Saturday, 7th of the 7th 2007, saw us setting out from Dromineer in the now customary rain. It has to rain as we are setting out, but doesn't last long. Neil Arlidge and friends had headed for Garrykennedy in his narrow boat earlier in the day, so we headed there to join them.
There was no sign of their boat as we neared Garry. Just as we entered the harbour we realised that they were in the old, high-walled harbout. We turned around and headed for there. We managed to get in easily, but feared for our ability to get out again as it was too small to turn in.
The afternoon and evening was warm and sunny. We chatted while the dogs raced around excitedly. Leavy was particularly hyper and enjoyed leaping the large distance up and down to the boat. A certain amount of alcoholic beverage was consumed before we went up to Larkins for a nice meal. The new upholstered seats in the boat are very comfortable and serviceable. Leavy thought they were great to leap on, but they are easy to wipe afterwards.
By the time darkness fell there were 4 sailing boats in the harbour rafted out from the far wall, ourselves, and Neil's narrow-boat. When we got up the following morning there was a Shannon Castle Line cruiser moored at the entrance to the harbour that had joined us at some stage.
Sunday morning was bright and sunny at 7am when Leavy decided we had had enough sleep. The only consolation from our early start was that we did get the best part of the day. I managed to put some linseed oil on the barge pole and b worked away at various bits and pieces. Then it rained, so it was time to set off!
We were home mid afternoon, where Ian was guarding the house.
09/07/2007
17/06/2007
Time to get started
Saturday 16th June and it is our first sail on Knocknagow this year. We had hoped to get started earlier but had problems with replacing a disintegrated oil filter. There was a "eureka" moment on Thursday when Paul, of Shannon Sailing, called to say the problem was fixed. It seemed to good to be true as we were afraid we might have had to replace the engine sooner than we had expected to.
Getting to Dromineer on Saturday was slower than normal as we had to bring up so much equipment for the first sail of the year. We wanted to pump out the holding tank when we got there, and this gave a great excuse to bring Knocknagow near to the car - hence, less carrying long distances.
You have never seen so many big spiders all in one boat.... As we took off the metal protectors from the windows they came at us from all directions. I bravely eliminated as many as I could get, with Ian brushing them away from the outside. I later cleaned the windows as they had made a terrible mess.
It took ages to do the pumping as the various connecting bits weren't connecting. However, we eventually got away at about 5pm. Rain started to fall and things were a bit gloomy, though the engine was making nice sounds and Brian had managed to turn Knocknagow beautifully in the harbour.
By the time we reached the far side of the lake the clouds had cleared and the wind had gone. We had intended to go to Dromaan as we had not been in to the new harbour for some years. However, the suspicious numbers of large cruisers heading that direction made us feel that maybe there was a party going on there. Indeed, this seems to have been the case, so another lively turning was accomplished by Brian and we headed off in the direction of Garrykennedy.
A look through the binoculars seemed to suggest that there would be space on the barge quay in Garrykennedy as most of the boats already there were moored on the finger jetties.
Just as we reached there two young teenagers in a rib waved at us and seemed to be in distress. They didn't have a bow line and it later transpired that it had gone under the boat and got caught in the prop. We lashed the boat alongside and reassured them that all was OK. They were brother and sister. The older one, the brother, had a speaking disorder so was a bit difficult to communicate with, and his sister was quite upset, perhaps being the one feeling the most responsible. They were a lovely pair and it was great to be able to help them. Their parents met us at the jetty, having seen them already alongside us and having come out on their boat to see if they could help too.
Once we were settled I took out the barbecue. It was mouldy, but heated up and cleaned up nicely, so we had a good meal of steak.
It was Leavy's first trip on the boat and she took it all in her stride. She looked as if she was going to jump off through gaps in the netting, but didn't actually go into the water. She was very excited. The other two acted as the older citiaens who knew the score.
It is a lot nicer in the living area without the big table. The upholsterer is coming within the next 10 days to put in leather seats, which should it make it very comfortable in there.
Our return to Dromineer was without incident, and was very quick on the glassy lake. Knocknagow is now tied up again safely, ready for our next visit, which I hope will be soon.
Getting to Dromineer on Saturday was slower than normal as we had to bring up so much equipment for the first sail of the year. We wanted to pump out the holding tank when we got there, and this gave a great excuse to bring Knocknagow near to the car - hence, less carrying long distances.
You have never seen so many big spiders all in one boat.... As we took off the metal protectors from the windows they came at us from all directions. I bravely eliminated as many as I could get, with Ian brushing them away from the outside. I later cleaned the windows as they had made a terrible mess.
It took ages to do the pumping as the various connecting bits weren't connecting. However, we eventually got away at about 5pm. Rain started to fall and things were a bit gloomy, though the engine was making nice sounds and Brian had managed to turn Knocknagow beautifully in the harbour.
By the time we reached the far side of the lake the clouds had cleared and the wind had gone. We had intended to go to Dromaan as we had not been in to the new harbour for some years. However, the suspicious numbers of large cruisers heading that direction made us feel that maybe there was a party going on there. Indeed, this seems to have been the case, so another lively turning was accomplished by Brian and we headed off in the direction of Garrykennedy.
A look through the binoculars seemed to suggest that there would be space on the barge quay in Garrykennedy as most of the boats already there were moored on the finger jetties.
Just as we reached there two young teenagers in a rib waved at us and seemed to be in distress. They didn't have a bow line and it later transpired that it had gone under the boat and got caught in the prop. We lashed the boat alongside and reassured them that all was OK. They were brother and sister. The older one, the brother, had a speaking disorder so was a bit difficult to communicate with, and his sister was quite upset, perhaps being the one feeling the most responsible. They were a lovely pair and it was great to be able to help them. Their parents met us at the jetty, having seen them already alongside us and having come out on their boat to see if they could help too.
Once we were settled I took out the barbecue. It was mouldy, but heated up and cleaned up nicely, so we had a good meal of steak.
It was Leavy's first trip on the boat and she took it all in her stride. She looked as if she was going to jump off through gaps in the netting, but didn't actually go into the water. She was very excited. The other two acted as the older citiaens who knew the score.
It is a lot nicer in the living area without the big table. The upholsterer is coming within the next 10 days to put in leather seats, which should it make it very comfortable in there.
Our return to Dromineer was without incident, and was very quick on the glassy lake. Knocknagow is now tied up again safely, ready for our next visit, which I hope will be soon.
07/01/2007
Havana again
When we reached Havana we got a taxi with a number of other bus passengers to our house. Several streets were blocked off in preparation for the December 2nd celebrations and rows and rows of tanks and armoured cars lined the blocked-off streets (it was going to be a military parade).
Diane and family were as welcoming as ever when we got there. In a way it was quite relaxing to return to our sort-of home. We asked Diane if we could eat there that evening (it was about 5.30 by then) but she hadn't got enough food in so instead we went off to find Trattoria Markos, an Italian restaurant near Hotel Nacional that we'd tried to find before.
Trattoria Markos was quite nice really. It was pretty sparse, as Cuban restaurants generally are, but the food was lovely. We both had pizzas with lots of tasty coriander on top. However, the house wine was disgusting.
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful - we were tired after our horse-riding and travelling, and we'd taken the sun more than a little (I had anyway), so we went to bed early enough (again).
Diane and family were as welcoming as ever when we got there. In a way it was quite relaxing to return to our sort-of home. We asked Diane if we could eat there that evening (it was about 5.30 by then) but she hadn't got enough food in so instead we went off to find Trattoria Markos, an Italian restaurant near Hotel Nacional that we'd tried to find before.
Trattoria Markos was quite nice really. It was pretty sparse, as Cuban restaurants generally are, but the food was lovely. We both had pizzas with lots of tasty coriander on top. However, the house wine was disgusting.
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful - we were tired after our horse-riding and travelling, and we'd taken the sun more than a little (I had anyway), so we went to bed early enough (again).
Horse-riding into the wilderness
The next morning we breakfasted at seven to be ready for our horseriding at eight. We were somewhat dismayed to find a horrid red beetle (or maybe even a cockroach) in our hot milk, particularly since Mum had spotted Bartolo sieving the milk earlier, presumably to remove other nasties which had clambered in overnight. But this is Cuba, so we drank our milk anyway.
The guy who was bringing us horseriding was not an official guide, so the whole enterprise felt distinctly dodgy. We were to follow our guide through town at a distance so nobody would know, for example.
The horses were plodding creatures, described as tranquil but really just lazy. This was fine most of the way, but the problem with drinking coffee for breakfast is that it makes you need to go to the toilet mid-morning, so by the end of our journey I really wished the horse would hurry up.
We got a much better view of the valley on horseback than we did on foot, both because of the additional height and because we travelled so much further. Our guide wasn't particularly verbose which suited us just fine; it's quite tiring straining to understand all the time, and Vinales is all about the view. However, our understanding of Spanish is definitely coming on though it is difficult to find the words to respond in a conversation.
We wandered along between field after field of tobacco, sugar cane and whatever other crops they were growing. There were men irrigating the crops using a hose and a big pump, draining a small pool/lake-type thing.
After a while plodding along, just when our legs were really starting to ache, we stopped in a bamboo grove and tied up the horses (not that they would have wandered off anyway - far too lazy). The guide took us along a path which led to a rushing stream and the mouth of a big cave. The water was really cool, having been underground.
Entrance to cave
We thought we were just being shown this rather spectacular entrance to the cave when a local farmer appeared carrying several torches. We were led into the cave itself, led by our two guides with their torches.
Inside, the cave was quite tall and wide, with loads of stagnant pools which we had to leap over. Some of the bigger pools had wooden planks serving as bridges, but both the wood and the rocks were very slippy so the guides had to help us along a bit.
We went quite far into the cave and I must admit I was a little nervous. I had two big fears: snakes or crocodiles leaping out of the water and attacking us, and being attacked by the two men and abandoned in the dark.
But of course both those fears were somewhat irrational, and nothing bad happened to us. Eventually we reached a fast-flowing underground river and turned around to go back, but not before the guides did the auld Ailwee Caves trick and turned off the torches. I think our guide felt a little foolish when his torch wouldn't turn back on again (it did start working later).
I think we were both glad we went to the Cueva del Indio before this cave - other way around and we would have found the Cueva del Indio very disappointing.
After the cave we climbed back aboard the horses and went traipsing along again. Our next port of call was a little wooden shack thing with piglets running around in the sugarcane outside. This is where our guide's friend Chico was.
'loco' Chico (standing) and our guide (sitting)
This was one of my favourite events of the holiday, although it wasn't particularly fun as such (the language barrier was a little uncomfortable). Chico, who our guide kept describing as 'loco', was sitting in his little hut with a cowboy hat and jeans, chopping the tops off coconuts with his machete. Then he poured in rum, sugar and assorted fruit, despite it only being 10am. Then he and Mr Guide started rolling cigars and chopping the tops off with the machete. There was a Dutch (?) couple there when we arrived, who were enjoying the rum and cigars, then a German couple arrived, complete with antibacterial hand spray. They didn't want rum or cigars, and looked really quite uncomfortable.
There's not much more to say about the horse journey - we headed back to Vinales through similarly beautiful scenery but I was mostly distracted by needing to pee.
We got back to the house, showered and had a sandwich (and more delicious orange juice), then our host insisted on walking us to the bus, carrying Mum's bag on his back.
The Viazul bus to Havana wasn't anywhere near as nice as the one to Trinidad but it got us there.
The guy who was bringing us horseriding was not an official guide, so the whole enterprise felt distinctly dodgy. We were to follow our guide through town at a distance so nobody would know, for example.
The horses were plodding creatures, described as tranquil but really just lazy. This was fine most of the way, but the problem with drinking coffee for breakfast is that it makes you need to go to the toilet mid-morning, so by the end of our journey I really wished the horse would hurry up.
We got a much better view of the valley on horseback than we did on foot, both because of the additional height and because we travelled so much further. Our guide wasn't particularly verbose which suited us just fine; it's quite tiring straining to understand all the time, and Vinales is all about the view. However, our understanding of Spanish is definitely coming on though it is difficult to find the words to respond in a conversation.
We wandered along between field after field of tobacco, sugar cane and whatever other crops they were growing. There were men irrigating the crops using a hose and a big pump, draining a small pool/lake-type thing.
After a while plodding along, just when our legs were really starting to ache, we stopped in a bamboo grove and tied up the horses (not that they would have wandered off anyway - far too lazy). The guide took us along a path which led to a rushing stream and the mouth of a big cave. The water was really cool, having been underground.
Entrance to cave
We thought we were just being shown this rather spectacular entrance to the cave when a local farmer appeared carrying several torches. We were led into the cave itself, led by our two guides with their torches.
Inside, the cave was quite tall and wide, with loads of stagnant pools which we had to leap over. Some of the bigger pools had wooden planks serving as bridges, but both the wood and the rocks were very slippy so the guides had to help us along a bit.
We went quite far into the cave and I must admit I was a little nervous. I had two big fears: snakes or crocodiles leaping out of the water and attacking us, and being attacked by the two men and abandoned in the dark.
But of course both those fears were somewhat irrational, and nothing bad happened to us. Eventually we reached a fast-flowing underground river and turned around to go back, but not before the guides did the auld Ailwee Caves trick and turned off the torches. I think our guide felt a little foolish when his torch wouldn't turn back on again (it did start working later).
I think we were both glad we went to the Cueva del Indio before this cave - other way around and we would have found the Cueva del Indio very disappointing.
After the cave we climbed back aboard the horses and went traipsing along again. Our next port of call was a little wooden shack thing with piglets running around in the sugarcane outside. This is where our guide's friend Chico was.
'loco' Chico (standing) and our guide (sitting)
This was one of my favourite events of the holiday, although it wasn't particularly fun as such (the language barrier was a little uncomfortable). Chico, who our guide kept describing as 'loco', was sitting in his little hut with a cowboy hat and jeans, chopping the tops off coconuts with his machete. Then he poured in rum, sugar and assorted fruit, despite it only being 10am. Then he and Mr Guide started rolling cigars and chopping the tops off with the machete. There was a Dutch (?) couple there when we arrived, who were enjoying the rum and cigars, then a German couple arrived, complete with antibacterial hand spray. They didn't want rum or cigars, and looked really quite uncomfortable.
