I read somewhere Trinidad is Cuba’s sparkling jewel, personally those would not be my words to describe the city. Like Havana is not a place you can easily describe in a couple of words, a much longer eloquent narrative is required before you come even close.
The clip clop of the horses hooves on the cobble stone streets almost immediately makes you realise you are suddenly in a place where time has stood still. Some of these same cobble stones were used for the ballast in the ships that brought the original slaves out from Africa centuries ago, they now reflect the diversity and durability of its people today.
The African culture is a lot more evident here, from the rhythm of their everyday life, their infectious salsa music which can be heard just about everywhere and their jet black faces with huge white teeth smiles.
Here a myriad of European architectural styles cover a time period stretching back well over four centuries. The smallest casa to the grandest of colonial residences owned by ruthless wealthy sugar barons sit side by side in the same street. Atop each building are terraces for dining or weathered handmade curved terracotta tiles which look straight out of a Tuscan landscape textbook. Each facade is painted in at least two contrasting bright primary colours different to its neighbour in a kind of address by colour scheme rather than relying solely on any street numbers.
Liberally sprinkle each street with an assortment of colourful vintage American cars, ugly soviet made vehicles, bicycle taxis, horse pulling carts, tractors, fruit stalls, dogs and chickens. Overlay this with the accompanying smells and cacophony of sounds it all produces and then you have some idea of the mosaic that makes up the city of Trinidad.
For the locals, people watching is a sport, not very far behind the much loved baseball and futbol (soccer) You will always find them peering out from behind the elaborate wrought iron bars which cover the tall front bay windows. Or leaning out of half open stable like doors, hair in curlers watching what is happening or arguing loudly with their neighbour four houses down the street. Sitting in old wooden rocking chairs watching the TV in the front rooms of their Casa’s, they still have the door wide open with one eye watching what or whom is passing by outside.
Take their lead and find a seat in the shade on the edge of a plaza or restaurant and spend some time and just watch their life flow around you. It is one of the few places where the photo opportunities come to you if you have the patience.
You won’t have to wait very long!
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