I’m sitting astride a horse, a dusty, red trail vanishing into the shadow of a towering limestone hillock before me, when I realise I don’t even know where we’re going. Or how long this journey might take.
There is no helmet, no checking if we’ve ridden a horse before, no explanation of how to do it if we haven’t. Instead, our affable guide Changa hands me the reins, a long-ish twig – “Gasolina!” he explains, grinning – and a nod of confidence that is perhaps misplaced.
He looks every inch the Cuban cowboy, dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, boots and spurs and a cowboy hat. I’m in old sneakers and Lululemon leggings.
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“Ahhh, professionale!” Changa lies. The truth is, I don’t speak Spanish and he doesn’t speak English. So, with a tip of his hat, he’s swung himself atop his own horse and is nudging it forward – no time for second guesses now.
Health and safety regulations don’t really exist in rural Cuba. But that’s part of the allure.
Getting to the tobacco plantations is mostly only possible by horseback.
Located 180 kilometres from Havana, the Viñales Valley is known for its dramatic landscapes and atmosphere of absolute tranquillity. It also just so happens to be the cradle of one of the country’s most important exports: cigars.
The region of Pinar del Rio, in which the Unesco-listed valley sits, produces about 80% of Cuba’s tobacco. The region’s climate is warm, with high humidity and regular rainfall, but perhaps most notably, it’s home to a vivid-red, nutrient-rich soil that provides tobacco, and the many crops grown here, its unique flavour. It is to tobacco what Bordeaux and Stellenbosch are to wine.
Crops growing in the Vinales Valley.
But it’s also a rare corner of the world largely undeveloped for mass tourism.
The village of Viñales, drawn out along its main street, maintains much of its old-world charm. There are a few restaurants, crafts shops, one hotel and a well-kept main street lined with colourful colonial-era wooden buildings, but the remainder of the town is made up of simple, one-storey bungalows, with converted rooftop terraces for visitors to take in the views.
Many of the houses here are casa particulares (which literally means ‘private home’), where Cuban families rent out rooms to foreigners. For US$25 (NZ$39) per night, you’ll get an ensuite, a groaning table full of Viñales’s finest produce for breakfast and, if you’re lucky, a doting elderly local checking in with you at regular intervals, making sure your trip is bien.
Ashleigh Stewart and her horse.
Family-owned tobacco plantations are scattered across the valley floor, inaccessible by car – which is where you’ll need the services of a trusty steed and a knowledgeable guide.
While you can get both of those simply by asking a local on the street in Viñales, we book through The Vinales Experience, launched by British expat Cassie Feldman. After a backpacking trip to Cuba introduced her to her future husband Ronnie and his family’s fifth-generation tobacco farm, Feldman wanted to help the family direct tourists into the area.
In a communist country where the average salary hovers around US$25 per month, the burgeoning tourism industry promised a boon for Viñales. These days, however, it’s become a lifeline, as Cuba struggles through one of its worst-ever economic crises.
Horses and carts are common sights on the streets of Viñales.
But it’s still an arrangement that clearly work both ways – tourists get a cheap $25 day tour, including lunch, and the plantation gets a captive audience ferried right to their doorstep.
Bobbing along behind Changa – my horse thankfully extremely well-trained but with a penchant for breaking into a trot at random intervals – the scenery is other-worldly. Dusty trails crisscross a patchwork quilt of corn crops and bright-green tobacco fields, hemmed in by towering dome-like hills, known as mogotes.
The entire valley has a pungent smell – something akin to walking into a kitchen ten minutes after someone pulls a tray of overcooked cookies out of the oven.
After about an hour of riding, we dismount near a gaping hole in a limestone cliff, where a friendly local awaits with a torch – leading us through the depths of a cave to a pool of water for a quick dip. Grassroots tourism at its finest.
Alejandro shows us how to roll a cigar at the family tobacco farm.