There's not much more to say about the horse journey - we headed back to Vinales through similarly beautiful scenery but I was mostly distracted by needing to pee.
We got back to the house, showered and had a sandwich (and more delicious orange juice), then our host insisted on walking us to the bus, carrying Mum's bag on his back.
The Viazul bus to Havana wasn't anywhere near as nice as the one to Trinidad but it got us there.
06/01/2007
Walking around the mogotes
We breakfasted at 8am the next morning so we'd be ready for our walk at 9. The lovely Dutch people ate with us again. They've hired a car and are driving around Cuba. Apparently there's only one radio station they can pick up strongly in their car and you'll never guess what it is! I was expecting them to say something equivalent to Capitol 'Gold', but it's WORSE! It's a station playing karaoke tracks! Oh this is one of the funniest things I've heard in my whole time in Cuba.
After our breakfast (I wonder do Cubans ever get bored of cafe con leche, bread, fruit salad and omelette?) we wandered down to the travel agency we'd booked our hike with. Our guide was called Sandra (a name which could be from any country, as she repeatedly assured us), and there were 14 of us in the walking group, our numbers swelled by a tour group of English and Australians. They were all rather nice; it seemed to be a budget tour so there were lots of student types and back-packers.
We learnt so many interesting things on our walk. We started by visiting a farm which grows tobacco. Farms are given a tobacco quota which they must reach each year. At the farm we visited this meant growing and transplanting 100,000 plants by hand each year (tobacco seeds are impossibly tiny so you just scatter a load and when they grow a little you plant them out in straight lines).
Once the tobacco has grown, it must be harvested, also by hand. The leaves must be harvested layer by layer because they're used for different things, for example one is filler, another is the outer layer. And you can pick the leaves in two ways, either by slicing the stalk (quicker) or by plucking each leaf individually (worth more money). Then the leaves must be hung up to dry. If they've been harvested in pairs by slicing the stalk they hang nice and simply on the poles, but if they've been plucked individually they have to be threaded onto a long piece of string by the stalk. Mrs tourguide told us that from seed to cigar, tobacco undergoes 138 processes. So I kind of understand why they're so expensive.
Last season's tobacco drying
There were mangy dogs following us all the way, so we also discovered that once the local dog population gets out of control they round them up and either poison them or feed them to the crocodiles in the local crocodile farm. I normally love dogs, but in this case I pity the crocodiles.
We clambered part of the way up one of the mogotes and through a cave short enough not to need artificial light to get to the other side. At the bottom we rested and recuperated with a spot of fruit at a fruit farm where we bought some fresh coffee beans, beautifully packaged in a 500ml plastic water bottle. They smell delicious.
The other people in the group were interesting too. I got chatting to an Australian girl the same age as me who wants to be a TV or radio producer. She's just got a job with ABC so she's on her way. It was nice chatting to someone with similar interests to me. There was also an Australian who'd been to the recent International Rules match in Galway, so we talked about the violence there; and French and Canadian couples who were also lovely.
At the end of our hike the mangiest dog killed a chicken and left it on the roadside. We were rather disgusted to see a man deciding whether to eat it.
After our hike we headed back to our house for lunch (ham and cheese toasted sandwich with more freshly squeezed orange juice). We lazed in our rocking chairs a little while before finally motivating ourselves to get out of our seats and do something.
We hung around the village square for a while trying to motivate ourselves to do something touristy. We'd missed the green bus (5CUC for a day pass taking you to all the local attractions) by a few seconds and it would be about an hour before it appeared again, so we decided to take a taxi to the Cueva del India.
The Cueva del India is one of the main tour bus stops in the region, something clearly reflected in the 5CUC entry price. The cave was rediscovered in the 1920s and became known as the Cueva del India despite there being no evidence to suggest that it was ever more than a temporary resting place for Indians.
Entrance to the cave
The cave is impressively large, much taller and wider than the Ailwee Caves at home. Unfortunately as we entered the cave I suddenly thought of how frequently the power goes off in Cuba, and how terrifying it would be to be stuck in a pitch-black cave. I kindly shared this thought with Mum, so we both scurried through the cave rather quicker than we otherwise would have done.
About half way through the cave you come to a pool/river type thing and you complete the journey by boat. It's quite nice to get to do that really, but the whole trip only took about twenty minutes, which was a little disappointing.
I was very disorientated when we left the cave - the bus park was there but none of the other bits like the restaurant or entrance or anything. It took us a few minutes to realise that there were two bus parks and that the buses moved to this one from the one around the corner once they'd dropped off their passengers.
There were no taxis lurking around so we climbed aboard the green bus which arrived shortly. We'd half considered going to the Hotel La Ermita for a swim but we really were feeling lazy so instead we hung around the town a little more and checked our emails.
That evening we returned to the porch for more sitting. A German staying with our next-door neighbour called over for a chat. He had the most hilarious accent, right out of 'Allo 'Allo, so let's refer to him as Hans. He was trying to persuade us to do the six-hour hike on Tuesday, but since we were leaving at 2pm we didn't have time. So we chatted about Havana instead. He was very passionate about all sorts of things. He felt Paseo, in Centro Havana, was "ze prime example of how ze communism cannot exist".
Much entertained by our chat with Hans, we returned to our reading and writing. But lo! There was another power cut.
Our neighbour (who Hans had informed us was an active member of the whatever Cuba's political party is called) had two other guests who were also sitting on their porch in rocking chairs, and I felt they had the right approach to power cuts. They had lit a candle and were listening to jazz (possibly Stefan Grappelli) while smoking cigars. Lovely.
When the power returned (yes! In Vinales, city of wonders, power does return) we struck up a conversation with these guys and found they were American, no less. They'd entered Cuba through Mexico as proper outlaws should. It was fascinating talking to them, and realising that the American ban on travel to Cuba really is only America's, that Cuba is quite happy to allow Americans to enter. In fact, this is why your passport is not stamped to say you've been to Cuba. Instead, you must carry your stamped tourist visa with your passport while in Cuba. Clever, really: now we won't feel nervous about travelling to America with a Cuban stamp in our passports.
Obviously these guys, having decided to break the law (maximum fines: Helms-Burton Act $50,000, Trading with the Enemy Act $250,000), are quite pro-Cuba and not into the closed mindset of the Bush administration. But maybe the return of the Democrats and the impending death of Castro will change things.
Anyway, how very odd it must be travelling and not being able to bring back any evidence of your visit: no photos beside recognisable monuments, no souvenirs, no postcards, even having to leave your ticket stubs in Mexico. Fascinating to think people are prevented from going where they like in the "land of the free".
We had dinner with our new companions, the Dutch couple having left that morning. The new guys were Spanish so our host liked them and fed them lobster. We just had fish. But they were very nice: one spoke reasonable English and the other understood but didn't speak much. He had the greatest laugh, he laughed as if everything was the funniest thing in the world, a real belly laugh. You couldn't help but like him. Our host called him a girl for wanting milk with his coffee so he added some rum, which also entertained me.
Vinales not being known for its nightlife, we retired to bed early for a change.
After our breakfast (I wonder do Cubans ever get bored of cafe con leche, bread, fruit salad and omelette?) we wandered down to the travel agency we'd booked our hike with. Our guide was called Sandra (a name which could be from any country, as she repeatedly assured us), and there were 14 of us in the walking group, our numbers swelled by a tour group of English and Australians. They were all rather nice; it seemed to be a budget tour so there were lots of student types and back-packers.
We learnt so many interesting things on our walk. We started by visiting a farm which grows tobacco. Farms are given a tobacco quota which they must reach each year. At the farm we visited this meant growing and transplanting 100,000 plants by hand each year (tobacco seeds are impossibly tiny so you just scatter a load and when they grow a little you plant them out in straight lines).
Once the tobacco has grown, it must be harvested, also by hand. The leaves must be harvested layer by layer because they're used for different things, for example one is filler, another is the outer layer. And you can pick the leaves in two ways, either by slicing the stalk (quicker) or by plucking each leaf individually (worth more money). Then the leaves must be hung up to dry. If they've been harvested in pairs by slicing the stalk they hang nice and simply on the poles, but if they've been plucked individually they have to be threaded onto a long piece of string by the stalk. Mrs tourguide told us that from seed to cigar, tobacco undergoes 138 processes. So I kind of understand why they're so expensive.
Last season's tobacco drying
There were mangy dogs following us all the way, so we also discovered that once the local dog population gets out of control they round them up and either poison them or feed them to the crocodiles in the local crocodile farm. I normally love dogs, but in this case I pity the crocodiles.
We clambered part of the way up one of the mogotes and through a cave short enough not to need artificial light to get to the other side. At the bottom we rested and recuperated with a spot of fruit at a fruit farm where we bought some fresh coffee beans, beautifully packaged in a 500ml plastic water bottle. They smell delicious.
The other people in the group were interesting too. I got chatting to an Australian girl the same age as me who wants to be a TV or radio producer. She's just got a job with ABC so she's on her way. It was nice chatting to someone with similar interests to me. There was also an Australian who'd been to the recent International Rules match in Galway, so we talked about the violence there; and French and Canadian couples who were also lovely.
At the end of our hike the mangiest dog killed a chicken and left it on the roadside. We were rather disgusted to see a man deciding whether to eat it.
After our hike we headed back to our house for lunch (ham and cheese toasted sandwich with more freshly squeezed orange juice). We lazed in our rocking chairs a little while before finally motivating ourselves to get out of our seats and do something.
We hung around the village square for a while trying to motivate ourselves to do something touristy. We'd missed the green bus (5CUC for a day pass taking you to all the local attractions) by a few seconds and it would be about an hour before it appeared again, so we decided to take a taxi to the Cueva del India.
The Cueva del India is one of the main tour bus stops in the region, something clearly reflected in the 5CUC entry price. The cave was rediscovered in the 1920s and became known as the Cueva del India despite there being no evidence to suggest that it was ever more than a temporary resting place for Indians.
Entrance to the cave
The cave is impressively large, much taller and wider than the Ailwee Caves at home. Unfortunately as we entered the cave I suddenly thought of how frequently the power goes off in Cuba, and how terrifying it would be to be stuck in a pitch-black cave. I kindly shared this thought with Mum, so we both scurried through the cave rather quicker than we otherwise would have done.
About half way through the cave you come to a pool/river type thing and you complete the journey by boat. It's quite nice to get to do that really, but the whole trip only took about twenty minutes, which was a little disappointing.
I was very disorientated when we left the cave - the bus park was there but none of the other bits like the restaurant or entrance or anything. It took us a few minutes to realise that there were two bus parks and that the buses moved to this one from the one around the corner once they'd dropped off their passengers.
There were no taxis lurking around so we climbed aboard the green bus which arrived shortly. We'd half considered going to the Hotel La Ermita for a swim but we really were feeling lazy so instead we hung around the town a little more and checked our emails.
That evening we returned to the porch for more sitting. A German staying with our next-door neighbour called over for a chat. He had the most hilarious accent, right out of 'Allo 'Allo, so let's refer to him as Hans. He was trying to persuade us to do the six-hour hike on Tuesday, but since we were leaving at 2pm we didn't have time. So we chatted about Havana instead. He was very passionate about all sorts of things. He felt Paseo, in Centro Havana, was "ze prime example of how ze communism cannot exist".
Much entertained by our chat with Hans, we returned to our reading and writing. But lo! There was another power cut.
Our neighbour (who Hans had informed us was an active member of the whatever Cuba's political party is called) had two other guests who were also sitting on their porch in rocking chairs, and I felt they had the right approach to power cuts. They had lit a candle and were listening to jazz (possibly Stefan Grappelli) while smoking cigars. Lovely.
When the power returned (yes! In Vinales, city of wonders, power does return) we struck up a conversation with these guys and found they were American, no less. They'd entered Cuba through Mexico as proper outlaws should. It was fascinating talking to them, and realising that the American ban on travel to Cuba really is only America's, that Cuba is quite happy to allow Americans to enter. In fact, this is why your passport is not stamped to say you've been to Cuba. Instead, you must carry your stamped tourist visa with your passport while in Cuba. Clever, really: now we won't feel nervous about travelling to America with a Cuban stamp in our passports.
Obviously these guys, having decided to break the law (maximum fines: Helms-Burton Act $50,000, Trading with the Enemy Act $250,000), are quite pro-Cuba and not into the closed mindset of the Bush administration. But maybe the return of the Democrats and the impending death of Castro will change things.
Anyway, how very odd it must be travelling and not being able to bring back any evidence of your visit: no photos beside recognisable monuments, no souvenirs, no postcards, even having to leave your ticket stubs in Mexico. Fascinating to think people are prevented from going where they like in the "land of the free".
We had dinner with our new companions, the Dutch couple having left that morning. The new guys were Spanish so our host liked them and fed them lobster. We just had fish. But they were very nice: one spoke reasonable English and the other understood but didn't speak much. He had the greatest laugh, he laughed as if everything was the funniest thing in the world, a real belly laugh. You couldn't help but like him. Our host called him a girl for wanting milk with his coffee so he added some rum, which also entertained me.
Vinales not being known for its nightlife, we retired to bed early for a change.
An evening in Vinales
We spent the rest of the afternoon just hanging around Vinales - having a hasty mojito in the bar, sitting in the square and strolling up and down the main street.
Propoganda appeared even on lamp-posts
Vinales is in Pinar del Rio, a region based around farming. The best tobacco in Cuba comes from Pinar del Rio, but locals are the butt of lots of aren't-they-stupid jokes around Cuba.
The region of Vinales is stunning, with big hills called mogotes. They're made of limestone, with very steep sides, and are apparently similar to the hills of Quilin in southern China. Our casa has lovely rocking chairs on the front porch where we can sit and gaze at the hills, so that's precisely what we did.
