Good morning 2015.
I woke up on the morning of January 01 2015, without a hangover. Wow, this was a new feeling for me.
I got up quite early, had my 4 cups of coffee and fantastic breakfast made by Ana and went to the bus station to get my viazul Bus ticket. I walked there and it was actually really nice. The sun was shining and I was excited. I had made the decision to spend my last five days in Cuba somewhere near La Habana, but not in the city itself. I hadn’t forgotten about the traumatizing Havana experience. I wanted to give the city another chance, but still I did want to be on the safe side this time and have a casa rather outside of Havana but near the beach. My final choice were the Playas del Este again, but the “Cuban” part, not the mass tourist spots. I chatted with Ana about it, and of course she knew someone who had a casa in Guanabo. Alright.
From Baracoa, I would have to catch a bus to Santiago which takes four hours, and then another bus to Havana for another 14 (!) hours. I decided to do the bus trip during the night of course.
I arrived at the Viazul bus stop and talked to the lady. Bad news: She managed to get me a ticket to Santiago, however it seems like there was no spot available from Santiago to Havana. We talked for a bit. She was my age and seemed pretty cool. Then, she smiled at me and said that she was going to help me and that I should come back earlier tomorrow. She said that she would call in Havana and that she would try to get a spot for me. For some reason, I didn’t really mind and started walking back to the city. Well, worst case scenario would be that I had to sleep at the bus station in Santiago. How exciting! 😉
I took a nice walk at the ‘Malecon de Baracoa’ next to the rough waves which clashed against the cliffs. I loved this. Salty air, the sound of the clashing waves. I breathed in and closed my eyes and thought about how much I loved this place, when suddenly heavy raindrops reached my head. Two seconds later, the rain got insanely heavy and the water fountains fell heavy on my head. I started to run and tried not to slip- I was wearing flip flops. I ran towards the city center, but the rain kept getting worse. Most people escaped under roofs of houses, and I decided to do the same. So, we stood there and waited. Ten minutes later, Baracoa was filled in sunshine again and the smell of rain and heat mixed again. Despite of the sun, the sky was still alarmingly black with aggressive clouds. It was hot, stuffy, humid, but I was amazed. Baracoa doesn’t follow any rules. This city embodies the rebel, it does whatever it wants. Soaked and wet with my clothes sticking on my skin, I wished I could be more like Baracoa.
Good morning 2015.