When faced with a broken down electric train in the middle of a sugar cane field (somewhere between Havana and Matanzas) during a thunder storm and surrounded by working class Cubans who’d had no choice but to take the train, in answer to the question: “why aren’t you on the bus?” it’s no use suggesting we climbed aboard looking for an adventure. “To soak in the ‘mesmerising’ scenery, to get an authentic Cuban experience (we were the only tourists on the train, and judging from peoples interactions they don’t often come), to get some material for the blog?” There did come a point though two and a half hours in when we asked each other a similar question: when the bus was inexpensive, took half the time, was around 100% more comfortable, and could drop us directly at our destination, (the Cuban beach resort of Varadero), why did we think this was such a good plan again? I think we probably need to blame the guide books – because there sure as hell wasn’t one single Cuban that recommended this journey to us!
For one thing, we’ve taken the ViaZul bus option enough times - (once) - to know that it would have been soulless and mundane and could not compare at all to the scenic meandering 135km journey through the old sugar plantations. “Rail journeys hold a particular magic”, we had read, “none more so in Cuba than the Hershey Train”, which travels three times a day year round (weather and electricity permitting is what they don’t say) from Casablanca (a small town across the bay from La Habana) to Matanzas. The journey through 69 square miles of lush cane fields runs along a railway built by Milton Hershey in 1916 designed to transport workers and goods using steam locomotives, which were later replaced by 60-ton electric locomotives, and then in 1998 by antique Spanish cars which currently serve the route. This is the only electric train route left in Cuba and to ride it, we were told, is to experience “Cuban public transport at its most idiosyncratic.” We can now confirm this.
The journey started well. Sort of.
We’d attempted to buy the ticket the day before travelling, anticipating problems had we not checked thoroughly for any Cuban style snags to the plan – for example, ‘the timetable is as shown except every third Thursday when it leaves 3 minutes earlier’. That kind of thing. But when we turned up at the station the lady sat outside the little ticket office assured us we would be able to buy it on the day of travel. Indeed that was the only option. “And it doesn’t get full up?” I asked. She laughed. So did we when we looked down at the overgrown railway lines and learnt that should it rain, the train being electric has to stop. Despite the drought, praying for it not to rain has become a new daily routine for us! And we were determined to give it a go, aiming for the 12.27 departure (the earlier one had left at 6am, and I’m travelling with Helen. Enough said!) leaving plenty of time to get from Alamar to Havana, and from Havana across the bay to Casablanca on the little ferry that goes back and forth. Apart from the usual hold up in flagging down a car from Alamar (future blog post to come on transport issues), we hadn’t anticipated a problem going across the water, until we remembered that on this route thorough bag searches are compulsory of course. And though this can be a pain with a couple of shopping bags, it is a bit of a nightmare with two large rucksacks packed tightly and according to the logic that items in the bottom of the middle section cannot and will not be used. Cursing ourselves for having forgotten this we headed straight in and started taking stuff out of our bags. It was all going well until my guard found my laptop. When I took it out of the case she gave me a funny look and asked what it was. “A lap top” I suggested. “Nope, you cannot come aboard with that. Bus or taxi. Bus or taxi.” We knew security can be tight in this country but not being allowed to board a 10 minute crossing with a lap top seems excessive, right?
Interestingly the paranoia is routed in previous attempts to sequester the boat and steer it not to the other side of the shore but to Miami, both 140km and a million miles away from Cuba. A few years ago a couple took a cake and birthday celebrations onto the launch only to reveal guns and explosives ready to use should the captain not take the boat ashore in the USA. This may explain the security but I’m still a bit confused about what my little acer could do. Still, we caught a cab and were taken to the port via the windy inland roads before being dropped in front of the station, giving us our first glimpse of the train. We were thinking rustic but hadn’t quite prepared ourselves for the incredibly basic collection of rusty carriages that met us. But at least it was there, and I could feel a certain amount of excitement for the journey ahead. Whatever happened it would hold more adventure than a tourist bus straight to the beach. This was true.
In fact before we even left we felt our anxiety levels fluctuate – we’d arrived early so the train lady suggested we leave our bags and go for a coffee before the train left. “And the train definitely leaves at 12.27 so will still be there when we come back?” I double checked. She laughed again but nodded confidently. Needless to say we came out of the coffee shop to find it gone! Thankfully the passengers were still sat waiting and it did come back, and it did leave on time. Almost – 2 minutes late because it was waiting for Helen and I to go to the loo: we’d realised at 12.25 that there was not one aboard, so had rushed off to empty our bladders. And this was a good idea, for apart from the 20 or so regular stops to drop off and pick up people en route (in what were some the most isolated train ‘stations’ I’d come across), the train did not make a courtesy stop until it reached the small now run down town of Hershey just over half way through. But for $2.80CUC we were not complaining; we took our tickets with small holes punched in to indicate the station where we’d got on and were going to get off, and smiled rather uncertainly about our decision to spend such an indulgent amount of time on this journey.
But it was everything we’d hoped for, and more. The scenery was indeed fascinating: the train chugged, bumped and tooted its way through miles and miles of old sugar cane fields in the Yumuri Valley, in amongst palm studded hills where cattle and goats crazed and occasionally past small hamlets and villages. Sometimes it would come upon a road and wait to cross it, other times a man would be waiting with one green and one red flag to wave us on. And occasionally the horn would be used liberally to shoo animals off the track. I spent almost three hours just leaning out of the window, transfixed by the countryside and almost getting to feel the breeze as we picked up a little more speed (we went around 40km/hour) and headed along the coast within sight of the Atlantic.
In fact, everything was magical until we heard a bang, saw lots of smoke and saw one of the conductors run towards us to the back of the next carriage and detach the electric cables of the train from the overhead cable. Despite being girls and knowing nothing about trains, we didn’t think this could have been a good sign, and were promptly told the equipment had broken and someone was calling Hershey to find out what they could do. Given Helen and my record on long distance public transport we had been thinking it was all going just a bit too well! Once we were making a 20 hour trip from Argentina down into Chilean Patagonia on a tight schedule and the bus broke down, twice. The first time we sorted it, the second time they had to send a new bus from the nearest point – 10 hours away. At least this time we were neither so remote nor so desperate to get to our destination, but it was nonetheless a little frustrating. What saved the day was the decision to join the other passengers climbing off and sitting in the shade to eat mangos and natter away whilst we waited a couple of hours for a new train to be sent from Hershey.
It could definitely have been worse: within two hours we were back on the road and just willing to reach Matanzas before the rain fell. Apparently this happened the other day and people were stuck here for 24 hours. Furthermore it was during the night. When the other train came it was able to push us along to a point where the track widened into two and we were able to change carriages and start again on the new train, which left immediately for Matanzas chugging off through the valleys. The final leg of the journey, a 37 km journey from Matanzas to Varadero, we achieved in a local bus for $2 Cuban pesos each, and finally arrived in this resort as the sun was setting rather smelly and weighed down - not at all like the usual Cuban and international clientele that flock to Varadero! Thankfully it didn’t matter; we’d reached the beach just in time to jump into the water and cool off.
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