For the first time, we found ourselves sharing our casa with other guests. We met our two Dutch companions over dinner and had a lengthy chat with them about everything: politics, hustlers, intellectual property law, phone notes.... it was nice to find other people who'd found the hustlers exhausting, and they really had been targetted. At one point they went for a guided walk and found themselves trapped on an island with their guide and three others demanding money and the guy's shoes and shirt before they'd call a boat to pick them up! Not so nice.
We ended the evening by upsetting our host by choosing an 8CUC walking tour run by and English-speaking guide over the 5CUC Spanish tour he was offering. When in Cuba, speak Spanish was his argument, but I'm not sure it was an entirely rational one. Funny man, really - he didn't seem to really take to us at all during our stay. Never mind, he struck me as a chauvinist anyway.
Propoganda appeared even on lamp-posts
Vinales is in Pinar del Rio, a region based around farming. The best tobacco in Cuba comes from Pinar del Rio, but locals are the butt of lots of aren't-they-stupid jokes around Cuba.
The region of Vinales is stunning, with big hills called mogotes. They're made of limestone, with very steep sides, and are apparently similar to the hills of Quilin in southern China. Our casa has lovely rocking chairs on the front porch where we can sit and gaze at the hills, so that's precisely what we did.
For the first time, we found ourselves sharing our casa with other guests. We met our two Dutch companions over dinner and had a lengthy chat with them about everything: politics, hustlers, intellectual property law, phone notes.... it was nice to find other people who'd found the hustlers exhausting, and they really had been targetted. At one point they went for a guided walk and found themselves trapped on an island with their guide and three others demanding money and the guy's shoes and shirt before they'd call a boat to pick them up! Not so nice.
We ended the evening by upsetting our host by choosing an 8CUC walking tour run by and English-speaking guide over the 5CUC Spanish tour he was offering. When in Cuba, speak Spanish was his argument, but I'm not sure it was an entirely rational one. Funny man, really - he didn't seem to really take to us at all during our stay. Never mind, he struck me as a chauvinist anyway.
Off to Vinales, and a botanic garden
Excitingly, there was electricity when we woke up this morning. Trinidad is full of wonders. We had our breakfast (I had an omelette like the well-behaved guest I am), packed and waited for our transport to Vinales to arrive.
We had decided to travel on a Viazul mini-bus sold to us in the Cubanatur office. This mini-bus was to avoid Havana completely, taking us directly to Vinales in approximately 6 hours (standard transport would take nine hours). Sounded good.
But the mini-bus was more MPV than mini-bus and I was crammed into a seat really only big enough for two, with two Germans. There were three other Germans on the bus too, one of whom being the lady dancing with her knees in Casa de la Trova the night before. One of them, an exceptionally loud and annoying lady who chain-smoked rudely all the way, was hogging two seats in the front so she could flirt with the driver.
The journey was very hot and cramped, and we were rather surprised (though not displeased) to be turfed out on the outskirts of Havana so the Germans could be taken into Havana and we could be taken to Vinales by taxi. So that rather unmemorable journey took up the first half of the day, getting us to Vinales around 2.30. The last few miles were not much fun, with massive potholes on both sides of the road and lots of very sharp turns.
Vinales is lovely, and our casa is very comfortable. As soon as we arrived we were presented with freshly-squeezed orange juice, which was very welcome.
It's always hard to know what to do on the first afternoon you arrive somewhere. It starts getting dark shortly after five so there's not a lot of time if you haven't arrived until 2.30.
View from our Casa
On this particular afternoon we decided to go to the Jardin de Caridad, a very bizarre botanical garden on the edge of the town. It's bacically some family's garden and is far from the preened, well laid-out and clearly labelled gardens you'd get at home. Instead, it's a chaotic muddle of plants with dolls' heads on sticks, beer can trees and business card trees mixed in amongst the more standard fare.
But despite the haphazard nature of the garden, it's rather captivating. We were quite fortunate to arrive at the same time as a group of four Danish youths with a Cuban chaperone/guide (her precise role never really became apparent). As Danish is a bit of a niche language, she was communicating with them in English. We were given a guided tour of the garden by one of the guys who lives there, and she translated the whole lot. Most excellent indeed.
We got to see all sorts of fruit trees such as mango, pineapple, banana, coffee, cocoa and a whole load of foreign fruit I didn't really recognise. And there were hens running around and VULTURES in the trees. Wow!
The tour finished with a chance to sample all the delicious fruit they grow there. The pineapple may well have been the best I've tasted ever.
I should say, by the way, that the inside of the house (from the glimpse I caught) was just as eclectic as the garden, with pictures from magazines covering every square inch of the walls. I think I might turn out like those old ladies.
We had decided to travel on a Viazul mini-bus sold to us in the Cubanatur office. This mini-bus was to avoid Havana completely, taking us directly to Vinales in approximately 6 hours (standard transport would take nine hours). Sounded good.
But the mini-bus was more MPV than mini-bus and I was crammed into a seat really only big enough for two, with two Germans. There were three other Germans on the bus too, one of whom being the lady dancing with her knees in Casa de la Trova the night before. One of them, an exceptionally loud and annoying lady who chain-smoked rudely all the way, was hogging two seats in the front so she could flirt with the driver.
The journey was very hot and cramped, and we were rather surprised (though not displeased) to be turfed out on the outskirts of Havana so the Germans could be taken into Havana and we could be taken to Vinales by taxi. So that rather unmemorable journey took up the first half of the day, getting us to Vinales around 2.30. The last few miles were not much fun, with massive potholes on both sides of the road and lots of very sharp turns.
Vinales is lovely, and our casa is very comfortable. As soon as we arrived we were presented with freshly-squeezed orange juice, which was very welcome.
It's always hard to know what to do on the first afternoon you arrive somewhere. It starts getting dark shortly after five so there's not a lot of time if you haven't arrived until 2.30.
View from our Casa
On this particular afternoon we decided to go to the Jardin de Caridad, a very bizarre botanical garden on the edge of the town. It's bacically some family's garden and is far from the preened, well laid-out and clearly labelled gardens you'd get at home. Instead, it's a chaotic muddle of plants with dolls' heads on sticks, beer can trees and business card trees mixed in amongst the more standard fare.
But despite the haphazard nature of the garden, it's rather captivating. We were quite fortunate to arrive at the same time as a group of four Danish youths with a Cuban chaperone/guide (her precise role never really became apparent). As Danish is a bit of a niche language, she was communicating with them in English. We were given a guided tour of the garden by one of the guys who lives there, and she translated the whole lot. Most excellent indeed.
We got to see all sorts of fruit trees such as mango, pineapple, banana, coffee, cocoa and a whole load of foreign fruit I didn't really recognise. And there were hens running around and VULTURES in the trees. Wow!
The tour finished with a chance to sample all the delicious fruit they grow there. The pineapple may well have been the best I've tasted ever.
I should say, by the way, that the inside of the house (from the glimpse I caught) was just as eclectic as the garden, with pictures from magazines covering every square inch of the walls. I think I might turn out like those old ladies.
29/12/2006
Casa de la Trova
For once the electricity was functioning just fine in Trinidad so we had nice cleansing hot showers when we got back to the casa. We pretty much just hung around there until dinner, reading our books and playing with Linda.
For dinner (at the casa) we chose lobster on the recommendation of the Welshies, who said it was a local speciality. It was so delicious. I don't think I've ever had lobster as a complete dish before, just as part of other things like chowder. It's a rather expcensive thing to develop a taste for though....I think our hostess lady was upset that I couldn't finish it. Better have an omelette in the morning to placate her.
We headed to Casa de la Trova (the right one this time) for the evening. The first band was great, with an exceptional trumpet player so we bought a CD again. But the second was nothing special so I entertained myself by watching the tourists dancing. The women were generally not great, dancing from their knees instead of their hips, but the men were mostly quite good. The best pair looked Cuban and the man really was a good dancer, but he was so caught up in how great he was that his partner seemed like an after-thought.
We managed to stay up till a rather daring 10.30 this time, then collapsed into bed to sleep.
For dinner (at the casa) we chose lobster on the recommendation of the Welshies, who said it was a local speciality. It was so delicious. I don't think I've ever had lobster as a complete dish before, just as part of other things like chowder. It's a rather expcensive thing to develop a taste for though....I think our hostess lady was upset that I couldn't finish it. Better have an omelette in the morning to placate her.
We headed to Casa de la Trova (the right one this time) for the evening. The first band was great, with an exceptional trumpet player so we bought a CD again. But the second was nothing special so I entertained myself by watching the tourists dancing. The women were generally not great, dancing from their knees instead of their hips, but the men were mostly quite good. The best pair looked Cuban and the man really was a good dancer, but he was so caught up in how great he was that his partner seemed like an after-thought.
We managed to stay up till a rather daring 10.30 this time, then collapsed into bed to sleep.
Fishies on a coral reef
Right, back to the beach. The snorkelling started rather late but it didn't much matter on a lazy beach day.
We were brought out to the reef on a very plush catamaran. It was funny the way the crowd on the boat split - all the English-speakers lurked at the back where there was some shade while those crazy foreign types sunned themselves on deck.
We got chatting to a couple from Birmingham talking about where we'd been. We mentioned we'd been quite happy to leave Havana after The Great Camera Robbery, which sparked a discussion about the whole incident. In the context of help from embassies I mentioned I was living in Wales and found there were four Welsh boys on board. They're all living in CArdiff now but two of them were originally from Mold and one of them (or maybe two) had lived in Bangor for a short time doing teacher training and living on the road Frodo lives on. Unusually for Cardiff boys they're Welsh speakers and they got so excited about my bilingual SU hoodie.
We reached the reef pretty quickly so we donned our snorkels and flippers (no wet suit needed in the Caribbean) and jumped in.
It took a while to get the hang of snorkelling. I kept getting water in the tube thing so when I breathed in I breathed in salt water - not so nice. It was a bit choppy (well, not considering we were right out in the sea) which made sorting out your equipment a little difficult in the water. Mum's mask seemd to be leaking so she was getting salt water in her eyes - rather stingy. It was incredibly salty, saltier than anything I've swum in before and my lips were tingling severely by the time I got out.
The reef was excellent. It's slightly eerie, the way it looms out of the water, and more than once I was startled by something touching my leg only to find I'd bumped into the reef. There were lots of little fishies, more around the edge than in the centre. I'll have to look them up in Frodo or Chris's fishy books, but there were black and yellow stripey ones and blue ones, none of which look like sharks so that was alright. Someone saw a massive jellyfish with a body the size of your hand and tendril thingies about a metre long, but thankfully I didn't see it and didn't hear how big it was until I was out of the water.
After a while I'd seen what I wanted to see and my lips were stinging way too much, and Mum's eyes were hurting way too much, so we clambered out and sat in the boat again. There were still a few people in the water but quite a few had already climbed out. So we sat there basking in the sunlight instead.
Once everyone was out of the water we sailed around the peninsula to the marina. It took about an hour, with everyone exchanging holiday experiences and the Welshies pretending to be Simon le Bon aboard his yacht for photographs. It was a useful conversation, ranging from what to do in Vinales to buying black market cigars from a junetero with a pet alligator. We also chatted to the Welshies (when they'd finished posing) about rugby and anti-English sentiment in Wales and Ireland on sporting occasions. All very enjoyable indeed.
It was about four o'clock (or later?) by the time we berthed so we decided to head back to Trinidad. We shared a taxi with the Brummies, who had just come from Vinales, so we picked up some more useful tips there.
Our taxi driver was a bit of a liability, ploughing through hordes of cyclists and pedestrians milling through the streets of Trinidad. I'm not quite sure how they all escaped unscathed.
We were brought out to the reef on a very plush catamaran. It was funny the way the crowd on the boat split - all the English-speakers lurked at the back where there was some shade while those crazy foreign types sunned themselves on deck.
We got chatting to a couple from Birmingham talking about where we'd been. We mentioned we'd been quite happy to leave Havana after The Great Camera Robbery, which sparked a discussion about the whole incident. In the context of help from embassies I mentioned I was living in Wales and found there were four Welsh boys on board. They're all living in CArdiff now but two of them were originally from Mold and one of them (or maybe two) had lived in Bangor for a short time doing teacher training and living on the road Frodo lives on. Unusually for Cardiff boys they're Welsh speakers and they got so excited about my bilingual SU hoodie.
We reached the reef pretty quickly so we donned our snorkels and flippers (no wet suit needed in the Caribbean) and jumped in.
It took a while to get the hang of snorkelling. I kept getting water in the tube thing so when I breathed in I breathed in salt water - not so nice. It was a bit choppy (well, not considering we were right out in the sea) which made sorting out your equipment a little difficult in the water. Mum's mask seemd to be leaking so she was getting salt water in her eyes - rather stingy. It was incredibly salty, saltier than anything I've swum in before and my lips were tingling severely by the time I got out.
The reef was excellent. It's slightly eerie, the way it looms out of the water, and more than once I was startled by something touching my leg only to find I'd bumped into the reef. There were lots of little fishies, more around the edge than in the centre. I'll have to look them up in Frodo or Chris's fishy books, but there were black and yellow stripey ones and blue ones, none of which look like sharks so that was alright. Someone saw a massive jellyfish with a body the size of your hand and tendril thingies about a metre long, but thankfully I didn't see it and didn't hear how big it was until I was out of the water.
After a while I'd seen what I wanted to see and my lips were stinging way too much, and Mum's eyes were hurting way too much, so we clambered out and sat in the boat again. There were still a few people in the water but quite a few had already climbed out. So we sat there basking in the sunlight instead.
Once everyone was out of the water we sailed around the peninsula to the marina. It took about an hour, with everyone exchanging holiday experiences and the Welshies pretending to be Simon le Bon aboard his yacht for photographs. It was a useful conversation, ranging from what to do in Vinales to buying black market cigars from a junetero with a pet alligator. We also chatted to the Welshies (when they'd finished posing) about rugby and anti-English sentiment in Wales and Ireland on sporting occasions. All very enjoyable indeed.
