked a jeep safari in Cuba. But there I was, on a grey Caribbean morning, about to start a jeep safari when I heard snorkeling was part of this day trip. I wasn't very excited about that prospect: the ocean, and everything in it, scares me shitless.

Halfway between Varadero and Matanzas you can find a nature reserve where you can go snorkeling at Playa El Coral. This is where my parents, the rest of our tour group and I all hopped out of our Suzuki Jiminies. I was nervously swinging the bag with my diving mask back and forth. As I'm pretty much blind without my glasses, normal masks are a waste of time and money for me. Just before we left for Cuba I'd bought one of those masks that cover your entire face. Decathlon had been advertising them for years and I'd decided to take the plunge. It's impossible to wear glasses inside of that mask, so I'd had my glasses taken apart and attached the frame to the visor of my mask with some washi tape. So professional. But at least I would be able to see. That much I knew: I could see well through this thing, but I had no idea if the mask would work as well as promised. What if it started leaking? What if I'd drown in it? What if I'd swim straight into a shark?
Okay, the latter had little to do with the mask and all the more with my lifelong shark phobia. Either way, I had a lot of things to worry about on the very short walk from the parking lot to Playa El Coral...

We were welcomed by one of the divers who work at Playa El Coral. He showed us our options: scuba diving, snorkeling with some gear you could borrow at the beach, or snorkeling with your own gear. I chose the third option. I hadn't taken my mask with me for nothing. I didn't have flippers with me, but I turned them down when they were offered; I'm better off swimming without them. They are just too heavy on my feet and I feel like I can't control that all that well.
Next I was offered a lifejacket, which I saw as a personal insult. I'm Dutch, I learned to swim when I was in kindergarten so I wouldn't drown in the channels, ponds and lakes that are literally everywhere in my country. I didn't need a lifejacket. Lifejackets were for losers.
I wanted to hand the lifejacket back, but was told I couldn't go snorkeling without it. I mentally rolled my eyes. They'd obviously never seen a Dutch girl swim before. So I made my way to the waterside, wearing my bright orange lifejacket...

As soon as I stepped into the ocean I thanked God that I was wearing it though: the waves were high, the waters rough. I was thrown around like a rag doll, but at least I stayed afloat. With a few kicks of my legs, I was back with the rest of the Jiminy jeep safari group.
We were told to follow our guide in two files. He'd take us to the reef and show us where to swim so we wouldn't bump into the coral. After this short instruction, I finally put my mask on. Of course people stared at me and gave me weird looks. With both the lifejacket and mask on, I felt like an aquatic Teletubbie. I probably looked the part too and felt quite uncomfortable because of that. Then I dipped my face in the water and realized it was all worth it.

I wasn't even at the reef at this point in time. Actually, I wasn't even five meters from the shore. But there were tiny little fish everywhere and I could see them clear as day.
The group started swimming. Not me though. I started panicking. A lot of people accidentally kicked and slapped each other (that's what you get for swimming in rough waters with a group) and I was out of breath right away. I was used to breathing quickly through a tube while snorkeling. Usually with water trickling into my mask. That wasn't the case now. Everything was different with my full face mask: not a single drop of water came in, which was a good thing, but my quick breathing made me run out of breath within seconds. It scared me. So I took one deep breath to calm down - then immediately noticed I had more oxygen in my lungs, more oxygen coming into the mask. Another two deep breaths later I'd mastered breathing in this new mask. I was ready to swim.

I soon found myself at the front of the group. I enjoyed swimming there, breathing surprisingly naturally in my mask. The coral doomed up in front of us like a mountain range, some of it almost breaking through the surface. We swam through a pass between coral mountains, then arrived at huge coral fields. I could already see them when I was still swimming through the pass. Then a gigantic wave picked me up and threw me onto a coral mountain.
I was stuck on top of the coral, but scrambled off it as fast as possible. Not just because it hurt like hell, but also because human touch is deadly to coral. I felt bad for myself and the bump coming up on my shin, but felt worse for the coral I'd touched. So I swam away as fast as possible. I'd just reached open water and the coral fields when I realized I could be bleeding. The coral had scratched my skin pretty badly. And my blood was now flowing into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean because of that coral collision, it'd attract sharks in no time. I touched my shin, which still hurt like hell, but couldn't really feel anything because of the pain. So I decided to float on my bag and stick my leg up into the air.
No blood, thank God. I'd worry about the coral possibly being toxic later.

