Part 5 - Between Propaganda and Palm Trees
After this almost ball-breaking success we want to leave the city. Not that they have less potholes out there but the air should be a lot cleaner.
Freeways in Cuba have their own charms. Few cars, many potholes. Room enough for our bikes and Ernesto‘s panhead.
The hard shoulder is decorated with vendors, spectators and a group of travelers, obviously waiting for the bus we passed 3 miles down the road, changing a wheel. Soon the first wayside bar beckons. We slow down by a tobbacco plantation, and order some Hamburguesas. When we ask for „Ketsup“, the guy behind the bar starts to laugh. He has „Ketsup“ sure enough, but for so many of us? A weeks ration is in danger of being wiped out. We get the drift that the stuff is a real luxury here, and use it only sparingly.