It was about four o'clock (or later?) by the time we berthed so we decided to head back to Trinidad. We shared a taxi with the Brummies, who had just come from Vinales, so we picked up some more useful tips there.
Our taxi driver was a bit of a liability, ploughing through hordes of cyclists and pedestrians milling through the streets of Trinidad. I'm not quite sure how they all escaped unscathed.
Playa Ancon
Saturday was a good day.
The electricity must have come back on overnight because there it was in the morning. We finally got to wash the salt and sand out of our hair and felt much better for it. But during breakfast (when we offended our hosts by declining their offer of omelettes) the power went off again. Obviously this scuppered our plans to check our emails in Trinidad so we headed for the beach.
Our hostess had rung a taxi company and had been quoted 3CUC each way to Playa Ancon, whereas we had been charged 8 each way the day before. Armed with this information we managed to reduce the price to 6CUC. Peeved, the taxi driver switched on the meter, which showed 5.90 when we arrived at Playa Ancon. Spot on.
Breaking our trend of going to the beach on windy, cloudy days, Saturday was exceptionally hot with clear blue skies in all directions. The beach felt properly Caribbean, with us hiding from the sun under one of those umbrella-shaped shelters made from palm fronds. It was like a postcard. I think it's probably the first time I've been to the beach and not felt the slightest bit cold all day. We wore factor 45 suncream but still came home with a colour. The sea was perfect, so refreshing I could have stayed in there all day.
When we arrived we went and checked our e-mails in the Ancon hotel. I was chuffed to find several, lovely e-mails which put me in a good mood straight away.
After replying to e-mails we lazed on the beach for the morning, booking ourselves in for snorkelling at 1pm on the nearby coral reef. We swam about once an hour to cool ourselves down, nipping into the Ancon now and then to use their toilets. I was rather upset, however, to be effectively refused entrance after returning my lunch plate to a nearby cafe. As I approached the hotel I could see the security guard cutting across towards me, so I strolled confidently towards the shop (which they're more than happy for non-residents to use, naturally).
A strange floor in the hotel
I hoped to lurk in there for a while, then make a break for the toilets, but the shop was closed, and as I walked away (hoping at least to go out the exit near the toilets) the security guard got an English-speaking member of staff to ask me what I was doing. I said I was just hoping to have a look in the shop but that it was closed. He said I should come back in 15 minutes when the attendants had finished their lunch, so I said okay and started to walk towards my favoured exit, but they wouldn't let me go that way! I had to leave by the closest exit, and I was watched all the way. How very rude. You'd think I was a common crook stuffing spoons into my pockets. Not even allowed to surreptitiously use the toilets! You'd think they'd turn a blind eye. It's not as though I was going to poo all over the floor, and I'd even brought my own toilet roll! Fascists.
Which reminds me (this is jumping ahead), we passed a sign on the way to Vinales saying something like NO POR FASCISMO, and in the 'o' was a picture of Bush with a Hitler moustache. The German guy next to me thought it was hilarious and started making odd sounds at me with his finger over his lip. Err, yes. Bloody German sense of humour!
The electricity must have come back on overnight because there it was in the morning. We finally got to wash the salt and sand out of our hair and felt much better for it. But during breakfast (when we offended our hosts by declining their offer of omelettes) the power went off again. Obviously this scuppered our plans to check our emails in Trinidad so we headed for the beach.
Our hostess had rung a taxi company and had been quoted 3CUC each way to Playa Ancon, whereas we had been charged 8 each way the day before. Armed with this information we managed to reduce the price to 6CUC. Peeved, the taxi driver switched on the meter, which showed 5.90 when we arrived at Playa Ancon. Spot on.
Breaking our trend of going to the beach on windy, cloudy days, Saturday was exceptionally hot with clear blue skies in all directions. The beach felt properly Caribbean, with us hiding from the sun under one of those umbrella-shaped shelters made from palm fronds. It was like a postcard. I think it's probably the first time I've been to the beach and not felt the slightest bit cold all day. We wore factor 45 suncream but still came home with a colour. The sea was perfect, so refreshing I could have stayed in there all day.
When we arrived we went and checked our e-mails in the Ancon hotel. I was chuffed to find several, lovely e-mails which put me in a good mood straight away.
After replying to e-mails we lazed on the beach for the morning, booking ourselves in for snorkelling at 1pm on the nearby coral reef. We swam about once an hour to cool ourselves down, nipping into the Ancon now and then to use their toilets. I was rather upset, however, to be effectively refused entrance after returning my lunch plate to a nearby cafe. As I approached the hotel I could see the security guard cutting across towards me, so I strolled confidently towards the shop (which they're more than happy for non-residents to use, naturally).
A strange floor in the hotel
I hoped to lurk in there for a while, then make a break for the toilets, but the shop was closed, and as I walked away (hoping at least to go out the exit near the toilets) the security guard got an English-speaking member of staff to ask me what I was doing. I said I was just hoping to have a look in the shop but that it was closed. He said I should come back in 15 minutes when the attendants had finished their lunch, so I said okay and started to walk towards my favoured exit, but they wouldn't let me go that way! I had to leave by the closest exit, and I was watched all the way. How very rude. You'd think I was a common crook stuffing spoons into my pockets. Not even allowed to surreptitiously use the toilets! You'd think they'd turn a blind eye. It's not as though I was going to poo all over the floor, and I'd even brought my own toilet roll! Fascists.
Which reminds me (this is jumping ahead), we passed a sign on the way to Vinales saying something like NO POR FASCISMO, and in the 'o' was a picture of Bush with a Hitler moustache. The German guy next to me thought it was hilarious and started making odd sounds at me with his finger over his lip. Err, yes. Bloody German sense of humour!
Exploring Trinidad, and a power cut
For once we weren't in a rush to get up so lazed in bed until a slovenly 9 o'clock (gracious!). After the usual breakfast (milky coffee, a plate of fruit, an omelette and some bread) we went for a wander around town.
We stopped off in the Cubatur office and booked two seats in a Viazul minibus direct from Trinidad to Vinales, door to door! I don't know if it'll be quite as comfy as the coach but it'll be much faster - a journey of six hours instead of nine.
We popped into the church in Plaza Mayor. It has 11 altars, funded by a Benedictine monk who, well, rather liked altars. It's quite nice, but not worth much more than a five minute visit.
Worth a considerably longer visit was the main museum in the Plaza Mayor. Unusually this museum was not about the revolution. Instead it featured immaculately preserved furniture and ornaments from various wealthy local houses. But the pieces fitted so well together that we didn't realise they weren't all from the one house until we read it afterwards in the guidebook.
We were shown around by a really sweet lady who told us which country everything was from and what it was made of. The stuff was from all over the world - England, France, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Bolivia, and of course Cuba. What was a little surprising, though, was that they had Italian rather than Cuban marble (for example). Oh, there was a 1 1/4 ton marble bathtub. There were stunning views of the entire area, from the mountains to the sea, and across the Plaza Mayor. Unusually for a museum house, it felt like a house I would have enjoyed living in. I was impressed that there wasn't a single chip out of any of the items, not even the crystal glasses or the porcelain cabinet.
We also did useful things like withdrawing money in the bank, posting postcards and buying water.
At lunchtime we headed for Playa Ancon, the local resort with the best beach around. I was worried on our way there that it'd be miserable because it was cloudy and windy (again! We're not good at choosing beach days). But the beach is on a peninsula and slopes towards the sea, and down there it was perfectly calm. We set up camp on a couple of sun loungers (2CUC each) and took turns going for a quick swim. The water was that lovely turquoise and the sand was very pale - so typically Carribean.
The water still wasn't bathtub temperature but it was very lovely and completely clear, so no fear of jellyfish. The sea got neck-deep very quickly so there was no faffing around walking for miles to get deep enough to swim. And a man from the hotel served us drinks where we sat. All in all, very pleasant, although I'll have to dock marks for the distance I had to walk to get to the nearest toilet. Playa Ancon, neuf points.
We walked as far as the marina to enquire about snorkelling, but it was all closed up so we'll go back tomorrow to see if they're open then.
It did start getting pretty cold in the afternoon so we weren't too upset to leave when our taxi driver arrived at 4. We'll go back tomorrow, though.
When we got back to Trinidad we planned to check our e-mails but found that there was a power cut. Four hours later there's still a power cut. I haven't been able to have a shower yet so I'm still all salty and sandy. It was alright initially but now it's dark and there's no street lights, which is unnerving me a little. But we've found a restaurant with a generator. Our meal was unexceptional but we've stayed to dring wine, read, and listen to the most wonderful musicians. The lady singing has a very clear, bell-like voice and the man is playing guitar beautifully. We've bought a CD.
We walked home in the still-dark streets (rather unnerving, especially since the torch faded very quickly). The stars were amazingly clear - that was probably the least light pollution I've ever experienced. Trinidad is small and isolated anyway, so when the lights go off there's just no light anymore. We walked part of the way with a friendly Canadian and I felt a little bad when we abandoned him to the darkness on reaching our house.
When we got in Alfredo was feeling chatty so we communicated in broken Spanish talking about Europe, Aeroflot, and religious wars. Lovely, lovely man, but that kind of communication is exhausting so it was good to go to bed.
We stopped off in the Cubatur office and booked two seats in a Viazul minibus direct from Trinidad to Vinales, door to door! I don't know if it'll be quite as comfy as the coach but it'll be much faster - a journey of six hours instead of nine.
We popped into the church in Plaza Mayor. It has 11 altars, funded by a Benedictine monk who, well, rather liked altars. It's quite nice, but not worth much more than a five minute visit.
Worth a considerably longer visit was the main museum in the Plaza Mayor. Unusually this museum was not about the revolution. Instead it featured immaculately preserved furniture and ornaments from various wealthy local houses. But the pieces fitted so well together that we didn't realise they weren't all from the one house until we read it afterwards in the guidebook.
We were shown around by a really sweet lady who told us which country everything was from and what it was made of. The stuff was from all over the world - England, France, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Bolivia, and of course Cuba. What was a little surprising, though, was that they had Italian rather than Cuban marble (for example). Oh, there was a 1 1/4 ton marble bathtub. There were stunning views of the entire area, from the mountains to the sea, and across the Plaza Mayor. Unusually for a museum house, it felt like a house I would have enjoyed living in. I was impressed that there wasn't a single chip out of any of the items, not even the crystal glasses or the porcelain cabinet.
We also did useful things like withdrawing money in the bank, posting postcards and buying water.
At lunchtime we headed for Playa Ancon, the local resort with the best beach around. I was worried on our way there that it'd be miserable because it was cloudy and windy (again! We're not good at choosing beach days). But the beach is on a peninsula and slopes towards the sea, and down there it was perfectly calm. We set up camp on a couple of sun loungers (2CUC each) and took turns going for a quick swim. The water was that lovely turquoise and the sand was very pale - so typically Carribean.
The water still wasn't bathtub temperature but it was very lovely and completely clear, so no fear of jellyfish. The sea got neck-deep very quickly so there was no faffing around walking for miles to get deep enough to swim. And a man from the hotel served us drinks where we sat. All in all, very pleasant, although I'll have to dock marks for the distance I had to walk to get to the nearest toilet. Playa Ancon, neuf points.
We walked as far as the marina to enquire about snorkelling, but it was all closed up so we'll go back tomorrow to see if they're open then.
It did start getting pretty cold in the afternoon so we weren't too upset to leave when our taxi driver arrived at 4. We'll go back tomorrow, though.
When we got back to Trinidad we planned to check our e-mails but found that there was a power cut. Four hours later there's still a power cut. I haven't been able to have a shower yet so I'm still all salty and sandy. It was alright initially but now it's dark and there's no street lights, which is unnerving me a little. But we've found a restaurant with a generator. Our meal was unexceptional but we've stayed to dring wine, read, and listen to the most wonderful musicians. The lady singing has a very clear, bell-like voice and the man is playing guitar beautifully. We've bought a CD.
We walked home in the still-dark streets (rather unnerving, especially since the torch faded very quickly). The stars were amazingly clear - that was probably the least light pollution I've ever experienced. Trinidad is small and isolated anyway, so when the lights go off there's just no light anymore. We walked part of the way with a friendly Canadian and I felt a little bad when we abandoned him to the darkness on reaching our house.
When we got in Alfredo was feeling chatty so we communicated in broken Spanish talking about Europe, Aeroflot, and religious wars. Lovely, lovely man, but that kind of communication is exhausting so it was good to go to bed.
28/12/2006
Trinidad and music
We sat down outside a bar beside the cathedral, halfway up the steps to the Casa de las Musica, and had a mojito, but I was still feeling down. A band started playing, which started cheering me up, then a very jolly black man came around each table acting the clown, which finally did cheer me up. It's hard to stay miserable when someone's grinning so broadly.
There's a lot of tourist shops in Trinidad selling Che t-shirts and books about the revolution, and stalls in the street selling tablecloths embroidered in the traditional Trinidad style. They're rather nice, so we wandered along choosing one. It was funny - as soon as you expressed an interest in buying a tablecloth all the women tried to show you theirs.
Trinidad is quite an impressive town: the central cobbled area is a UNESCO World Heritage site. All the houses are in different pastel shades, and there's a lovely central square (Plaza Mayor), beautifully kept. The church is at the top of the square.
So after the mojitos we headed back to the casa. We'd decided we were going to stay up past 8pm and crack this time zone thing, but to do that I needed to rest first (grumpiness is no fun). So we went back and read and played with Linda for a while. I tried to make my phone send a message, having discovered I could receive messages here, but to no avail. Then I had a little nap (it would have been longer if the people next door hadn't been so noisy) before dinner.
We had shrimps in tomato sauce (a rather odd combination) with rice and the ubiquitous black beans for dinner. The food wasn't up to Harry and Diane's standards but it did the trick.
After dinner we set out to find the Casa del Trova, the music house recommended to us by the guidebook and our hosts. We spent the evening quite happily in a place we thought was it but found later that it wasn't. Ignorance is bliss.