When the blood crisis was over, I explored the coral fields. They were beautiful. Words don't do the justice. I saw countless fish, more unique species than when I visited the Great Barrier Reef. The coral was amazing and looked healthy and colorful to my layman's eye. I also saw sea cucumbers. Don't ask me why I like something that looks like a sea turd, I just do. I even whispered to myself: 'Sea cucumbers! They're everywhere!'
And so I managed to stray away from the croup, closer to the deep dark ocean beyond the coral fields. I didn't notice until I looked ahead to where the water was darker. I couldn't see anything there. Just dark blue waters, too dark to see through. My shark phobia piped up: 'A great white will appear right there any minute now!'
Of course no shark ever showed up, but that thought was enough to make me race back to the group and look over my shoulder every few seconds.


In the meantime the jeep safari group had become surrounded by a school of fish from all kinds of species, most no bigger than my hand. It was Finding Nemo in real life. Except without turtles.
I swam around for a while and as the fish got used to the presence of loads of people, they came closer to me. And closer. And closer still. Until I could touch them. And touching fish was about the last thing I wanted. I like to admire them from afar, no need for close-ups. You see, I'm not just afraid of sharks. All kinds of fish make me jumpy.
For a while I enjoyed looking at all the little tropical fish, ignoring the bigger ones that were all around me. I couldn't ignore them any longer when they came right up to my face. I abruptly pulled my head out of the water, kicking my legs and flailing my arms to scare all the fish away. I scream when I accidentally touched one.
So many fish so many fish so many fish! My mind was going a million panicky miles an hour. Get them away from me get them away from me get them away from me! They were everywhere. I only calmed down when I looked up at the sky and pretended I was in a pool. As long as I couldn't see the fish, I was okay. When I finally looked down at the water again, I only saw the shadows of fish, which somehow made them less real to me. A few deep breaths later I was ready to continue snorkeling.

The first thing I saw when I broke through the surface again was a fish. Right in front of my face. And it was pooping. Also right in front of my face. I didn't know how to react to that, so I laughed hysterically in my mask. Then I swam away; I didn't want to get fish poo all over me.
Our snorkeling tour was almost over, so I took in as much of the view as I could. All the coral, all the fish... It was magical. Scary and panic-inducing, but also wonderful. The colors were surreal. When I climbed onto the rocky beach again, I was awestruck. Despite all my fears and all the panicky moments, I'd immensely enjoyed this little snorkeling trip. But I was also all too aware that my generation might be the last to see coral reefs this healthy...


I quickly changed into my normal clothes. The guide who'd shown us the way to the reef came up to my parents to tell them their daughter was a great swimmer. I laughed it off, even though I'd been adamant I was a good swimmer when I was handed a lifejacket. The guide had probably missed out on my panicked flailing when a fish bumped into me. The fact that fewer people will be able to flail like that if we keep dumping plastic into the ocean at our current rate made me sad. Coral reefs are too beautiful to destroy, experiences like this one too priceless to give up on.
As I stepped into our Suzuki Jiminy to continue our jeep safari, a plan began to form. I'd faced my fears at Playa El Coral, now it was time for me to give something back to that big scary ocean. By the time Playa El Coral was just a speck in our rearview mirror, I had it all worked out. But that's a story for another time. And while I was in Cuba, I had no idea if my plan would even work. I had no idea if it'd ever turn into a story. So I focused on living in the moment, so I had more Cuban stories to share on my blog. Which I will keep doing for another few weeks now. I promise you that!

When you're 100% set on visiting a country and you won't take 'no' for an answer, you're probably going to have to make some compromises. That's how I ended up in an all-inclusive hotel instead of a hostel in Cuba. It was the cheapest deal I could get, but it meant I had to book excursions if I wanted to see more of than just the pool, the beach and the buffet. If you know me, you know that staying at my hotel the entire time was not an option. My parents and I planned day trips to the Cuban countryside as soon as possible. The first one we chose was a jeep safari to the Yumuri Valley.
On the second day of my stay, I was ready for some offroad racing. Little did I know that jeep safaris in Cuba aren't just jeep safaris, oh no. I ended up snorkeling, boating, horse-riding and swimming in a cave to top it all off!

The skies were a shade of grey I was hoping not to see in the Caribbean when we were picked up from our hotel. We did a tour of the strip of hotels along Varadero's beach to pick up other tourists who'd also booked this jeep tour. Soon there was a bus full of people from Canada, Russia, the US, India and the Netherlands on its way to the parking lot where we'd get the keys to our jeeps. We were guided by a big black guy whose Russian was better than his English and also had a photographer tagging along to document the entire trip for us.
After a short bus ride, we arrived at the parking lot, which was, from one side to the other, filled with what looked like hundreds of Suzuki Jimnys. At that moment I was glad I'd left my driver's license at home, because I saw no way I'd be able to maneuver a car out of that sea of vehicles. As it turned out, leaving the parking lot was the least difficult part of doing a safari in a Suzuki Jiminy, as my dad and I soon nicknamed the tiny jeeps. The tour guide and photographer led the way in their own Jiminy, with the rest of us following that first car. About ten identical little jeeps set out for the Yumuri Valley, but after driving a few hundred meters I wasn't so sure all of them would make it. The gear shift was shaking so violently that I was afraid our Jiminy would somehow switch its own gears and when my dad took his hands off the wheel (don't ask me why he thought that was a good idea) the thing went from left to right and back again, without it having any influence on where the car was going. Once again I was happy to have left my driver's license home.

