Going Up to the Turquino Royal Peak

Pico Real Turquino en Santiago de Cuba.
Pico Real Turquino en Santiago de Cuba.
The Turquino Royal Peak Santiago de Cuba.

By: Santiago Romero
The Sierra Maestra was for the Rebel Army a huge dwelling, the perfect scenario for military operations and a safe shelter, according to Che.

And today, a look from the highest point of the Turquino Royal Peak catches a dense landscape, blue and enigmatic by the extensive mist; and an infinity that swallows the isolated houses and the prairies.

From this highest point of Cuba, you can barely make out the roads and highways; they are like wounds that mingle with rivers, creeks or a millenary furrow.

Birds sing, butterflies flutter and palm trees dance to the beat of the strong winds in this southeastern region.

The sun’s rays underline the landscape.

The stones slide down the hill, collide with the dry logs and complicate the slope.

Another few more steps and the ground becomes more clayey and dangerous for the most experienced of the mountain climbers.

Sometimes the path ends and only a piece of limestone remains, where the hiker has to defy the course; you follow the course and a cliff appears on the right, you border the slope and now you have it on the left.

If you hesitate, you might find emptiness. It is always ready to trap you with its lush and weeds from which it is difficult to get out.

The temperature is somewhat cool and damp. The waters of the springs further polish the rocks and even sculpt them.

Going up is more difficult than descending. And everybody knows that for sure.

As you get closer to the plains, the temperature changes, and the fall of the water in the rivers, ravines and springs becomes more resounding. Even the vegetation is less green, due to the erosion of the salts brought by the winds from the Caribbean Sea.

When you finally arrive, if you look back, well up, you hardly believe that you are coming from that far away.

Pico Real Turquino en Santiago de Cuba.
The Turquino Royal Peak Santiago de Cuba.

And now all the dense and natural landscape is lost. You wonder how it was possible that the rebels passed through here, with their backpacks on their backs, the rifle in one hand, and in other cases, with the weight of their gear and, why not, maybe with a guitar, bongo, maracas, and who knows, the noble weight of the next melody that the QuintetoRebelde usually performed in these places.

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