The music house was outdoors, which got a little nippy at times. The warm-up band were good at first, but got increasingly irritating as we got more impatient for the main act. Eventually the act appeared, all the musicians dressed in white. There were 14 musicians and 9 or 10 dancers. I found the dancers mesmerising. I want a big flouncy white skirt to prance aound in like that!
We went to bed around 11, but it took me quite a while to get to sleep. There were all sorts of noises to contend with: the noisy neighbours (who may well be our hosts), Mum snoring and a cricket hiding behind Mum's side table. We removed the cricket (he won't crick no more) and Mum stopped snoring, but the neighbours went on for some time. I did drop off eventually though, and was pleasantly surprised to find no cockerel nearby when I woke in the morning.
There's a lot of tourist shops in Trinidad selling Che t-shirts and books about the revolution, and stalls in the street selling tablecloths embroidered in the traditional Trinidad style. They're rather nice, so we wandered along choosing one. It was funny - as soon as you expressed an interest in buying a tablecloth all the women tried to show you theirs.
Trinidad is quite an impressive town: the central cobbled area is a UNESCO World Heritage site. All the houses are in different pastel shades, and there's a lovely central square (Plaza Mayor), beautifully kept. The church is at the top of the square.
So after the mojitos we headed back to the casa. We'd decided we were going to stay up past 8pm and crack this time zone thing, but to do that I needed to rest first (grumpiness is no fun). So we went back and read and played with Linda for a while. I tried to make my phone send a message, having discovered I could receive messages here, but to no avail. Then I had a little nap (it would have been longer if the people next door hadn't been so noisy) before dinner.
We had shrimps in tomato sauce (a rather odd combination) with rice and the ubiquitous black beans for dinner. The food wasn't up to Harry and Diane's standards but it did the trick.
After dinner we set out to find the Casa del Trova, the music house recommended to us by the guidebook and our hosts. We spent the evening quite happily in a place we thought was it but found later that it wasn't. Ignorance is bliss.
The music house was outdoors, which got a little nippy at times. The warm-up band were good at first, but got increasingly irritating as we got more impatient for the main act. Eventually the act appeared, all the musicians dressed in white. There were 14 musicians and 9 or 10 dancers. I found the dancers mesmerising. I want a big flouncy white skirt to prance aound in like that!
We went to bed around 11, but it took me quite a while to get to sleep. There were all sorts of noises to contend with: the noisy neighbours (who may well be our hosts), Mum snoring and a cricket hiding behind Mum's side table. We removed the cricket (he won't crick no more) and Mum stopped snoring, but the neighbours went on for some time. I did drop off eventually though, and was pleasantly surprised to find no cockerel nearby when I woke in the morning.
Trinidad and new hosts
We got to Trinidad at lunchtime and found our host at the station holding a sign with our names on it. He doesn't speak English but his wife has a few words and speaks good French, so we've managed to communicate.
The casa isn't as plush as the other two we've stayed in, but the hosts are lovely and it's like staying in a family home more than the others. They have an adorable miniature daschund puppy (called Linda) who spends the day scampering around excitedly, then falls asleep a bit like Shelby.
Our room has two double beds, a door which opens onto their courtyard, and a bathroom with a good shower.
Once we'd settled in we set off to explore the town. It was very hot and I was tired and thirsty and I got rather grumpy. The bustle was annoying me, as were the men on the street making their usual sleazy comments. I realised that, while I like seeing other countries, I like being at home more (whether that's Limerick or Newtown or Bangor) with my things around me, with everyone speaking a language I understand.
Oops, there's a "problemo electrico" that has spread throughout the whole town and it's very dark.
The casa isn't as plush as the other two we've stayed in, but the hosts are lovely and it's like staying in a family home more than the others. They have an adorable miniature daschund puppy (called Linda) who spends the day scampering around excitedly, then falls asleep a bit like Shelby.
Our room has two double beds, a door which opens onto their courtyard, and a bathroom with a good shower.
Once we'd settled in we set off to explore the town. It was very hot and I was tired and thirsty and I got rather grumpy. The bustle was annoying me, as were the men on the street making their usual sleazy comments. I realised that, while I like seeing other countries, I like being at home more (whether that's Limerick or Newtown or Bangor) with my things around me, with everyone speaking a language I understand.
Oops, there's a "problemo electrico" that has spread throughout the whole town and it's very dark.
Travelling by Viazul
The next morning we got up at 6am (although I was woken earlier by that damn cockerel - they're only supposed to crow at dawn), had a spot of breakfast and took a taxi to the Viazul bus station.
Viazul is quite clearly aimed at foreigners and thankfully is far less bureaucratic than Astro. I think they try to be as posh as possible (somewhat unnecessarily at times), doing things like checking in your luggage and loading it onto the bus for you.
It was at the luggage check-in that we met our new friend whose name was something like Joey. His accent was Canadian, but he's been living in London for the last 40 years (he's retired). It was lovely to have someone to chat to in English, particularly someone non-threatening like him. He's married to a Spanish lady so speaks good Spanish, and it was interesting comparing experiences with him.
Viazul buses are incredibly comfortable, with lots of legroom and big, soft, comfy seats. The journey to Trinidad was five hours long, stopping only at a cafeteria place for a break and in Cienfuegas to pick up/drop off passengers.
The cafe place must get all its business from the Viazul buses. It had stalls and a gift shop set up to nab all us touristy types, and they were rather enterprisingly charging for the use of the toilet roll at the door, presumably to combat us foreigners simply ignoring the tipping bowl. We did have our loo roll with us so we could have bypassed this scheme but we were nice and co-operated.
Viazul is quite clearly aimed at foreigners and thankfully is far less bureaucratic than Astro. I think they try to be as posh as possible (somewhat unnecessarily at times), doing things like checking in your luggage and loading it onto the bus for you.
It was at the luggage check-in that we met our new friend whose name was something like Joey. His accent was Canadian, but he's been living in London for the last 40 years (he's retired). It was lovely to have someone to chat to in English, particularly someone non-threatening like him. He's married to a Spanish lady so speaks good Spanish, and it was interesting comparing experiences with him.
Viazul buses are incredibly comfortable, with lots of legroom and big, soft, comfy seats. The journey to Trinidad was five hours long, stopping only at a cafeteria place for a break and in Cienfuegas to pick up/drop off passengers.
The cafe place must get all its business from the Viazul buses. It had stalls and a gift shop set up to nab all us touristy types, and they were rather enterprisingly charging for the use of the toilet roll at the door, presumably to combat us foreigners simply ignoring the tipping bowl. We did have our loo roll with us so we could have bypassed this scheme but we were nice and co-operated.
Mojitos at last
By the time we got to the seafront (where the guidebook said Havanatur was) we were exhausted. Havanatur wasn't where it should have been so we went into a shopping complex at the end of the street instead. It was quite unlike any other shops I've seen in Cuba so far - shelves were well stocked, window displays were attractive and the lights were on. My inner capitalist was satisfied.
Mum hadn't had lunch yet (it was about 4pm) and was feeling rather unhappy as a result, so we went upstairs to a bar/restaurant. Although it was quite clean and new, the music was too loud, it was too dark and too cold. Also too empty (only one other table was in use) to pull off the dark-with-loud-music vibe. But we had pizza and mojitos, which made us feel better. They were the first mojitos we'd had in Cuba (about bloody time) and they weren't great. The glasses weren't big enough so there wasn't enough room for a sufficient amount of lemonade. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem if you liked rum but I'm not a fan.
Feeling suitably revitalised we walked back along the seafront to try to find Havanatur. A policeman gave us complicated instructions involving the Karl Marx Theatre so we walked to that but it wasn't there. The car park attendant didn't know where it was either.
Beginning to despair (it was approaching 5pm) we asked at a taxi rank and they told us where it was (Calle 6, for future reference). The Havanatur man was very helpful, telling us that Havanatur do indeed do transfers from Trinidad to Vinales, stopping in Havana for a break, and that they also do day tours from Vinales around Pinar del Rio.
We were thinking of eating in Miramar but it was only 5pm and we didn't really know what to do with ourselves in the meantime so we decided instead to get a taxi to the Hotel Nacional for that long-awaited cocktail.
The Hotel Nacional is our little (big) foreign haven. We sat outside for a while drinking mojitos, writing postcards and listening to live music (with the most wonderful flute parts) but it had got pretty damn cold with the northerly wind blowing across Havana bay.
Then we thought we'd treat ourselves to the 20CUC buffet in the Hotel Nacional basement, but it didn't open until 7 (it was 6.30). We decided to wait, but while we waited we realised we'd only eaten a couple of hours earlier and we really weren't that hungry. So we went to the cafeteria we'd eaten in on Sunday. Mum had a hamburger and I had chicken with vegetable soup (not vegetable with chicken this time) followed by chocolate ice-cream with banana.
Then like the great wimps we are, we went back to the casa for another early night.
Mum hadn't had lunch yet (it was about 4pm) and was feeling rather unhappy as a result, so we went upstairs to a bar/restaurant. Although it was quite clean and new, the music was too loud, it was too dark and too cold. Also too empty (only one other table was in use) to pull off the dark-with-loud-music vibe. But we had pizza and mojitos, which made us feel better. They were the first mojitos we'd had in Cuba (about bloody time) and they weren't great. The glasses weren't big enough so there wasn't enough room for a sufficient amount of lemonade. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem if you liked rum but I'm not a fan.
Feeling suitably revitalised we walked back along the seafront to try to find Havanatur. A policeman gave us complicated instructions involving the Karl Marx Theatre so we walked to that but it wasn't there. The car park attendant didn't know where it was either.
Beginning to despair (it was approaching 5pm) we asked at a taxi rank and they told us where it was (Calle 6, for future reference). The Havanatur man was very helpful, telling us that Havanatur do indeed do transfers from Trinidad to Vinales, stopping in Havana for a break, and that they also do day tours from Vinales around Pinar del Rio.
We were thinking of eating in Miramar but it was only 5pm and we didn't really know what to do with ourselves in the meantime so we decided instead to get a taxi to the Hotel Nacional for that long-awaited cocktail.
The Hotel Nacional is our little (big) foreign haven. We sat outside for a while drinking mojitos, writing postcards and listening to live music (with the most wonderful flute parts) but it had got pretty damn cold with the northerly wind blowing across Havana bay.
Then we thought we'd treat ourselves to the 20CUC buffet in the Hotel Nacional basement, but it didn't open until 7 (it was 6.30). We decided to wait, but while we waited we realised we'd only eaten a couple of hours earlier and we really weren't that hungry. So we went to the cafeteria we'd eaten in on Sunday. Mum had a hamburger and I had chicken with vegetable soup (not vegetable with chicken this time) followed by chocolate ice-cream with banana.
Then like the great wimps we are, we went back to the casa for another early night.
Lost again in Havana
It's Thursday now and we're on the bus to Trinidad. The bus from Batabano to Havana yesterday was uneventful, although I noticed we didn't have to get our tickets and passports checked nearly as much as on the way there. We had to show our passport and ticket to enter the ferry terminus, then get our tickets validated at a booth (they were ticking off who'd arrived and who hadn't, presumably so they could sell any spares). Then we showed our passports at security and our bus tickets on the bus (just once!). All in all much less complicated.
At the bus station in Havana we looked around for the place to buy Viazul tickets but couldn't see it so decided to go to the Viazul station instead.
But first we headed back to Diane's house where we were planning to leave our luggage and find out where the casa she'd arranged for us was (she had a booking for that night). We were pleasantly surprised to find her booking had cancelled, so we could stay there after all. The maid (I wish we knew her name) greeted us so warmly and enthusiastically, it was lovely.
We decided to spend the afternoon walking to the Viazul bus station, then to the Havanatur office in Miramar. It was quite a long walk all in all. We found the Viazul place easily enough, walking around the Necropolis Colon, tightly packed with graves, down towards the zoo.
Outside the bus station there were swarms of taxis trying to persuade us to go with them instead of by bus.
Then we headed to Havanatur to see if they ran buses to Vinales (in case we missed our connection using Viazul). Miramar is across the river, and it wasn't until we were most of the way there that we realised the route I'd chosen involved a tunnel. We weren't sure whether to keep going in the hope that the tunnel was open to pedestrians, or not. We ploughed on for a bit, but we seemed to be entering a no-man's-land so we turned back, adding perhaps an extra two miles to our journey. Annoyingly, it later transpired that the tunnel was open to pedestrians and that it was only a couple of streets away from where we'd got to.
Anyway, it gave us an opportunity to walk through Miramar - very very posh.
At the bus station in Havana we looked around for the place to buy Viazul tickets but couldn't see it so decided to go to the Viazul station instead.
But first we headed back to Diane's house where we were planning to leave our luggage and find out where the casa she'd arranged for us was (she had a booking for that night). We were pleasantly surprised to find her booking had cancelled, so we could stay there after all. The maid (I wish we knew her name) greeted us so warmly and enthusiastically, it was lovely.
We decided to spend the afternoon walking to the Viazul bus station, then to the Havanatur office in Miramar. It was quite a long walk all in all. We found the Viazul place easily enough, walking around the Necropolis Colon, tightly packed with graves, down towards the zoo.
Outside the bus station there were swarms of taxis trying to persuade us to go with them instead of by bus.
Then we headed to Havanatur to see if they ran buses to Vinales (in case we missed our connection using Viazul). Miramar is across the river, and it wasn't until we were most of the way there that we realised the route I'd chosen involved a tunnel. We weren't sure whether to keep going in the hope that the tunnel was open to pedestrians, or not. We ploughed on for a bit, but we seemed to be entering a no-man's-land so we turned back, adding perhaps an extra two miles to our journey. Annoyingly, it later transpired that the tunnel was open to pedestrians and that it was only a couple of streets away from where we'd got to.
Anyway, it gave us an opportunity to walk through Miramar - very very posh.
26/12/2006
Where do they buy the food?
