Our driver picked us up early Sunday morning in his ’89 Peugeot for the just over 2-hour drive to Viñales. The road west was 4-lanes, and it would have looked like an American interstate, but it was lined with men, women, and children standing on either side of the road hoping for a ride from a bus that seemed to never come. We sped on down the highway, turning off the paved road to a dirt one, past a farmer with oxen, and stopping in front of a…