A good Cuban cigar (is that redundant?) takes time.
It begins in an oxen-plowed field, grows carefully in the Caribbean sun, and reaches harvest stage nine months after careful soil preparation.
A good Cuban cigar requires curing, sorting, stripping, and fermentation.
Hand-rolled, hand-cut and hand-packaged, a good Cuban cigar waits, fat and sassy, for a quick clip, an orange match flash, a deep inhale.
On a hot Saturday at a small tobacco farm in Viñales, Cuba we met Rodrigo, who showed us how to roll a cigar. We toured a factory and watched women hand sort leaves. Each layer has a specific role and the cast-offs become cigarettes.
My mom, my sister Kathy and I, non-smokers all, watched the collective effort that went into the production of a single cigar and marveled at its value.
A good Cuban cigar starts on the edge of a beautiful mountain range, plucked from a well-indulged plant, sorted by workers in a fresh-air factory, rolled on seasoned palms, and cut with the sharp edge of a small machete.
I brought my camera to the tobacco region, and vowed to return with only pictures to show for my time there. I’m an anti-tobacco kind of gal.
But, I bought my quota of Cuban cigars, and I hauled them home to share.
I hope whoever ends up with one of my Cuban cigars tastes earnest efforts of the sweet people who owe their livelihood to each careful roll.
One of the things I’ve noticed about your posts about your trip is how interesting and nice the people seem.
They really were both ‘– so interesting and so kind.