I think that part of the reason I liked Isla de la Juventud more is that it looked poor, there were no pretences about it, so it didn't bother me so much that everything was slow and (I hate this word) primitive. Havana, however, pretends to be a modern city, so the begging and the awful service and bureaucracy are all rather irritating.
Houses in Havana vary from colonial to new, from ramshackle to well-kept. Diane's house is beautiful, and a huge contrast to the houses elsewhere in the city with extensions cobbled together from corrugated iron. Harry was so proud of his roof terrace because it had been so hard to acquire the materials for it. These extensions require so much ingenuity to make something worthwhile from limited materials. All the houses Castro built in the 1960s are badly in need of maintenance now - polyfilla and a lick of paint would make a massive difference but where do you get them from?
In fact, I'm not quite sure where you get anything from. The mountains on Isla de la Juventud are made of marble, so there's plenty of that (so odd having what we consider to be a luxury material but no bricks), but we couldn't even find any cheese or meat or fruit yesterday. Well there had been fruitsellers on the street earlier in the day, but where do our hosts get meat? Surely they don't buy it on the street? At least I hope not.
Four Brothers is on TV. I'm finding it quite confusing because the screen is far away so everyone looks the same. Oh my goodness, the film has ended and been replaced with a large man with a big shiny red shirt, a flat cap and a big scary smile flapping his arms as he walks through a cartoon space background. Perhaps I've taken too many anti-histamines.
Houses in Havana vary from colonial to new, from ramshackle to well-kept. Diane's house is beautiful, and a huge contrast to the houses elsewhere in the city with extensions cobbled together from corrugated iron. Harry was so proud of his roof terrace because it had been so hard to acquire the materials for it. These extensions require so much ingenuity to make something worthwhile from limited materials. All the houses Castro built in the 1960s are badly in need of maintenance now - polyfilla and a lick of paint would make a massive difference but where do you get them from?
In fact, I'm not quite sure where you get anything from. The mountains on Isla de la Juventud are made of marble, so there's plenty of that (so odd having what we consider to be a luxury material but no bricks), but we couldn't even find any cheese or meat or fruit yesterday. Well there had been fruitsellers on the street earlier in the day, but where do our hosts get meat? Surely they don't buy it on the street? At least I hope not.
Four Brothers is on TV. I'm finding it quite confusing because the screen is far away so everyone looks the same. Oh my goodness, the film has ended and been replaced with a large man with a big shiny red shirt, a flat cap and a big scary smile flapping his arms as he walks through a cartoon space background. Perhaps I've taken too many anti-histamines.
Back to Havana
"This ship has a deep range between 3 and 5 metres. Lifejackets will be exclusively on order of captain. To jump into the sea, cross his legs, and suppress the airway. There are baskets in the seats, please spread the garbage there." I love this safety video!
Harry very kindly offered us breakfast this morning, assuring us it was no problem serving at 5.30. It was nice to get something to eat before our ferry journey considering the lack of food last time, but I noticed Harry didn't get up to serve it himself. Ray knocked on our door at about 5am. We weren't planning to get up until 5.15 but those 15 minutes were rather useful for applying Eurax to my hives.
So we arrived at the ferryport around 6am, feeling quite alright since we'd gone to bed so early and had food and milky coffee before leaving. We're really getting the hand of the whole thing, knowing in advance to sign in my penknife etc. The crazy metal detector decided there was metal in my ankles and the security man was intrigued by Mum's Swiss card, but he seemed to like it so much he let her through with it. Otherwise everything was a-okay, and the wait was less frustrating when you were expecting it.
We're on the ferry now, zooming across the Batabano Gulf thingy. We're just going through the patch with the pretty blue water - I wish I could go for a swim here. It's gorgeous.
..and on to the beach
After the prison we went to Bibijagua beach. The road to the beach was very odd, with big sections missing their tarmac. It was as though whoever built the road knew they didn't have enough tarmac to get all the way, so they tried to make sure each area got some, distributing it in random patches. A bit like communism really.
Bibijagua wasn't really what I expected. The beach was rather thin and there was almost no-one there. To be fair, it was a rather cold day, with quite a lot of wind. We had a quick dip in the sea; it wasn't exactly cold, but it certainly wasn't the 'near bath-tub' temperature the guide-book had promised. I have an irrational fear of jellyfish, so I was feeling rather nervy in the water. Jellyfish are just plain unnatural - what kind of self-respecting creature is see-through?
Anyway, we didn't sit on the sand for long, deciding instead to make use of the stone tables and chairs on the immaculate lawn. It was quite lovely there, sitting in the sun, although the wind was pretty chilly when the sun went in.
Immaculate lawns leading to the beach
We stayed there for about four hours, basking in the sun, reading our books and writing this. At precisely three o'clock, just the time we asked Mr Taxi to collect us, it started to rain. I was appalled. I'm tempted to ask Castro for my money back. It doesn't rain in Cuba, I'm sure of it. Anyway, the rain didn't last long, and by the time we got back to Nueva Gerona it was sunny again.
We dropped our stuff off at Villa Mas and set off in search of an internet cafe. We eventually found one hidden at the far end of Calle Marti (well, a block to the right). We were pleasantly surprised to find that the connection was reasonably quick. It seemed to be the state-run telecommunications company (ETECSA) so we'll have to keep an eye out for more of them. It was rather nice to find e-mails from Dad, Frodo, Emma, Gerallt and Sam waiting form me, so I spent some time replying and wrote a quick and rather random blog post.
It was about then that the red marks I'd noticed on my skin the day before were starting to itch. By the evening they'd turned into big hives, about 30 of them, all very itchy. I've clearly found a new allergy, although I wish I knew what it was to. I'm rather glad I brought anti-histamine tablets. I've taken one now and it's starting to help, so I think I'll hit it with a high dose of anti-histamine so I don't scratch and end up with horrible scars. I thought at first it was insect bites, but they're all over me and continued to develp all day, so an allergy seems more likely.
We watched a bit of Cuban TV when we got back to the casa. They have this crazy channel which combines radio with CCTVish footage of the local area, so you're sitting there watching the ferries in Nueva Gerona harbour, people crossing the bridge, people walking down the street, all apparently in real time (the sun was setting and the lighting was just right).
For dinner we had the most wonderful fish. I think it was dogfish from the mime Harry was doing (by the way, their business card suggests his name is Jorge). It was beautifully fresh and light, and is apparently Castro's favourite. It was served with rice and a sort of black bean sauce - something the guide book tell us is a Cuban speciality. It was delicious with the fish, just right. We also had fried plantain, salad and a creme caramel type thing they called a flan. All very delicious.
Cuba is a very tiring place with lots of learning, heat and early mornings, and I think we haven't adjusted to the time zone in the slightest because we went to bed at 7.30. Ridiculous!
Bibijagua wasn't really what I expected. The beach was rather thin and there was almost no-one there. To be fair, it was a rather cold day, with quite a lot of wind. We had a quick dip in the sea; it wasn't exactly cold, but it certainly wasn't the 'near bath-tub' temperature the guide-book had promised. I have an irrational fear of jellyfish, so I was feeling rather nervy in the water. Jellyfish are just plain unnatural - what kind of self-respecting creature is see-through?
Anyway, we didn't sit on the sand for long, deciding instead to make use of the stone tables and chairs on the immaculate lawn. It was quite lovely there, sitting in the sun, although the wind was pretty chilly when the sun went in.
Immaculate lawns leading to the beach
We stayed there for about four hours, basking in the sun, reading our books and writing this. At precisely three o'clock, just the time we asked Mr Taxi to collect us, it started to rain. I was appalled. I'm tempted to ask Castro for my money back. It doesn't rain in Cuba, I'm sure of it. Anyway, the rain didn't last long, and by the time we got back to Nueva Gerona it was sunny again.
We dropped our stuff off at Villa Mas and set off in search of an internet cafe. We eventually found one hidden at the far end of Calle Marti (well, a block to the right). We were pleasantly surprised to find that the connection was reasonably quick. It seemed to be the state-run telecommunications company (ETECSA) so we'll have to keep an eye out for more of them. It was rather nice to find e-mails from Dad, Frodo, Emma, Gerallt and Sam waiting form me, so I spent some time replying and wrote a quick and rather random blog post.
It was about then that the red marks I'd noticed on my skin the day before were starting to itch. By the evening they'd turned into big hives, about 30 of them, all very itchy. I've clearly found a new allergy, although I wish I knew what it was to. I'm rather glad I brought anti-histamine tablets. I've taken one now and it's starting to help, so I think I'll hit it with a high dose of anti-histamine so I don't scratch and end up with horrible scars. I thought at first it was insect bites, but they're all over me and continued to develp all day, so an allergy seems more likely.
We watched a bit of Cuban TV when we got back to the casa. They have this crazy channel which combines radio with CCTVish footage of the local area, so you're sitting there watching the ferries in Nueva Gerona harbour, people crossing the bridge, people walking down the street, all apparently in real time (the sun was setting and the lighting was just right).
For dinner we had the most wonderful fish. I think it was dogfish from the mime Harry was doing (by the way, their business card suggests his name is Jorge). It was beautifully fresh and light, and is apparently Castro's favourite. It was served with rice and a sort of black bean sauce - something the guide book tell us is a Cuban speciality. It was delicious with the fish, just right. We also had fried plantain, salad and a creme caramel type thing they called a flan. All very delicious.
Cuba is a very tiring place with lots of learning, heat and early mornings, and I think we haven't adjusted to the time zone in the slightest because we went to bed at 7.30. Ridiculous!
Batista's model prison
So our nice taxi-man with his ancient car with big comfy seats took us to Presidio Modelo, the prison where Fidel Castro and his merry men were incarcerated by Batista after the July 26th uprising.
The main part of the prison was rather terrifying. There's a central round dining hall and four massive round prison blocks.
The prison blocks are almost empty inside save for a tower in the middle and rows upon rows of cells around the walls, five or six stories high. Each tiny cell contained two men, and had a window on one side and a barred door on the other.
The tower in the middle was for the watchman, who accessed it via a tunnel from outside which came up in the centre of the tower so the watchman was never in any danger and could keep an eye on approximately 1,000 prisoners at once.
Castro and his men were rather lucky in that Batista was afraid they would spread dissent amongst the other prisoners, so they were kept in the much, much, nicer hospital wing. But Castro was moved to solitary confinement after an incident when Batista visited the prison, where all Castro's cronies started singing July 26th [the song] out the window at him.
I got the feeling we got a much better tour from our taxi driver than we would have from the tour guide, who did follow us around but I couldn't understand a word she was saying. The nice thing about the taxi-man was that he spoke a little English and, more importantly, was able to tone down his Spanish to a level we could understand.
The main part of the prison was rather terrifying. There's a central round dining hall and four massive round prison blocks.
The prison blocks are almost empty inside save for a tower in the middle and rows upon rows of cells around the walls, five or six stories high. Each tiny cell contained two men, and had a window on one side and a barred door on the other.
The tower in the middle was for the watchman, who accessed it via a tunnel from outside which came up in the centre of the tower so the watchman was never in any danger and could keep an eye on approximately 1,000 prisoners at once.
Castro and his men were rather lucky in that Batista was afraid they would spread dissent amongst the other prisoners, so they were kept in the much, much, nicer hospital wing. But Castro was moved to solitary confinement after an incident when Batista visited the prison, where all Castro's cronies started singing July 26th [the song] out the window at him.
I got the feeling we got a much better tour from our taxi driver than we would have from the tour guide, who did follow us around but I couldn't understand a word she was saying. The nice thing about the taxi-man was that he spoke a little English and, more importantly, was able to tone down his Spanish to a level we could understand.
Mastering a queue and finding a taxi
Mum and I have been thinking about how Cuba will change when Castro dies, and when the US embargo is lifted. People talk about Cuba "becoming" capitalist, but in fact it already is. Okay, so the government is a communist/socialist dictatorship but most of the people we meet only seem to care about making money. In Ireland if we offered to do something for someone such as show them the way somewhere we would never consider asking for money for that, and we'd feel rather embarrassed if we were offered it. It makes me rather distrustful of anyone offering help here. We've probably rudely rejected assistance from a number of genuine people, but it's so hard to separate the real offers of help from the people hoping to make money.
Today, however, nobody has been trying to rip us off. I like Nueva Gerona. We had a lovely breakfast similar to Diane's on Sunday - fruit salad (the banana here is delicious), omelette, bread, jam, and very milky coffee. Then Ray took us to the
Cubana airline offices to see if we could get a flight back to Havana (only 25 minutes and cheaper than the ferry!). We had a rather baffling conversation with the people there who kept shaking their heads and saying '25'. Eventually we worked out that they meant there weren't any free flights until the 25th (Saturday) and that they didn't actually know whether there was a boat or not.
So we traipsed downtown to the port where we had quite a bit of fun mastering the Cuban queuing system (no, that's not just a random crowd, there is method to the madness). We felt rather pleased with ourselves when we managed to buy both our ferry and our bus tickets relatively easily. With just one transaction! Streamlined or what?
Flushed with our success we managed to find the state-run taxi company who told us we couldn't have a taxi to Presidio Modelo. In fact, they didn't really seem to have any taxis, just buses, but a kindly bus-driver gave us a free lift to the bus-stop we needed and then found us a charming taxi-driver as well, one with an actual car (the bike taxis which are everywhere here wouldn't be so good for longer journeys).
Today, however, nobody has been trying to rip us off. I like Nueva Gerona. We had a lovely breakfast similar to Diane's on Sunday - fruit salad (the banana here is delicious), omelette, bread, jam, and very milky coffee. Then Ray took us to the
Cubana airline offices to see if we could get a flight back to Havana (only 25 minutes and cheaper than the ferry!). We had a rather baffling conversation with the people there who kept shaking their heads and saying '25'. Eventually we worked out that they meant there weren't any free flights until the 25th (Saturday) and that they didn't actually know whether there was a boat or not.
So we traipsed downtown to the port where we had quite a bit of fun mastering the Cuban queuing system (no, that's not just a random crowd, there is method to the madness). We felt rather pleased with ourselves when we managed to buy both our ferry and our bus tickets relatively easily. With just one transaction! Streamlined or what?
