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rickety barn after what seemed an eternity. Inside,
open shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with to-
bacco leaves in varying stages of the drying
process. “Bienvenidos!” A farmer with the bluest
eyes I had ever seen flashed a row of gleaming
white teeth as he invited us in. Rain pelted the
leaky roof and the aroma of fresh leaves floated
around us as he demonstrated how to roll a cigar
unwrapping each leaf, and expertly rolling it into
Cuba’s signature product.
Thunder and lightning punctuated our return to
Casa Oralia. This sent me dreaming of home-made
chicken soup. We found it at El Biky’s, a newly
opened restaurant near our casa particular. A
steaming bowl of home-made chicken soup, and
their cracker-thin pizza crust smothered in fresh
mushrooms and melted cheese did much to soothe
our rain drenched souls.
The skies had cleared the next morning when
we set off for Trinidad. On the way, we witnessed
first-hand how Cubans source daily necessities.
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