I went to Camagüey with a tiny map and big mood. Pink walls. Blue doors. Giant clay pots on corners. And those twisty streets? They pulled me in like a maze at a fair. I got lost, a lot. You know what? It felt good.
If you crave the same kind of serendipitous wandering, Lovely Cuba offers inspiration and practical tips to plot—or purposely abandon—your route.
For an even deeper dive into every alley I meandered, follow my full lost-on-purpose Camagüey guide. Travelers looking for a structured list of attractions and logistics might appreciate this comprehensive Camagüey city guide from Goats On The Road.
First steps: bus, bici-taxi, deep breath
I took the Viazul bus and hopped off at the station. A bici-taxi hauled me and my backpack to my casa particular near Plaza del Gallo. The driver laughed when I showed the map. He said, “Forget that. Ask for the next plaza.” He was right.
My host made coffee so strong it stood up on its own. Breakfast was mango, eggs, and warm bread. Simple. Perfect.
The maze that makes sense (kind of)
Here’s the thing. Camagüey looks like a bowl of spaghetti. The streets bend, split, and double back. Folks say it was built that way to confuse pirates. It confused me too. I kept passing the same pink house with the green shutters and a cat in the window. Did I mind? Nope.
I learned a trick: walk plaza to plaza.
- Parque Ignacio Agramonte for shade and the big statue.
- Plaza del Carmen for quiet streets and those clay people sculptures.
- Plaza San Juan de Dios for old bones—cobblestones and a yellow church.
And if hopping between plazas only whets your appetite for more urban adventures, you might enjoy this first-person role-play tour of several other Cuban cities I've tried.
I asked for directions by landmarks, not street names. A woman said, “Go where the tinajón is,” and pointed to a huge clay jar. It worked.
Clay jars and good luck
Tinajones live everywhere in Camagüey. In patios. On corners. In front of doors. People say if you drink from one, you’ll come back. I didn’t drink from it. I just tapped one and made a wish. I’m sappy like that.
Plazas that feel like living rooms
Plaza del Carmen hit me soft. The terracotta statues look like neighbors caught mid-chat. I sat by the sculpture of the two women. A man walked by with bread on a bike. A girl in a blue ribbon waved. Slow, warm moments stick the longest, don’t they?
At San Juan de Dios, I ate ropa vieja at Restaurante 1800. The meat was tender, with peppers and a hint of clove. Rice that didn’t clump. And a flan that tasted like Sunday. I went back the next day. No shame.
Climbing for a view (and a breeze)
I climbed the tower at the cathedral near Parque Agramonte. The stairs were steep, and I was very sweaty. But the view? Roofs like coral and clay. Little courtyards with tinajones peeking out. A man rang a bell and waved. I waved back. Silly, but I felt like a kid.
Art, music, and a happy accident
I found the studio of Martha Jiménez by Plaza del Carmen. Her clay figures live there too. A woman showed me how they shape the clay by hand. It felt humble. Real.
That night, I squeezed into Casa de la Trova Patricio Ballagas. A trio played old songs. The room had fans that clicked like castanets. Couples danced with tiny steps. A man handed me a maraca. I was off beat and smiling like a fool.
Food I actually ate (and loved)
- Ropa vieja and yuca fries at Restaurante 1800
- A guava pastry from a street cart near Plaza del Gallo
- Strong espresso at Café Ciudad by the park
- Two scoops of coconut gelato at La Isabella (yes, I went back for a second scoop)
I also tried a tamal from a lady with a metal pot. It was soft and salty, wrapped in corn husk. I gave thanks with both hands.
Curious about how the rest of the island tastes? I literally ate my way through Cuba, and you can read the messy, tasty story here.
Where I slept
My room had high ceilings and a whirring fan. The window looked onto a patio with—of course—a tinajón. The shower had hot water sometimes, cool water most times. I didn’t fuss. The heat makes you humble.
Getting around without losing your mind
- Walk early, rest at noon, stroll again at sunset.
- Bici-taxis are cheap; agree on the price before you hop in.
- Horse carts roll by too. Slow and kind of fun.
- Wi-Fi works at parks with ETECSA scratch cards. Not fast. Good enough to text “I’m alive.”
Stuck in one of those slow Wi-Fi zones with only a few megabytes to spare? Tap into this handy roundup of the top sites for random chat to discover lightweight platforms where you can swap travel stories, practice Spanish with strangers, or simply pass the time until your next bici-taxi rolls by.
What I loved
- The maze. Getting a little lost felt safe.
- The colors—peach, teal, dusty rose; it’s like a box of chalk.
- The people. A man drew me a map on a napkin. A baker tucked an extra roll in my bag.
- The clay jars. They sound odd, but they feel like old friends.
What bugged me (a bit)
- Midday heat hits hard. Bring water. Bring more water.
- Wi-Fi is patchy. I had to slow down and let go.
- Some streets are dark at night. I stuck to the plazas.
- Mosquitoes loved my ankles. Pack repellent. Trust me.
Tiny tips I’m glad I knew
- Wear sandals you can walk in. Cobblestones don’t care about your toes.
- Keep small bills for tips. A little goes a long way.
- If someone offers to guide you, say yes if you like; tip at the end.
- Learn two words: “buenos días.” It opens doors.
Speaking of meeting friendly locals on the road: if your journey eventually swings through the American South and you find yourself with an evening to spare near Birmingham, Alabama, the curated listings at Homewood escorts can connect solo travelers with vetted companions, turning a layover into a safe, well-planned night out rather than another lonely hotel stay.
One last note, from the heart
I came for the maze and left full of warm bread, music, and clay. Camagüey isn’t loud. It’s not flashy. It’s a slow sip. It lingers. Honestly, I thought I’d check a box and move on. Now I catch myself tracing wavy streets in my head. That tinajón wish? Maybe it worked.
Would I go back? I think I already am—at least a little—every time I close my eyes.
—Kayla