Love at first light in the Valley of Viñales

by Sinéad Garry (Ireland)

Making a local connection Cuba

He averted his eyes while he made stilted conversation. His forehead glistened with perspiration caused by the rays of the sizzling sun. As he nervously shimmied closer to me, the waft of his tanned leather cowboy hat consumed my nostrils. His name was Yarel. He cupped his sweaty palms over mine; his grip was tight and firm. He proceeded to assist me roll the dried fermented tobacco leaves to produce a perfectly cylindrical shaped Cuban cigar. This was an artist who truly loved his craft. He dipped the masterpiece in sweetened honey before setting it alight. His lips pursed together as he drew in the first puff. His piercing blue eyes fixated on mine as he exhaled the toxic fumes. I could feel the heat emanate from my face, as he gazed longingly into my soul. It was apparent Yarel had a soft spot for me. Just then, a cantankerous farmer burst into the curing barn. His once black coloured wellies now covered in brown splattered mud stains. He bellowed something in Spanish at Yarel, which made him catapult from his wooden bench and stand to attention. An argument ensued. As my Spanish was very limited, I zoned out and took a moment to immerse myself in my surroundings. There I sat in the memorizing Valley of Viñales, West of Cuba. My senses were awakened by the clucking of chickens. I could hear a river meandering peacefully in the distance. As I peered out through the barn door that was left ajar in Yarel’s haste, the lush trees stood tall and were a plenty. Their leaves rustling to the tune of the gentle breeze. It was a sight to behold. I marvelled at mankind’s creations in this UNESCO World Heritage Site. I was in a state of Zen. Yarel appeared back, looking sheepishly at me. I sensed he had been reprimanded for delaying me on the next leg of my excursion. I reluctantly made my exit and headed over to Mr Grumpy Pants. He introduced me to a sad looking horse called Moro. I continued my journey trotting through the Valley of Viñales on horseback. My heart felt heavy. Throughout the night, the heavy rain pour had flooded the streets of Viñales. Its tropical monsoon season was in full swing. I awoke from my slumber to the sound of the raindrops crashing against the paper-thin windows. Yarel was the first thing on my mind. I tip toed through the casa particular quietly, to avoid disturbing the sleeping Cuban family I was lodging with. I mounted my bicycle and pedalled as fast as my size 5’s would propel me. Having covered enough ground, I finally pin pointed Yarel’s abode. I parked my bike at the foot of the hill and made my way up the steep incline towards the vibrant yellow one-storied wooden house. I pondered on what I was going to say to Yarel, while I squelched through the waterlogged muddy trail. As I raised my soaking weary head, I got a glimpse of Yarel in the distance. My heart pounded to the beat of the drummer boy. I could taste the salt from the beads of sweat that trickled down my cheek. My stomach churned in anticipation. “Hola”, Yarel happily, greeted me. He beckoned me up to the dilapidated porch he stood proudly on. He threw his arms around me as he basked in his delight. As we swayed in sync in our rocking chairs, we conversed about communism, Raúl Castro and the recent historical breakthrough on the embargos that had been lifted between Cuba and the USA. We discovered we were very like-minded and had common views on these topics. Even though our mother tongues spoke different languages and our rendezvous had been brief, there was no denying that a long-lasting connection had been created. Our stars had aligned, and the universe had compelled us together. Yarel was in awe of my beauty and implored me to return to Cuba once my travels of the world had concluded. My travels are still ongoing with the Caribbean being the next destination on my list, bringing me that one step closer to being re-united with my blue-eyed Cuban tobacco farmer!