I turned 30 in Vinales. A big moment, but one overshadowed by our finding of Pringles. Snacks forever.
Vinales is situated in the mountains, adjacent to the Valles de Vinales, the valley where the majority of the famous tobacco is grown. My first morning as a 30-year old began with a horseback ride through the valley. I was very skeptical and a bit terrified from the get go (not a fan of horses). I barely moved on my horse Nino (who I was told was “muy tranquillo”) this left me off balance with my right asscheek doing most of the supporting. In addition every mud puddle, lose rock, or change of grade in the trail I was sure Nino was going to topple, providing me with a slew of El Nino jokes to tell in the hospital. Turns out Nino had his shit together.
Entering the valley was on of the most magical things I have done and seen. I had seen photos and was not prepared for how unrepresentative they were of the actual scenery. The vally was about a mild wide between jugle covered cliffs. I’ve learned since it is a karstic depression. The ride took us into the valley and through farms, stopping for a tour of a tobacco drying hut and lake in a river. Carmen’s horse, Lucero, continued to attempt to take the lead, but Nino was having none of it, and the only sounds interrupting the silence was our guild’s cautious cries of “Ninoooooooo!”
That night we feasted on lobster tails, friend bananas, black beans and rice, and avocado under the thatched roof porch in the rain.
mtlancelot 