'Senor, you want taxi to bus station?'
'I do my good man, I am running late so don't spare the horses'
Had I known my chauffeurs vehicle was indeed a horse, I may have used a different phrase, as it turned out, it was a spindly looking beast pulling a decrepit looking cart that we clambered aboard and hoped that the knackered nag would get us to the bus on time. Which it did. Cienfuegos sits on the southern coast of Cuba on the Caribbean sea. I spend the afternoon at the southernmost point enjoying the views across the bay – even the unfinished nuclear power station is not too intrusive.
In Cuba there are two choices of restaurant, privately owned or state owned. Privately owned is almost always excellent, with a wealth of choice for good prices. State owned is typically whatever can be made from luncheon meat, they are ridiculously cheap and the waiters always wear tuxedos.
Private places do not seem to be at a premium in Cienfuegos so after an hour of fruitless searching and unconvinced by the tout shouting 'Senor, best restaurant in Cuba' – even the third time he did it – we return to a state one we saw initially which 'didn't look too dirty' – which is always favourable.
The place itself looked like a Soviet airport lounge circa 1970, enormous dirty windows stretch to the ceiling whilst 4-metre high portrait paintings on the walls smirk knowingly at the hopelessness of your situation, safe in the knowledge they are just posing for a picture not actually eating. The mosquitos and flies added a grim reptile house feeing of unease.
When the food arrived I was pleasantly surprised, if only by the fact that the portions were small and I wasn't going to be there long. I ordered pasta that tasted suspiciously like tinned spaghetti which had been cooked for 45 minutes before being frozen and finally reheated in a microwave before service. The sauce added a nice splash of colour – if not flavour.
No comments:
Post a Comment