The Sad Hatter

Our last day in Trinidad, and I'm glad we stayed a little longer than most.
We really got a feel for the place and its warm and wonderful inhabitants.

This morning we went for a quick hike up a small mountain overlooking the town. The climb was short but steep and despite some heat-induced bickering between my good self and my better half, we were still able to enjoy the spectacular vistas of the Sierra del Escambray mountains and the Caribbean Sea. The coast was eighteen kilometres away, but it looked like you could've skimmed stones on it from where we were stood.

At the bottom of the hill, perched above the town, were the remains of ruined cathedral. Propped up with scaffolding, the land to the rear was being leveled by a bulldozer, hopefully to usher in some kind of restoration project.
We stopped at the ruin for much needed rest and a seat in the shade as I tried in vain to replace the twenty litres of water I'd just lost, most of which was now residing down the back of my shirt.

As we sat down, a woman came over asking us if we had any soap (a common request in some parts of Cuba) and then if we would give her a peso. We politely said no despite her borderline aggressive persistence, and I wished I knew the Spanish for 'you probably shouldn't beg whilst wearing a gold ring on every other finger and the biggest pair of gold earrings I've ever seen'.

Sat beside us was a plump, wrinkly old woman. A constant stream of conversation flowed from her mouth in spite of the deaf ears it was falling on. Tanned to the colour of milky coffee and as toothless as a new born baby, she was straight out of a Grimm's fairy tale. By her feet were a box of straw hats and the pile of coloured straw she used to weave them. We weren't in the market for a hat, but she was so nice and seemed so lonely that when she produced a US dollar bill and a Che Guevara coin, Lucy handed over a few pesos for a trade (much to the annoyance of the gold woman, who sat nearby with a glare that could've cracked a mirror).
Using our extensive knowledge of the Spanish Language, we gathered the old woman was telling us we should come back at sunset to enjoy the view. We agreed it was a good idea and vowed to return with a couple of cold ones that evening.

To our surprise she was still sat, weaving away, when we climbed the hill six hours later. By now the hat in her hands looked halfway finished, and she later told us it takes two days to make just one. She said it made her shoulders ache weaving hats all day, and when Lucy gave her a shoulder rub she said it felt like solid rock.
After more conversation we gathered that she lived alone, but we couldn't quite grasp why. We knew it had something to do with hospitals and that travel was involved, but could garner nothing more specific.
She seemed pretty lonely, and as the full moon cast some light on us, I could see she spoke with a tear in her eye. I'd bought some soap bars with me for friendly villagers, so I handed her one. Lucy was trying on her hats, and decided help out with a purchase, handing over the five pesos she had in her purse instead of the three the woman asked for.
We enquired where she lived and she pointed into the distance, adding that it was time to go. We helped her pack up her things and carried them back to her house. It looked from the outside like it was about to fall down, but the inside wasn't too bad. A lot of Cuban houses look small, but they're built long and thin so quite spacious inside. For reasons unknown though, there were a huge pile of red bricks in her front room. It was a tad strange as we stood chatting and no one mentioned the ton of building blocks surreally stacked beside us.

We hugged and said our goodbyes and the woman looked sad again, I found myself welling up a bit too. It wasn't because she didn't have much money, or the Cuba situation, or anything like that. It was simply sad to see someone so alone in their twilight years. It happens the world over, a sad reality of the way we live, but seeing it so explicitly was pretty emotional. Community spirit feels abundant in Cuba though, so I hope her neighbours humour her with some company, as she tries to weave straw into gold.