Cuban Jeep Safari

By Lothar Kusche

            It was tough to resist an opportunity like this. I looked at the concierge in the hotel and asked: “You’re going to let me drive a jeep all over the back country in Cuba?”

            “Yes, that’s right senor.”

            Sign me up, I love a good trail ride in a foreign country.

            I had always wanted to go to Cuba. The country has a crazy history that’s been sung and written about by artists from Barry Manilow to Ernest Hemingway. It's a place that, automotively speaking, has been frozen in time since 1959. It's a colourful and often-times tragic history, including sugar plantations, the slave trade, tobacco farms, the Copacabana, a Communist revolution, stories of the American mafia running rampant in the country... not your average all inclusive. We had been warned by friends that this was a third-world communist country. 'Don`t expect too much an you wont be disappointed' , they said.

            Our expectations were low, but so was the last minute price of an all inclusive.

The Jeep safari started off with a tour bus picking us up from the hotel and driving us into the nearby town of Varadero. We pulled up on a side street and roughly 30 of us unloaded: welcome and surprise, there were no Jeeps. What there was, are Suzuki Samauris and a Chinese look-alike called a Zeyto. In fact, I never saw an actual Jeep during my entire trip to Cuba. After some investigation, I discovered that any small Zuk-styled vehicle is referred to as a Jeep, but there are no Jeeps. Remember - low expectations.

            We were paired into groups of two couples and loaded into our `Jeeps` - typical trail-ride formation with a lead and a tail-gunner. I was beginning to wonder if we were going off-road at all. The couple we rode with was friendly and our wives didn’t want to drive, which left the guys switching back and forth throughout the day. Good enough by me.

            We set off, and in short order, were out of the city - past drilling rigs and oil pumps. Apparently there’s oil in Cuba. We hit some dirt roads which instantly became trails. The terrain was dry and dusty, reminiscent of Baja Mexico. There were washed out roads and no signage warning of impending doom ahead.

            Our first stop led us down into what looked like an old quarry. Large and small tunnels were cut into the 15 metre vertical rock walls. The tunnels could have housed large military vehicles, which apparently, at one time, they did: according to our guides, this was an early military installation.

            You can only look at a rock wall and a big hole for so long before getting bored - roughly five minutes for me and about 15 minutes for the rest of group. Then it was back into the Jeeps for some more wheelin` and more washed-out back country roads before we found ourselves at an old coffee plantation. It was owned by a French family until Castro nationalized everything. 'Nationalized' is a nice-sounding word for 'he took everything that anyone owned' – land, businesses – everything. Now you own it, now you don’t. No wonder the Cuban expats are pissed.

            The old plantation is now a farm/primitive tourist attraction. I watched a guy leading a mule in circles, to draw water from the well; we watched a village medicine man beat his drum out of time and sing out of tune and take tips while some of our group circled around a sacred tree. Quite the little show. Take a picture with the crocodile and we’re out of there and back to the trails.

            At lunch time we ended up at a Campismo - a park where families can hang out for the day. I was expecting an actual campground, but discovered that Cubans don't actually camp, due to the fact there are too many bugs, and it’s just not in their culture, my guide explained. When you see how much of the population here lives, it looks like they’re ‘camping’ for most of their lives in ramshackle tin huts.

            Lunch at the Campismo. 'Would you like a five-minute horseback ride?' No thanks. 'Ride a bull in a circle?' No thanks. Picture with a crocodile: been there, done that.

            Our group had been split in half, with one group heading off to more trails, while our group stayed at the Campismo. We left our Jeeps and headed to the river where we all loaded into boats for a ride down the river. This was fun. We live on a lake and do quite a bit of boating, but ripping down a jungle river without a life jacket or signing a waiver was still a thrill. I'm sure it was more fun than what tourists in a cruise ship would have.

            We landed at another Campismo for more food and liquor. Liquor was everywhere. A couple of drinks into me and I began to hear music. Nearby, a native dance show had started; guys and gals both in traditional skirts; gals with blue paint rather than bikini tops. This didn't look like any trail ride I’ve been on before.

            Our foursome climbed back into one of the Jeeps, one that was a little different. The  driver's seatback had been ‘modified’ (you can read ‘beat-up’) for a guy with a right arm 3” longer than his left. The transmission had also been ‘modified’ and third gear was out of sync, but with a little double -clutching the grinding noise stopped - unless I decided we needed it for effect. It was a 4x4 rental, so like any responsible Canadian, I drove the snot out of it. The bottom needed to be scraped clean and you really don’t know how much upward travel a shock can take until you slam into a gully; conversely, you can’t test downward travel until you get the car off the ground.

            It was another hot, humid and dusty day, so our last stop was a grotto for a swim and then back to our original pick-up point. Which was where the rain started. At first it was a light sprinkle. I was afraid to turn the wipers on for fear there was no washer fluid, and the resulting mud on my windshield would force me to drive with my head out the window. Then came the heavy rain. Wipers on and we were good to go...

            Guess what happens in a country where it hardly rains: they don’t build storm drains. Soon, we were running through axle deep-water, with almost no visibility: it was a blast.

            Was this truly a Jeep safari? No. Was it a great way to see the Cuban countryside? You bet. Do I intend to return to Cuba? No thanks, been there, done that.