Pink and Crumbly

Cuba

It has been the policy of the "Useless Travel Guide", never to attempt to give useful advice, but here I make an exception. If the fickle finger of fate decides that you are going to be poor, choose somewhere warm, where the alcohol is cheap every other person is a musician and food is easy to grow. Cuba is a place like that and I have it on good authority that Western Samoa also qualifies.
. So how can I summarise Cuba? Pink, Crumbly, Warm, Rhythmical
Cheap, Fascinating, Friendly Alcoholic
All of those plus an interesting history and better food than you might expect.

Cough cough splutter splutter crump cough hrgh gerumph de de d d d.....drone drone drone

We can hear the steady drone of the port engine quite clearly now the starboard engine has stopped all that Cough cough splutter splutter crump cough hrgh gerumph de de d d

Unfortunately we can see the starboard propeller quite clearly which can only mean that it stopped at the same time.
Even more unfortunately were just about to reach our cruising altitude of 12.000 feet on our flight back to Havana. The fifty year old DC3 wobbles a bit and starts to lose altitude..
But I have started this story in the middle so I should really go back to the beginning.....

Meg had chosen Havana, from all the brochures that Jules Verne had sent her since our trip to China for a number of reasons.
1. The place sounded very interesting.
2. The price was very competitive.
3. She fancied a holiday somewhere exotic and in the sun because work was depressing and all our childer were away and it was to be our first Christmas without Gran.
4. Stephen and Karen had not been there!!