Despite our Jiminy being a little dodgy, I enjoyed the Cuban road trip. The highway was almost empty. Most of the cars we saw and passed were classic cars, so I was happy as could be. I did not enjoy the driving style of some of the Russian members of our safari group though, but there was nothing I could do about that. We all made it in one piece to our first stop of the day. We went snorkeling at Playa El Coral, where a wave threw me onto the coral. I spent the rest of the day nursing a blue lump on my shin while feeling guilty for stunting the coral's growth by touching it when I was thrown onto it.


After the snorkeling stop, the entire group jumped into their Jiminys again. I thought we'd get some off-road action now, but again we made a stop for another activity I didn't associate with jeep safaris at all: boating.
At the Canímar River, my parents and I boarded a small motorboat. There was no captain: we had to do everything ourselves. As with the jeeps, we were supposed to follow the first boat in a single file. That did not happen with first my dad, then me in charge of our boat. The scenery and views were absolutely amazing, but my dad and I were too busy racing, zigzagging, falling behind just to catch up at full speed and much more fun stuff like that. We royally pissed the owner of the boating tour company off. More than worth it though. Driving a boat at full speed up a tropical river in Cuba has to be one of the most amazing experiences of my life.


Had it been up to me, we would have spent the rest of the day on those boats. But it wasn't up to me, so we continued our way to the Yumuri Valley. We drove straight through the city of Matanzas (where I left my street art sticker in the oldest still operational baseball stadium on this planet two days later). The city's nickname is the Sleeping Beauty, because communism took away its chances of truly thriving and Varadero lured the tourists away. I loved Matanzas' colorful and colonial-era architecture. Even with a power plant to one side, the view over Matanzas Bay is stunning.
While driving through Matanzas we almost lost half of the jeeps at a stoplight, but by the time we entered the Yumuri Valley the group was together again. In this Valley of a Thousand Palm Trees I finally saw a tiny bit of the Cuban countryside I'd been longing for since my arrival. The roads were bad here, with more potholes than I could count. I suddenly understood why our Jiminy's gearbox and suspension were in such a bad state.

We drove through the countryside for a while. We got shaken up by potholes every other minute. The Yumuri Valley made up for its awful infrastructure with vegetation what made me feel like I was in Jurassic Park. I more or less expected a Pterodactyl to fly up from hill or a Brontosaurus feeding on palm trees. I didn't see anything like that, but I did see a lot of horse carts and local kids. As soon as the first jeep passed a few houses, kids would come running out to wave at the cars. They didn't care if you waved back or not, they just waved for the sake of waving and enjoyed it. I sometimes still wish my life was that simple.


We arrived at a farm around lunch time, where we could taste the farm's produce. There was sugar reed, mango, coconut and more, all fresh and delicious. We then had lunch in a pavilion a couple hundred meters down the road. Lunch was all local: Cuban soup, bean dishes with rice and Cuban sodas with typically Cuban images of baseball players and dancers on the cans. Even though some of the chairs in the pavilion had huge holes in the seat, I enjoyed that relaxed lunch to no end.

After lunch we had an hour to spend at the pavilion, where we had the chance to ride horses. I hadn't been on a horse in ten years, but knew I'd regret it if I didn't take this chance now. The horses were well-trained, knew the way and a guide would come along. Despite being a little scared, I climbed in the saddle - rather smoothly for someone who hadn't been on a horse in ages, I dare say.
The horse started walking slowly and I relaxed a little. I even started to enjoy the ride. Until my horse decided to run off. I panicked so bad, shitting bricks and cursing loudly in my mind. Lucky for me, the guide called out to the horse and the animal listened. It stopped running, but I didn't enjoy the ride as much anymore. Everything below my waist was hurting and I didn't trust my horse anymore.
Afterwards I also got to ride an ox. Turns out oxes are much more comfortable to sit on, and also much calmer when they walk around with you on their back.

When we drove out of the Yumuri Valley in our trusted Jiminy after a few hours, I thought the day was over. We drove through Matanzas again, past Playa El Coral. Then our guide suddenly pulled over at Cueva de Satorno, a cenote cave. Cenote caves are caves filled with a pool of water, sometimes with cave formations hanging from the ceiling and in the water like in Cueva de Satorno. I went for a swim in the natural pool, which is about 20 meters deep at its deepest point. The water was ice cold, but I didn't want to pass up on such a unique thing like swimming in a cenote. After five minutes, just when I was right above the deepest point, I got cramps in my legs. I quickly scrambled out of the pool - drowning in a cave is not on my travel wish list.