Flushed with our success we managed to find the state-run taxi company who told us we couldn't have a taxi to Presidio Modelo. In fact, they didn't really seem to have any taxis, just buses, but a kindly bus-driver gave us a free lift to the bus-stop we needed and then found us a charming taxi-driver as well, one with an actual car (the bike taxis which are everywhere here wouldn't be so good for longer journeys).
Arriving in Nueva Gerona; los dos amigos
Arriving in Nueva Gerona we got surrounded by people offering us taxis and casa particulares. But we ignored them all, and babbled in Irish to one particularly persistent lady until she went away.
Nueva Gerona is rather charming, and the atmosphere is so much more relaxed than Havana. It's got a village atmosphere despite being the only real town on the island, and there aren't many vehicles at all.
Nueva Gerona church
Nonetheless, we managed to get royally lost on our way to the casa particulare. The guidebook said it was behind the hospital which, when we eventually found it, was true I suppose, but it really wasn't helpful for finding it. We went up the wrong side of the hospital, then found we couldn't cross behind it for some time. We eventually found a road heading the right direction, but it took us into an unnervingly run-down part of town, particularly when we'd been robbed the day before. So we stopped and asked a lady. She didn't speak a work of English but we managed to communicate where we wanted to go, so she hopped off her bike and walked us to the street we needed, then cycled on ahead to tell the owner we were coming. She was so kind, which was much needed because by that time I was getting pretty fed up with Cubans and their inefficiency and the way they're constantly trying to get money from you.
Our casa is lovely. Unfortunately there's no twin room so we're sharing a double bed, but otherwise it's spot on. The owner is a professional chef (although it seemed to me as though the maid was doing the cooking) and extremely friendly. He lives with his "friend" Ray, who works for the ferry company. Our host (something like Havaha, so let's call him Harry) speaks a bit of English, which is an enormous help.
But the best thing about the casa is the fabulous rooftop terrace (built by Harry). It's on two levels. The big lower section has a roof and walls made from what looks like palm trees and bamboo, and the upper section just has a low wall and a fabulous view. There's a fountain in the lower section housing two terrapins, and two beautiful parrots in cages. Our (delicious) meals are served in there with Cuban music played on the tape deck. It's loverly!
Aside from a quick walk through the town where we bought some biscuits and tried some of the famed Coppelia ice-cream (rather under-whelming) we didn't do much in the evening - far too tired!
Nueva Gerona is rather charming, and the atmosphere is so much more relaxed than Havana. It's got a village atmosphere despite being the only real town on the island, and there aren't many vehicles at all.
Nueva Gerona church
Nonetheless, we managed to get royally lost on our way to the casa particulare. The guidebook said it was behind the hospital which, when we eventually found it, was true I suppose, but it really wasn't helpful for finding it. We went up the wrong side of the hospital, then found we couldn't cross behind it for some time. We eventually found a road heading the right direction, but it took us into an unnervingly run-down part of town, particularly when we'd been robbed the day before. So we stopped and asked a lady. She didn't speak a work of English but we managed to communicate where we wanted to go, so she hopped off her bike and walked us to the street we needed, then cycled on ahead to tell the owner we were coming. She was so kind, which was much needed because by that time I was getting pretty fed up with Cubans and their inefficiency and the way they're constantly trying to get money from you.
Our casa is lovely. Unfortunately there's no twin room so we're sharing a double bed, but otherwise it's spot on. The owner is a professional chef (although it seemed to me as though the maid was doing the cooking) and extremely friendly. He lives with his "friend" Ray, who works for the ferry company. Our host (something like Havaha, so let's call him Harry) speaks a bit of English, which is an enormous help.
But the best thing about the casa is the fabulous rooftop terrace (built by Harry). It's on two levels. The big lower section has a roof and walls made from what looks like palm trees and bamboo, and the upper section just has a low wall and a fabulous view. There's a fountain in the lower section housing two terrapins, and two beautiful parrots in cages. Our (delicious) meals are served in there with Cuban music played on the tape deck. It's loverly!
Aside from a quick walk through the town where we bought some biscuits and tried some of the famed Coppelia ice-cream (rather under-whelming) we didn't do much in the evening - far too tired!
Travelling to Isla de la Juventud
I've already written a certain amount about our journey to Isla de la Juventud, but it took most of the day so I'd better write some more about it.
I'm really not a fan of the bus station in Havana. It's very crowded, with people constantly approaching you for this and that. We wanted some breadkfast, and eventually reluctantly bought some bread rolls with miscellaneous meat in them. I was rather glad we did in the end - it was astoundingly hard to find anything more to eat for some time. The rolls weren't bad - being a food snob I don't think I'd have eaten them in Ireland, but I was quite glad of them yesterday.
The bus journey was fairly uneventful. I spent most of it writing while Mum watched the scenery. They got a bit carried away with the air conditioning, as Cubans tend to do when it's available.
At the entrance to the port in Batabano most of the passengers got off. Thinking this was our destination we got up to leave too, but the man sitting opposite told us to stay put to have our 'ticket' checked. This turned out to be bad advice - the people were getting off to buy food, which was really rather sensible. Oh well.
Batabano was horrible. We had to queue for tickets in a stupid room with disgusting toilets which made the whole room smell of faeces. Poor Mum actually used the toilets, but quite rightly didn't give any money to the attendant (she thinks she was probably supposed to). What exactly was this lady doing to earn money? I suppose having to sit next to that stench is pretty brave of her, but she clearly wasn't maintaining the toilets in the slightest so I'm not sure we needed an attendant. Yet again, an unnecessary job.
Anyway, we hung around outside for a bit, and then felt we should probably check in. So we did - an over-sensitive metal detector made both the underwire in my bra and the clasps on the back beep. And the x-ray machine spotted the penknife in my big rucksack, so I had to go back out and give it to a man who supervises dangerous items on the journey to the Isla. Mad.
Checking in so early was also a bad idea - why don't guidebooks contain this kind of information? We had to sit in another dingy, smelly room with a horribly loud TV behind us. A "shop" sold a couple of cans and some cigarettes but no food or coffee (Mum still hadn't had her hit for the day).
But thankfully I had a very absorbing Dorothy L Sayers book with me, and Lord Peter Wimsey had finally arrived to save the day, so I lost myself in 1930s Oxford while a small girl hit me on the back with her doll. Poor Mum found it harder to block out her surroundings, and we were both quite relieved to finally board the boat.
The boat was shockingly plush, and was showing Garfield in English, so it wasn't too bad. But again they were being over-enthusiastic with the air conditioning, and we weren't allowed to go sit outside which was rather disappointing. They did serve us more "ham" sandwiches which staved off the no-food grumpiness I'm liable to get, but I was still feeling rather irritated and impatient by the time we got to Nueva Gerona.
We passed through part of the archipelago around Isla de la Juventud, which had the most beautiful turquoise waters, presumably indicating the coral reef. You could really see Treasure Island in it there - lots of cliffs covered in creepers, and secret bays. Apparently the Spanish pretty much gave up on the Isla because they kept sinking their ships in the shallow waters around the island. The various hidden bays combined with the lack of a governor and its proximity to Havana made this very popular with pirates.
I'm really not a fan of the bus station in Havana. It's very crowded, with people constantly approaching you for this and that. We wanted some breadkfast, and eventually reluctantly bought some bread rolls with miscellaneous meat in them. I was rather glad we did in the end - it was astoundingly hard to find anything more to eat for some time. The rolls weren't bad - being a food snob I don't think I'd have eaten them in Ireland, but I was quite glad of them yesterday.
The bus journey was fairly uneventful. I spent most of it writing while Mum watched the scenery. They got a bit carried away with the air conditioning, as Cubans tend to do when it's available.
At the entrance to the port in Batabano most of the passengers got off. Thinking this was our destination we got up to leave too, but the man sitting opposite told us to stay put to have our 'ticket' checked. This turned out to be bad advice - the people were getting off to buy food, which was really rather sensible. Oh well.
Batabano was horrible. We had to queue for tickets in a stupid room with disgusting toilets which made the whole room smell of faeces. Poor Mum actually used the toilets, but quite rightly didn't give any money to the attendant (she thinks she was probably supposed to). What exactly was this lady doing to earn money? I suppose having to sit next to that stench is pretty brave of her, but she clearly wasn't maintaining the toilets in the slightest so I'm not sure we needed an attendant. Yet again, an unnecessary job.
Anyway, we hung around outside for a bit, and then felt we should probably check in. So we did - an over-sensitive metal detector made both the underwire in my bra and the clasps on the back beep. And the x-ray machine spotted the penknife in my big rucksack, so I had to go back out and give it to a man who supervises dangerous items on the journey to the Isla. Mad.
Checking in so early was also a bad idea - why don't guidebooks contain this kind of information? We had to sit in another dingy, smelly room with a horribly loud TV behind us. A "shop" sold a couple of cans and some cigarettes but no food or coffee (Mum still hadn't had her hit for the day).
But thankfully I had a very absorbing Dorothy L Sayers book with me, and Lord Peter Wimsey had finally arrived to save the day, so I lost myself in 1930s Oxford while a small girl hit me on the back with her doll. Poor Mum found it harder to block out her surroundings, and we were both quite relieved to finally board the boat.
The boat was shockingly plush, and was showing Garfield in English, so it wasn't too bad. But again they were being over-enthusiastic with the air conditioning, and we weren't allowed to go sit outside which was rather disappointing. They did serve us more "ham" sandwiches which staved off the no-food grumpiness I'm liable to get, but I was still feeling rather irritated and impatient by the time we got to Nueva Gerona.
We passed through part of the archipelago around Isla de la Juventud, which had the most beautiful turquoise waters, presumably indicating the coral reef. You could really see Treasure Island in it there - lots of cliffs covered in creepers, and secret bays. Apparently the Spanish pretty much gave up on the Isla because they kept sinking their ships in the shallow waters around the island. The various hidden bays combined with the lack of a governor and its proximity to Havana made this very popular with pirates.
A visit to Museo de la Revolucion
Next, we headed for Habana Vieja, strolling along the Malecon, ignoring another man's offer to take us to see the Buena Vista Social Club, before turning right towards the more bustling areas.
We wandered towards Parque Central, managing to stave off a couple trying to con us into spending 12CUC on milk for them, and searched for a place to eat. We considered El Floridita but I think its reputation as a Hemingway halt probably inflates the prices beyond all reason. Instead we had a wonderful sandwich at the Hotel Telegrafo.
A wander down the Paseo de Marti took us to the Museo de la Revolucion, housed in Batista's rather splendid presidential palace (oh the irony).
What an odd museum, though. In each room we had to figure out which order the cases were in and even then they weren't really in chronological order. The guidebook had told us that all the displays were in English and Spanish, and it was true that most signs were bilingual. But in quite a lot of cases the main signs saying what was going on were only in Spanish, leaving us to piece together what was going on from the mottley collection of toothbrushes, mugs, shoes and shirts from some revolutionary hero or other. My personal favourite was the frying pan which had apparently been "seized" from the enemy. A good day's work for our revolutionary heroes.
What I found particularly interesting (apart from the propoganda-ish language used) was the section on the reforms Castro introduced. For example, there was mass unemployment so he created 500,000 extra jobs. A housing shortage so he built hundreds of thousands of extra houses over the years. Illiteracy was at about 40% and has now been completely eradicated.
But there doesn't seem to have been a (to use a buzz word) holistic approach to these reforms, so individual sections improved but the economy stayed as bad as ever. Where did all these new jobs come from? From what we've seen over the past few days all they've done is made everything as inefficient as possible so more people can work on each job. For example (I'm jumping ahead a bit here), on Monday we wanted to buy a bus ticket to Batabano and a ferry ticket to Nueva Gerona. Now there's nothing much in Batabano so a combined bus and ferry ticket would be what most people would want. But no. We were told to arrive at the bus station at 6.30am. We went to the ticket desk where the woman examined our passports, filled the details into a little book, handwrote what we thought was a ticket, gave us little cardboard squares with numbers on them and recorded which numbers she'd given us in another book. We stood around waiting for an hour and a half, then a man called us through a gate to the bus park in numerical order, taking our pieces of cardboard as we went. Then we got on the bus and a conductor walked up and down and sold us our 5CUC bus ticket. Then later in the journey he came back and took it off us. When the bus approached Batabano a lady got on and examined the docket we'd been given in the bus station and our passports. And, finally we got to Batabano and bought our ferry tickets, again having our passports checked. This baffles me. Why couldn't we buy a combined ticket in Havana (with our passports) and show it to the bus driver as we got on the bus, and the ticket official in Batabano, thus eliminating the man collecting cardboard squares, the conductor (twice), the lady in Batabano and most of the staff in the ticket office in Batabano? Because Castro is creating jobs, that's why. He is a hero.
Okay, so the American embargo causes huge problems for Cuba, but I'm not convinced that the massively inefficient system when you want to do anything helps Cuba at all.
Anyway, there we are. It was on the way between the Museo and the Hotel Nacional that I got robbed. That distracted me for the rest of the evening. We had a bowl of chicken and vegetable soup in the Hotel Nacional, then went home for an early night.
We wandered towards Parque Central, managing to stave off a couple trying to con us into spending 12CUC on milk for them, and searched for a place to eat. We considered El Floridita but I think its reputation as a Hemingway halt probably inflates the prices beyond all reason. Instead we had a wonderful sandwich at the Hotel Telegrafo.
A wander down the Paseo de Marti took us to the Museo de la Revolucion, housed in Batista's rather splendid presidential palace (oh the irony).
What an odd museum, though. In each room we had to figure out which order the cases were in and even then they weren't really in chronological order. The guidebook had told us that all the displays were in English and Spanish, and it was true that most signs were bilingual. But in quite a lot of cases the main signs saying what was going on were only in Spanish, leaving us to piece together what was going on from the mottley collection of toothbrushes, mugs, shoes and shirts from some revolutionary hero or other. My personal favourite was the frying pan which had apparently been "seized" from the enemy. A good day's work for our revolutionary heroes.