There had been some obvious drawbacks.
1. The Americans were promising to exclude from their shores anyone who went to Cuba.
2. The Americans refused permission for anyone going to Cuba to over fly America or Land on American soil. That made the route much longer than need be.
3. Take off was 08-30 on Boxing Day morning. Ugh!
The flight was truly horrendous.
"Thanks Bill!"
Five and a half hours to Gander in Newfoundland. I can remember the days when aero planes did not have the range to fly from London to New York and so landed at Prestwick in Scotland and Gander in Canada to refuel. So we were at least reliving history. Gander was bleak and cold. -6C. We had to negotiate a blizzard walking across the tarmac to the transit lounge. We were of course attired in our sunny Cuba clothes, brrrrr. The transit lounge was bleak and warm. Meg bought a postcard and sent it to Mandy and Arthur. You could tell the time in a variety of capital cities or read the maps of Newfoundland. Newfoundland looked bleak. It took an hour and a half to refuel Monarch's Boeing 757, cunningly modified to eliminate any knee room, and a further 15 minutes to de-ice it. I remember the Munich disaster had something to do with icing up and so watch the process with interest.
The head winds into which we flew westward have backed south so we have more head winds and a seven and a half hour flight to Cost Rica carefully avoiding all the bits we were not allowed to fly over.
"Thanks Bill."
At one stage we fly over Cuba. In Central America we buy nothing but note that Steve and Kaz haven't been here either. We chat to three young Costa Ricans who are on their way to London for a holiday because it is so cheap. What it is to live in a third world country.
"Thanks Maggie." Well Bill can't have all the credit. It would apparently cost them more to stay in a hotel in Costa Rica than to fly to London and stay in Windsor. They were not staying at the "big house". Two hours refueling were followed by a one and a half hour flight, the tail wind this time reducing our flying time. In spite of the duration the trip has not been too bad. The in-flight movies were alright and I have finished my Dick Francis novel and practiced my Spanish. If only there had been more leg room. A two hour coach journey brings us to the Hotel Presidente. Supper was provided for those who were on the tour of Cuba but the rest of us who were "staying put" in Havana were told repeatedly that we couldn't have any, the rep made it sound as though we had been naughty children. This probably makes it the first 24 hours in my life that I have dined entirely on airline plastic air-fix kits. The Monarch food tasted alright and looked a lot more appetising than what the good little boys and girls were being offered. What is more our body clocks were in a mess so we gave up waiting for the lift and lugged our cases up three flights of dingy stairs to room 412 with its crumbling plaster and iron mark burnt into the carpet. We pronounce room 412 to be OK! The ceiling is about ten feet high, the beds take up only about a quarter of the area and the bathroom is huge. The wiring is loosely connected and it seems they were short of insulating tape when they removed the switch from my bedside lamp. I hope I can remember that when I am half awake first thing in the morning. Diabolical is a word that springs to mind but they operate on 110 volts so I would probably survive a short circuit. We never have been fussy about decor as we aim to spend very little time in our room.
We compute that we have been traveling for 24 hours but miraculously drop off to sleep and wake up adjusted to Cuban time. Meg is up first and is peering out of the window looking out over a sunlit Havana.
"What's it like?" I enquire.
"Pink and crumbly" She replies.
In a flash she has just summed up the whole place and the more detailed study which we make in the following week never improves on her first impression. The beds are comfortable and Meg has got her hair drier to work which is always a critical factor on any holiday
Below at street level we overlook a school. The girls wear red skirts and white blouses, the boys red shorts and white shirts. It is not yet 8-00 O 'clock so school will not start for some time, so the children are....dancing! Yes dancing! There is a member of staff and a ghetto blaster. Some are giving a display, but even those watching are moving to the Caribbean rhythm. No wonder they can dance when they are adult.
Breakfast is rather splendid! Unlimited amounts of food and drink, the coffee is Cuban and OK, the orange juice is freshly squeezed and there was an interesting selection of Cubany things, like beans and rice and potato salads and fishy dishes and there were English things for those who wanted fried egg and sausage. What happened to the theory that the food in Cuba would be awful and we would lose kilograms?
There is to be a tour meeting at 11-00 a.m. so we have only time for a short stroll along the prom. A slim youth soon attaches himself to us.
"Where are you from?" "How long are you staying?" "Do you have any coins, pens, or soap you don't want?"
"No we don't"
"Can I have your T shirt when you go home?" That's original.
"Can I have your trainers when you go home?" This is a man with really modest aspirations. You should see the state of my battered trainers.
"Yes! You can have them"
"They would be very good for me" We compare foot sizes and to my surprise they are the same. I must outweigh him by six stone. We are approaching one of the armed policemen who stand at intervals along all the routes we choose during our stay. I think they stand within sight of each other. Our appendage detaches himself explaining that he will be arrested if they think he is annoying us. A few metres on he rejoins us and assures us that he can get us cigars or rum if we want any and he just checks the day we are departing again so that he will not miss his trainers. As we walk we are fascinated by the passing cars. Many are pre 1960 American classics. The tour meeting is informative and accompanied by our first mohitos. A mohito is a cocktail associated with Hemmingway it consists of sugar. Fizzy water, lime juice, lemon juice and white rum served with crushed mint and ice. Mohitos are long cool and refreshing and suit the Cuban ambiance to perfection. Delia the hotel PR woman does not want hers so gives it to me. It has twice the rum content of mine. I reckon the guy who gave it to her had evil designs on her.
We book the New Years Eve party and express an interest in the flight to Trinidad, tour of Vinales and an evening at the Tropicana.
Santos offers us a tour of Old Havana this afternoon to show those of us who are "staying put" the places we can visit at our leisure as the week unfolds.
2-00 finds us milling around with no sign of Santos or his coach. Then a coach turns up and one of the guests asks me if it is for the trip. I presume it is so he boards it but I have some essential shopping to do. Round the corner I find a smaller coach and Santos who confirms that this is our coach, just as the other one drives off with the misinformed passengers on board. I give them a wave as they pass. We pile on as do many others leaving on the pavement people who, like us, paid for the trip this morning, while half the people on the bus have not booked but assure Santos they always intended to. The Cuban's obviously believe that possession is nine tenths of the law, because the bus jackers stay put and the ones with tickets exit left muttering. I cannot remember who they were, but from this moment on it becomes obvious that we have amongst our numbers a group we are to call the whingers.
They missed a good trip which I will not describe because we revisit all the places several times during the holiday.
Santos' excellent tour does not finish until after six and still being partly on Greenwich Mean Time, we break one of our main resolutions and eat in the hotel. Dinner appears to be the left overs from breakfast.

