Fruta ¡BOMBA!

Location:
Cuba, Baracoa

Baracoa, papaya, explosion

By Anila

Amarili befriended us in Baracoa, a small tropical town on the eastern edge of Cuba. Like many locals, she was eager to get to know us gringas. We were cautious at first—Cuban jineteros are easy to come by and hard to shake— but Amarili seemed genuinely interested in becoming friends, no scams involved. My friend and I were happy to have the company, and thrilled to visit sights unknown to most tourists. In the midst of our semester abroad, we cherished any chance to bond with Cubans and hear about their lives. Amarili was talkative, sharing her views on life (she claimed her homemade cocoa butter could prevent pregnancy), and extremely generous. After a day-long hike, she invited us to her home, a small shack in the jungle, where she offered us her homemade coquitos, a Cuban favorite similar to a macaroon. We happily accepted, marveling at her sugary creation. Less enthusiastically, we gulped down a fresh-made marmalade de fruta bomba (known elsewhere as papaya, and the one fruit we both happened to find absolutely wretched). The marmalade turned out to be less pungent than the fruit itself, the bitter flavor cooked down into a saccharine brown paste. It wasn’t half-bad and we each managed to finish our small glasses, thinking we would be in the clear. Unfortunately, Amarili thought differently. She packed us an enormous water bottle filled with the brown goop before we said our goodbyes. We accepted her gift, concealing our disbelieving grimaces beneath grateful smiles.

Back in the privacy of our casa particular, we debated what do with our gift. One small glass was manageable, but neither us could bear to swallow another spoonful. In a country where resources are spread so thinly, we could not bear to throw it away. Besides, most Cubans would enjoy the fresh syrupy drink, and Amarili had likely spent a good deal of time on its preparation. We decided the marmalade had to be re-gifted. Someone out there would appreciate it, even if we couldn’t. Without another thought, we stowed it away in our large communal hiking pack.

We continued on with our journey through the eastern part of the country, stopping in various towns, each with its own unique flavor. Unfortunately for us, fruta bomba seemed to be a unifying flavor in all of them. It was served for breakfast in every casa particular we stayed in, without exception. Tired of masking our distaste, fighting of the gag reflex as we swallowed it down, we came up with clever ways to clandestinely rid ourselves of the awful fruit. It was slyly tucked into napkins, which would later be discarded. Several days later, after an inordinate amount of time spent waiting in a bus station and a grueling journey on bumpy roads, we finally arrived in Moron, our final destination before returning to Havana. We arrived late at night, completely exhausted. Preparing for a good night’s sleep before our day trip to Cayo Coco the next morning, I opened up our bag to get out my pajama and toothbrush- the bag was barely opened when the smell of papaya wafted out. The bottle of marmalade had exploded en route; sweet, brown paste covered everything. Horrified, helpless, and completely worn-out, we burst out laughing. Amarili and the fruta bomba had come back to haunt us. The next few hours were spent scooping the thick brown goop from our clothes, the bag, and from inside our shoes, into the toilet. Despite repeated hand-washings, things were sticky for days, papaya ooze saturating the fibers of our belongings. Years later, those fruta bomba clothes have been replaced. But even now, every time I open up that bag and see brown residue stuck in the crevices, I think of my friend Amarili of her generosity, and I can’t help but smile.

Further Information

Travel tips: Stay in a Casa Particular for delicious food!

If you aren't up for a grueling journey via camion, fly in from Havana.

Must see/do at this place: Eat chocolate, attend carnival, have a drink at the El Castillo hotel, hike at El Yunque, and visit the beautiful surrounding beaches.

You should avoid here: As alway in Cuba, watch out for jineteros