What I found particularly interesting (apart from the propoganda-ish language used) was the section on the reforms Castro introduced. For example, there was mass unemployment so he created 500,000 extra jobs. A housing shortage so he built hundreds of thousands of extra houses over the years. Illiteracy was at about 40% and has now been completely eradicated.
But there doesn't seem to have been a (to use a buzz word) holistic approach to these reforms, so individual sections improved but the economy stayed as bad as ever. Where did all these new jobs come from? From what we've seen over the past few days all they've done is made everything as inefficient as possible so more people can work on each job. For example (I'm jumping ahead a bit here), on Monday we wanted to buy a bus ticket to Batabano and a ferry ticket to Nueva Gerona. Now there's nothing much in Batabano so a combined bus and ferry ticket would be what most people would want. But no. We were told to arrive at the bus station at 6.30am. We went to the ticket desk where the woman examined our passports, filled the details into a little book, handwrote what we thought was a ticket, gave us little cardboard squares with numbers on them and recorded which numbers she'd given us in another book. We stood around waiting for an hour and a half, then a man called us through a gate to the bus park in numerical order, taking our pieces of cardboard as we went. Then we got on the bus and a conductor walked up and down and sold us our 5CUC bus ticket. Then later in the journey he came back and took it off us. When the bus approached Batabano a lady got on and examined the docket we'd been given in the bus station and our passports. And, finally we got to Batabano and bought our ferry tickets, again having our passports checked. This baffles me. Why couldn't we buy a combined ticket in Havana (with our passports) and show it to the bus driver as we got on the bus, and the ticket official in Batabano, thus eliminating the man collecting cardboard squares, the conductor (twice), the lady in Batabano and most of the staff in the ticket office in Batabano? Because Castro is creating jobs, that's why. He is a hero.
Okay, so the American embargo causes huge problems for Cuba, but I'm not convinced that the massively inefficient system when you want to do anything helps Cuba at all.
Anyway, there we are. It was on the way between the Museo and the Hotel Nacional that I got robbed. That distracted me for the rest of the evening. We had a bowl of chicken and vegetable soup in the Hotel Nacional, then went home for an early night.
More on our first day in Havana
Anyway, enough of the camera incident. We started the day by walking to
the Plaza de la Revolucion, not too far from our accommodation. But we weren't allowed up to the Jose Marti memorial (police kept blowing their whistles). There were lots of people setting out chairs and PA equipment, and police/military blowing whistles at everyone who dared approach the monument. I thought it might be a political rally (it's a common location for them) but one of the con-men we met later explained it was the venue for the prize-giving of some international marathon type thing happening in Havana that day.
This is the Che icon we saw at the Plaza de la Revolucion:
We met our very first jintero (I think they're called) shortly after that. Mum had stopped to take a picture of one of those we-love-the-revolution billboards when this guy came up and started chatting to us. We mentioned we liked music so he offered to take us to the Buena Vista Social Club. Now, I'd learnt from Sam Slater's DVD that it's closed these days, but he seemed harmless and I thought maybe he was going to show us the outside of the building or something. So we went with him, a good mile or so, him prattling all the time about Cuba, until we reached a small, shabby house which he claimed was the BVSC. He's a big fat liar!
He led us around the side of the house and up some pokey stairs, which was when we started feeling pretty uncomfortable. But it was fine really. All that happened was that he ordered three drinks for us (guadapo? made from sugar cane anyway) and we got fleeced 15CUC for them. It was the weirdest little place - it had a sign saying bar/restaurant upstairs but there was only space for two to eat. There was the filthiest fish tank you'd ever seen and a load of mangey stuffed birds. Oh, and an extremely Monty Python-esque parrot in a cage.
Anyway, we drank up quickly and paid up, putting it all down to savouring the genuine Cuban experience and resolving not to let anyone take us anywhere again.
We walked out of the house down Calle 23, passing the hordes outside Coppelia's (ice-cream parlour) as we headed towards the sea.
When we reached the Malecon we realised that the Hotel Nacional de Cuba was right beside us so we simply had to take a look. It was funny - the type of people staying there were rather posher than us and having an entirely different type of holiday, but there was something comforting about the international feel of the place, rather like an embassy. We took the opportunity to send a few e-mails while we were there, but the internet connection was painfully slow - gmail gave up, assuming we were dead or something, blogger and gradwell simply wouldn't work, and it took about 5 minutes to send each email from Horde.
the Plaza de la Revolucion, not too far from our accommodation. But we weren't allowed up to the Jose Marti memorial (police kept blowing their whistles). There were lots of people setting out chairs and PA equipment, and police/military blowing whistles at everyone who dared approach the monument. I thought it might be a political rally (it's a common location for them) but one of the con-men we met later explained it was the venue for the prize-giving of some international marathon type thing happening in Havana that day.
This is the Che icon we saw at the Plaza de la Revolucion:
We met our very first jintero (I think they're called) shortly after that. Mum had stopped to take a picture of one of those we-love-the-revolution billboards when this guy came up and started chatting to us. We mentioned we liked music so he offered to take us to the Buena Vista Social Club. Now, I'd learnt from Sam Slater's DVD that it's closed these days, but he seemed harmless and I thought maybe he was going to show us the outside of the building or something. So we went with him, a good mile or so, him prattling all the time about Cuba, until we reached a small, shabby house which he claimed was the BVSC. He's a big fat liar!
He led us around the side of the house and up some pokey stairs, which was when we started feeling pretty uncomfortable. But it was fine really. All that happened was that he ordered three drinks for us (guadapo? made from sugar cane anyway) and we got fleeced 15CUC for them. It was the weirdest little place - it had a sign saying bar/restaurant upstairs but there was only space for two to eat. There was the filthiest fish tank you'd ever seen and a load of mangey stuffed birds. Oh, and an extremely Monty Python-esque parrot in a cage.
Anyway, we drank up quickly and paid up, putting it all down to savouring the genuine Cuban experience and resolving not to let anyone take us anywhere again.
We walked out of the house down Calle 23, passing the hordes outside Coppelia's (ice-cream parlour) as we headed towards the sea.
When we reached the Malecon we realised that the Hotel Nacional de Cuba was right beside us so we simply had to take a look. It was funny - the type of people staying there were rather posher than us and having an entirely different type of holiday, but there was something comforting about the international feel of the place, rather like an embassy. We took the opportunity to send a few e-mails while we were there, but the internet connection was painfully slow - gmail gave up, assuming we were dead or something, blogger and gradwell simply wouldn't work, and it took about 5 minutes to send each email from Horde.
Havana, Neptuno and a stolen camera
20th November
Yesterday was certainly eventful. I'll start with the bad bit so I can get that out of the system first. Some bastard stole my camera!
We'd spent the day wandering around Havana and were walking along Neptuno between Museo de la Revolucion and the Hotel Nacional where we were hoping to sip mojitos while watching the sun set across the bay. We'd chosen that route to walk along because the seafront was too cold (very windy) but this street was busy so we felt safe. I had my camera strap across my body so it couldn't be grabbed easily. Various men had commented as we passed, saying creepy things like "hello babygirl" but not actually being threatening in any way, just being your standard Cuban man.
We had just crossed a street called Oquando when we passed this guy. I had noticed him as we approached because he had been looking at us, but also looking around a bit uncertainly. But as we passed, he reached across me and grabbed my camera, pulling it very hard so the strap broke. I managed to grab the other end of the strap but again he pulled hard and broke it. I tried to chase him down the street but I only had my left sandal half on because it had been rubbing against my ankle. I kick it off but it slowed me down too much. He wasn't very fast and didn't seem to expect to be chased, so probably over a longer distance I could have caught up, but he dodged into a house and Mum shouted to me not to follow him. I was so caught up in my anger I hadn't really stopped to think about what I'd do if I caught him, but the sight of the long dark corridor he ran down made me come to my senses somewhat. We did note the house address, though.
The interesting thing about the whole experience was how I reacted. After the initial anger I felt horribly helpless, which was no fun at all. I hate being made feel helpless and vulnerable like that. I like to be able to deal with situations, to sort them out, but I really couldn't this time.
We reported it to the police, but there were no free police cars to take us to the station so they tried to discourage us from going. We took a Coco-taxi there instead and thankfully our very kind driver spoke fluent English. So he came in and interpreted for us, but the police didn't want to give us a report form so I could claim on our travel insurance. We're going to go back next week, but I don't hold out much hope.
The annoying thing is that there's no Irish embassy here to help. I might try the British embassy but they'll probably refuse to help. I hate giving up though! Nobody should be able to bully me like this. I want to get my insurance at least!
I know it's only a camera and it's a relief he didn't try to harm me, and that I'd moved my money out of my camera case a couple of hours earlier. But I feel compelled to do something, to try to get something back so I feel less helpless. The lovely Diane (our hostess) is going to make a few phonecalls and see what she can do - it's far too easy to be pushed around when you don't speak Spanish so that's a great help. And when the holiday is over I'm going to write to Castro to complain - you'd think the police would be more effective in a dictatorship.
Yesterday was certainly eventful. I'll start with the bad bit so I can get that out of the system first. Some bastard stole my camera!
We'd spent the day wandering around Havana and were walking along Neptuno between Museo de la Revolucion and the Hotel Nacional where we were hoping to sip mojitos while watching the sun set across the bay. We'd chosen that route to walk along because the seafront was too cold (very windy) but this street was busy so we felt safe. I had my camera strap across my body so it couldn't be grabbed easily. Various men had commented as we passed, saying creepy things like "hello babygirl" but not actually being threatening in any way, just being your standard Cuban man.
We had just crossed a street called Oquando when we passed this guy. I had noticed him as we approached because he had been looking at us, but also looking around a bit uncertainly. But as we passed, he reached across me and grabbed my camera, pulling it very hard so the strap broke. I managed to grab the other end of the strap but again he pulled hard and broke it. I tried to chase him down the street but I only had my left sandal half on because it had been rubbing against my ankle. I kick it off but it slowed me down too much. He wasn't very fast and didn't seem to expect to be chased, so probably over a longer distance I could have caught up, but he dodged into a house and Mum shouted to me not to follow him. I was so caught up in my anger I hadn't really stopped to think about what I'd do if I caught him, but the sight of the long dark corridor he ran down made me come to my senses somewhat. We did note the house address, though.
The interesting thing about the whole experience was how I reacted. After the initial anger I felt horribly helpless, which was no fun at all. I hate being made feel helpless and vulnerable like that. I like to be able to deal with situations, to sort them out, but I really couldn't this time.
We reported it to the police, but there were no free police cars to take us to the station so they tried to discourage us from going. We took a Coco-taxi there instead and thankfully our very kind driver spoke fluent English. So he came in and interpreted for us, but the police didn't want to give us a report form so I could claim on our travel insurance. We're going to go back next week, but I don't hold out much hope.
The annoying thing is that there's no Irish embassy here to help. I might try the British embassy but they'll probably refuse to help. I hate giving up though! Nobody should be able to bully me like this. I want to get my insurance at least!
I know it's only a camera and it's a relief he didn't try to harm me, and that I'd moved my money out of my camera case a couple of hours earlier. But I feel compelled to do something, to try to get something back so I feel less helpless. The lovely Diane (our hostess) is going to make a few phonecalls and see what she can do - it's far too easy to be pushed around when you don't speak Spanish so that's a great help. And when the holiday is over I'm going to write to Castro to complain - you'd think the police would be more effective in a dictatorship.
Havana here we are!
Well, we've finally arrived at our casa particulare. It's 7.15pm local time, which means 12.15 GMT and I'm exhausted. The drive from the airport gave us our first flavour of Cuba, which was pretty fascinating. It's all very spread out and you can really see the poverty. Our taxi-driver pointed out the hospital and sports centre to us - both looked quite run down. The whole town needs a lick of paint. But it's warm and there's palm trees and our hostess is amazingly friendly. Absolutely gorgeous house with our own alarm system, so nice and secure.
What I found most fascinating was all the bill-boards we passed proclaiming various people as heroes. Lots of pr0-revolutionary text, paintings, pictures of Castro and Che Guevara.
Anyway, I am exhausted so I'm going to unpack, eat and sleep
What I found most fascinating was all the bill-boards we passed proclaiming various people as heroes. Lots of pr0-revolutionary text, paintings, pictures of Castro and Che Guevara.
Anyway, I am exhausted so I'm going to unpack, eat and sleep
We're off to Cuba
The next 20 or so posts on this blog will be an account of our trip to Cuba, 19th November to 1st December 2006. It is written by Carolan.
Day 1: Flying Paris to Havana
Ah, the joy of travelling between two countries famed for their alcohol - we've just been served red wine and rum with our (surprisingly delicious) meal. Then again, I suppose alcohol is a large part of Ireland's reputation too, and we weren't served any alcohol between Dublin and Paris.
We're only two hours into our ten hour Atlantic crossing and I'm already bored. I've read the newspaper, eaten my lunch, gone for a stroll, and tried to sleep. but we still have eight hours to go. At least, I think we do - we've changed time zones too many times so I've lost track.
We got up at 5.55 this morning, catching a 9am flight to Paris on a nippy little CityJet machine. There's a sort of OAP tour travelling with us, all wearing silly faux-Cuban hats. Bless.
Day 1: Flying Paris to Havana
Ah, the joy of travelling between two countries famed for their alcohol - we've just been served red wine and rum with our (surprisingly delicious) meal. Then again, I suppose alcohol is a large part of Ireland's reputation too, and we weren't served any alcohol between Dublin and Paris.
We're only two hours into our ten hour Atlantic crossing and I'm already bored. I've read the newspaper, eaten my lunch, gone for a stroll, and tried to sleep. but we still have eight hours to go. At least, I think we do - we've changed time zones too many times so I've lost track.
We got up at 5.55 this morning, catching a 9am flight to Paris on a nippy little CityJet machine. There's a sort of OAP tour travelling with us, all wearing silly faux-Cuban hats. Bless.
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