Arriving at the farm shortly after, the lesson begins, courtesy of farmhand Alejandro.
Cigar making is an intricate process, and is governed by timing, climate and the skill of human hands. Even now, more than two centuries since the first tobacco seeds were planted here, the processes remain largely unchanged.
Oxen and ploughs still work the fields, and nimble fingers still roll the finished product. Machine cultivation and harvesting lowers the quality of tobacco, so techniques passed down from generation to generation remain crucial.
It’s hard work, with little room to thrive. By law, tobacco farmers must sell 90% of what they grow to the government at a fixed price, leaving them with just 10% to sell to tourists or for their own personal use.
Pinar del Rio produces about 80% of Cuba’s tobacco.
“It’s yes or yes,” explains Alejandro.
“We have no choice. What can we do?”
It’s been a trying time for Cuban tobacco growers. In late 2022, Hurricane Ian walloped the country’s west and destroyed much of the tobacco infrastructure. It’s led to the region’s worst tobacco harvest in history.
“A lot of farmers lost everything,” Alejandro says. “The government said they would help us rebuild, but that’s not true. We had to rebuild everything, with our own hands.”
And those hands are important. Tobacco growing is labour-intensive. Seeds are grown in a nursery until they’re a few inches tall, at which time the seedlings are transported into the fields. About two months later, leaves are hand-picked and hung out in huge drying houses until they turn dark brown.
Changa and another guide at the top of Los Acuaticos.
The top leaves of the plant are the best, so they’re set aside for the premium cigars – think Cohibas or Montecristos. After another month or so, leaves are removed and sprayed with a special mixture, usually consisting of honey, cinnamon and rum. The leaves are then flattened and left to ferment for another three months.
Though most of the rolling is done in factories in Havana, Alejandro takes a wad of dried tobacco leaves, to show us how it’s done. He rips out the leaves’ centre veins (where 75% of the nicotine is) and coils them into a perfectly fat, tightly wound cylinder, before snipping the end and rolling it in a wrapper leaf – grown in the shade to prevent it from becoming too oily or thick – and glues the wrapper down with a dab of honey.
“My grandmother could roll 400 of these in eight hours,” Alejandro says.
Oxen and ploughs still work the fields in the valley, helping farmers tend to the tobacco crops.
There’s no waste here, either; offcuts are used to make lower classes of cigars and the central veins are used as compost.
As we ride out of the farm, a pack of 10 cigars in my bag, I’m struck by how successfully Viñales has managed to merge the traditional with the new. Nothing much has changed for the men in the fields, but the world has come to them – courtesy of the odd camera-wielding tourist traipsing through their backyard.
Many have made a living out of it. That becomes abundantly clear during a sunrise hike to Los Acuáticos, once a community set on a mountain slope with a name referring to its inhabitants’ faith in the healing power of water, now home to one lone farmer.
That farmer will pass you on horseback on the way up, ready and waiting with a cup of Viñales’ finest coffee (another of the region’s sought-after crops) for you as you take a seat and wait for the sun to crest the horizon.
Sunrise over the Viñales Valley from Los Acuáticos.
The trail isn’t obvious though, so you’ll need to take a guide. Luckily, Changa is only too willing. And even on a four-kilometre hike up a hillside in the dark – you best believe he’s wearing his cowboy hat and boots.
Fact file:
New Zealanders travelling to Cuba can fly via the US, Mexico or Canada. However, if you’ve flying via the US, you will need to apply for a Cuban tourist visa, which stipulates that you must spend your money on businesses and accommodations owned by locals.
Travelling to Cuba will also make you ineligible for the ESTA visa waiver programme in the US, meaning you’ll have to apply for a B-2 tourist visa if you’re planning to transit through the US or visit after you’ve been to Cuba.
Carbon footprint: Flying generates carbon emissions. To reduce your impact, consider other ways of travelling, amalgamate your trips, and when you need to fly, consider offsetting emissions.