Cuba. Land of communism and cocktails. The country had been on my wishlist for so long that I literally did a happy dance (in private) when I bought a ticket to Varadero. I spent a lot of time on the plane thinking and wondering about this unique Caribbean island. I wanted to experience it for myself, the classic cars, the communism, the Cuba Libres. I was filled with giddy excitement to explore a world so different from my own. But when I got off the plane, all I felt was... confusion.

Varadero's international airport was small and not the most professional one out there, but compared to that of Laos' capital Vientiane it was luxurious. Tour operator employees picked me and my parents up from the arrivals hall. So far so good. Then I spotted my first classic car - right next to Cubans with expensive-looking smartphones. Modern day technology next to a car that was already around in the 60's. My mind did a very poor job at handling that anachronistic image and became even more confused when I saw horse carts next to the highway on our way to the hotel. It was like seeing the entire past century compressed into a single day.

I spent the rest of that first day near Hotel Tuxpan. I only left it to explore Varadero's beach, which is 12 kilometers long and known as the most beautiful beach on the planet. That night I felt like I'd missed something on my walk. Like I hadn't seen the real Cuba yet. Sadly I didn't get the chance to see the real Cuba either, as we were welcomed to the island by a tour operator employee in the bar of the villa of an arms dealer who'd become rich during the First World War.


While I was enjoying my first Cuba Libre and realized I quite like the taste of rum, my dad booked us excursions to the Yumuri Valley and Havana. The bar's walls seemed to be closing in on me, so I stood outside on the balcony for most of the time. Something wasn't okay, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I was not seeing Cuba's real face and felt disconnected from the country I was visiting. It made me feel restless. The all-inclusive hotel was nice and way cheaper than any of our other options for a Cuba trip, but it struck me as a facade. An illusion made for tourists. I was so relieved when we left the hotel that day and walked to the center of Varadero.

I saw beautiful classic car after beautiful classic car in Varadero, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was living in a Cuban theme park. I still wasn't seeing the real Cuba I was longing for, but at least I was getting closer. I was just touching the surface, almost there yet still pretty far away. We took a cab back to the hotel that night. Not just any cab, but an old American car that would be perfect for a wedding. During the ride home, with music blasting from the stereo, something clicked. I broke through the surface. I felt the vibe of the island.


In the days that followed, I saw the Cuban countryside in the Yumuri Valley, I visited the city of Matanzas and walked through the streets of Havana. I got a feel for the country and its friendly people. I tried speaking Spanish, which the locals really seemed to appreciate even though my Spanish is rusty. I felt safe walking the streets and beach by myself. Even though I felt like I'd escaped the carefully crafted illusion, I knew that I still wasn't all there is to Cuba. But I was seeing enough. I was happy. Relaxed. And in a new way, completely confused about Cuba.

The new dose of confusion was injected into my brain during my visit to Havana. It was the sixth day of our trip and even though I'd seen poverty in the countryside, I felt like most places I'd seen had their shit together. The people were friendly and every single Cuban has access to excellent health care and free education. You'd think that'd give Cuba a solid base to build its future on. You'd think communism at least did this stuff right. So why wasn't the country flourishing? Cuba reminded me a bit of my blog in that way: the groundworks were in place, but success did not follow.
My tour guide on the Havana trip explained that Cuba could be a much more prosperous country if it weren't for the US embargo. For what seemed to be the millionth time on that short trip, I was confused. Why is this embargo still in place? Only the US and Israel are in favor of this thing. Is the US really still afraid of communism? Because if you ask me, you won't see the Cubans invade other countries to spread their ideology. They're too busy gradually introducing tiny capitalist elements into their society and making tourists feel welcome. I felt sad for the island that decided to do things their way and still gets punished for it on a daily basis. Sad the Cubans still don't get a new chance, despite Obama's efforts...


I remained confused about Cuban's political situation until the day I left. Its ideology fascinates me, but I didn't see a sign of it being a threat. The only things reminding me that I actually was in fact in a communist country were murals and the dual currency system. So my confusion stayed with me, came to the airport and traveled home with me to the Netherlands. Sometimes I still find myself wondering about Cuba's real face and future. I'm afraid I won't find answers to my questions here at home. Maybe I will find them one day, but for now, I'm happy I got the chance to see the place with my own eyes. Cuba welcomed me and showed me just enough of itself to keep me intrigued. It takes a very special kind of place to have that effect on me. I hope Cuba will intrigue you as well over the next few weeks, as I'll take you on a digital trip to my new favorite Caribbean island!