We were taken down a bumpy old farm track just off the highway, dodging potholes and puddles, passing fertile fields of vegetables, coffee, and tobacco.
Not a modern machine in sight. Most farmers still work the land the old way, oxen, muscle, and time. The valley’s volcanic soil does most of the heavy lifting anyway. Viñales is, after all, the capital of fine Cuban cigars.
Inside a palm-thatched drying barn, its open slats filtering soft light through rows of hanging leaves, a local guajiro demonstrated how tobacco becomes a cigar. The leaves are hand-picked, the stems, where most of the nicotine hides, are stripped away, and the remaining leaf is misted with a mix of honey, rum, and vanilla. Other blends, he said, might use pineapple, guava, cinnamon, or sugarcane. Then they hang and dry, waiting to be rolled.
We watched as he shaped a cigar by hand, lit it, and leaned back with the kind of satisfaction only a man who has done it ten thousand times can manage.
The region, according to UNESCO, preserves a rich local tradition in its architecture, crafts, and music. All very charming and irresistible to tourists.
Viñales turned to tourism after Cuba’s partial economic liberalisation in 2011 allowed small business licences, riding the wave that came with the brief thaw between Havana and Washington. It has been cashing in ever since.
Back on the road, the valley rolled past in streaks of red soil and green leaves. A good day to finish, rounded out my Cuban travels nicely. Evening held La Guarida in Havana, of Strawberry and Chocolate fame, waiting somewhere ahead. I didn’t know what to expect, but somehow I had a feeling it might be worth it.