Cigar-Town

Brekkie Esteli, complete with green vege.  Alert the Media!

The dining room of Hotel Los Arcos resembled an infirmary. I kept my morning chiperness in check so as not to be set upon by the sufferers. The story came out in bits and pieces, interrupted by multiple trips to the coffee urn. Zee Germans. Our group had met Zee Germans. It seems that the rules of engagement between our two cigar groups were these: 

1) No Bottle Placed on Any Table May Remain Unopened

2) The Engagement is NOT COMPLETE Until All Opened Bottles Are Emptied. 

Our brave Bozos gave as good as they got, but there was a price to be paid and they were paying it. They had to pay it quickly, because the bus was due to sweep us up at 8:30 in the AM. Hi-Ho my poor beleaguered hearties, slug the Java down!

Do not manipulate the Tortugas! (No Manipular las Tortugas!)

Throughout its existence, Esteli has been a farming and trading town. An isolated village built in an ancient volcanic valley, time moved slowly in Esteli. That all changed with the coming of the Cuban Revolution. As the revolutionaries battled into power, some of the Cuban cigar-makers fled their island home. They took their tobacco seeds with them, hidden in the hems of their clothes, the bottoms of their bags, or in their socks. This Cuban diaspora fanned out across Latin America, searching for the proper soil in which to recreate their beloved tobacco leaves. In the rich, black volcanic soil of Esteli, the Cubans found what they were looking for. They began cultivating Cuban tobacco in the Esteli valley.

It's all about the Leaf. Tobacco, Esteli, Nicaragua.

The Bozos, both living and walking-dead, managed to make it onto the bus and out into the world. Our very first stop was one of the A.J. Fernandez farms. Start with the leaf Baby! We tripped around the greenhouses, saw the tiny tobacco seedlings, baked in the sun along the edge of the fields, ran our fingers along the lush surfaces of the tobacco leaves. For many of us, this was not the first rodeo. We had visited this very farm four years ago. In that time, great gauze nets have sprung up over some of the fields. Shade grown tobacco is becoming an important part of the Esteli crop.

For some folks it may seem that tobacco is just tobacco. It is a plant that folks smoke. And that would be true. But each region, and even each farm in that region, produces tobacco with certain distinct flavors, and strengths. Soil, weather, elevation, and type of seed all make a huge difference in the characteristics of the tobacco. Tobacco is harvested in what are called Primings. Where the leaf comes from on the plant has a huge impact on what the leaf is used for. Seco, the lowest leaves, burn well but have less flavor. Viso, the middle priming, has more flavor and strength than Seco. Ligero, the uppermost leaves, have the most strength and strong flavors, but they burn poorly. There is a lot more to this cigar business than sticking some tobacco leaf in a bunch and twisting it up.

The Pillion

Reduced to the simplest processes, tobacco is turned from green leaf to smoking material in a series of steps. The leaves are harvested in Primings, then tied into 'Hands' of twenty-five leaves each. The hands are then hung in drying barns. When the tobacco hands are sufficiently dried, they have to be fermented to bring out the sugars and oils in the leaves. That process happens in the 'Pillion' which is a very carefully monitored compost heap. The hands of tobacco are rotated in the pillion from top to bottom and inside to outside. The temperature reaches up to 150 Fahrenheit. Too much heat and water and the tobacco molds or burns, too little and it can rot. It is a tricky business and I am making it sound far simpler than it is.

The Divas of Sorting

On its long journey, tobacco leaves are touched by many pairs of hands. The lowest estimate I have heard is three hundred individual folks. These are the hands that harvest, handle, wash, bunch or roll. It is harvested, hung in drying barns, fermented in pillions, rotated in the pillions, washed, shaken, de-veined, sorted, aged, re-sorted, and all of this before it ever sees the production floor. At each step, at each transport, it is carried by hand, washed by hand, sorted by hand. Labor is cheap in Nicaragua and machines take jobs away from people. Even at the loading dock, cartons of finished cigars are loaded into trucks by hand.

The final product nestled in the aging room.

Yes, yes, you say, but enough about the tobacco. How fare the Bozos? Ah, yes, the Bozos and Bozettes filed dutifully through farm and field. Some were eager and chipper at the front, some slow and suffering at the back. The off-gassed ammonia from the curing room brought watery eyes and coughing, but the brave Bozos shouldered on. Okay, in truth, some of them fled from the room like cowardly bunnies. But they were all standing at the end of the day.

We toured high, we toured low, we smoked cigars, we had lunch. By late afternoon our dogs were barking (which translates to sore feet for you civilians).  Dinner concluded, it was time for camaraderie, cribbage, and cigars. For some of the more stubborn Bozos, it was also time for re-engagement with Zee Germans. Those poor rum bottles did not stand a chance.

And I retired to my room before being swept too far into the late-night madness. There was far more merriment to come and all of it at a price. Tomorrow would bring more shenanigans in Cigar-Town and I needed to be ready.