Chapter 2 Music and Mohitos

Next morning we take a taxi, a tourist taxi, with Charles and Diana, no, they are not back together, to Old Havana and start with the Museum of the Revolution. This skips the era when the Spaniards conquered the natives, or the phase when the new natives conquered the Spaniards, but deals with the two Castro brothers and Che Guevara conquering the now corrupt even newer natives. It really is a dramatic story and interesting to see it from the Cuban (they pronounce it koo ban, not cue ban) angle.
Cuba was pretty near to becoming the 50th United State in the 1950s. The Americans were using it as a playground and spending their holidays there. The government led by President Batista was corrupt and oppressive. The Cubans were unhappy. Raoul and Fidel Castro had led protests as students and were goaled then exiled. They returned with Che Guevara, in a boat called "granma" and landed their invasion force of about 50 on the south east corner of the island. Within days they were reduced to 12 and fled into the hills where Batista's army backed by American money and armed with British tanks planes guns and bombs hunted them down. Slowly but surely more Cubans joined their band and the exhibition depicts a series of liberating battles where in spite of his British and American support Batista could not stop the tide swelling against him. The three heroes Raoul, Fidel and Che always lead from the front, and for every battle they show how each of their groups were deployed and the shirt they were wearing and the bullet holes and many other souvenirs. After two or three years, Batista fled and Castro took over. The Americans immediately blockaded Cuba trying to starve the population into submission. It never works, does it? The Russians became their allies. The Cubans fought off an invasion led by Exiled Cubans supported by the Americans at the Bay of Pigs. Then Kennedy nearly started world war three when the Cubans allowed the Russians to install their rockets on Cuba.
I never could see the difference between the Russians having rockets on Cuba pointing at America and the Americans having rockets on England Germany, Turkey, Canada, pointing at Russia.
We only take two hours to see the museum because we cannot speak Cubanol, the Cubans are careful to point out that they do not speak Espanol but we cannot detect the difference and they can understand our very limited Spanish. Charles and Diana who do speak Espanol take a full two days in there.
Among the exhibits are several of Che's berets, the original Granma and the vehicles they used. We note that Raoul and Che used jeeps, while Fidel had a Land Rover. Presumably Rover cannot use this in their marketing or fear of offending the Americans.
We saunter down O'Reilly Street to the Cathedral Square. This is the sort of place where you could spend the entire of your holiday. The Cathedral facade is beautiful old Spanish. Inside is light and airy and a live band is preparing for a service. The square itself is filled with market stalls selling musical instruments, carved wood and pictures of Che. Two sides of the square are formed by museums and the fourth by a superb open air cafe where you can drink mohitos and listen to the live band. Two extremely well upholstered Cuban ladies are gyrating to the latin rhythms moving parts of their anatomy independently that we always considered to be rigidly joined. Between dances they smoke Havana cigars and drink rum.
All the streets in Old Havana are filled with music as each cafe has a band and some bands don't have cafes. We come across one band playing near some road-works and when we approach realise that it is the workmen playing their helmets and their lunch boxes. Most of the pedestrians move to the rhythm of the nearest band. However we cannot sit here all day so wander into the other square which is lined with bookstalls, more cafes, all with live bands, the Captain General's house and a coffee shop. We photograph lots of Spanish Colonial facades before trying the coffee. Most of Havana is falling down but the centre is undergoing a major face lift with the original styles and colours. There are no new buildings in the old city and not a MacDonald's anywhere on the island.
"Thanks Bill."
The coffee shop has no sign outside and the door is kept closed. If Santos had not shown it to us we would never have found it. The coffee is delicious. We visit the Capitol which is a copy of the one in Washington nearby is the opera house where we note that we can see La Boheme or Cinderella for 10$. The opera house is next door to the Inglaterra, the hotel from which we have been switched. We pop in to see the fate from which we have been saved and conclude that for the first time we have been downgraded as a result of a switch.. Various rumours abound as to why the switch took place. Plague of prostitutes, slow service and poor condition but to our eye it looks far superior to the Presidente and is much more conveniently located. We find a Tango House but nothing is happening so we drift aimlessly in a Sargasso Sea of music and crumbly pink architecture before taxiing back to the Presidente. A good move because we learn that some guests who walked back through an area Santos warned us to avoid have been robbed. During the course of the week this happens to four other guests. The incidents range from having your hat removed by a passing cyclist to snatching you bag or camera. The only people who are hurt are those who hold onto their bags too tightly. We take to carrying nothing, a strategy that at first I thought to be impossible but in fact turned out to be quite easy, so we were never a target.
In the evening we set off down unlit, badly paved side streets to find a restaurant and dine on chicken in a spicy sauce, a salad of tomatoes and shredded coconut, rice and beans in the Don Agamemnon. The ice cream is coconut flavoured too. We are starting to acquire a taste for the Cuban beers and having tried three brands, I now order Huevas instead of Cervejas.
It is still early and as we are literally full of beans we undertake a long walk to the Riviera, a big posh hotel in the new part of the city. It is the home of the best salsa bar in Havana which as it is the home of salsa, should make it the best salsa bar in the world. It does not open until 10-00pm and admits only people who are elegantly dressed. As it is not yet 9-00 and I am not elegant we walk back to the hotel along the sea front. We have a few drinks on the terrace before retiring.
After another good breakfast in the rooftop dining room we book our trip to Trinidad and the Tropicana through the Cuban tourist agency instead of Santos because we cannot find him and she takes visa. Then we taxi off to the old city and do much the same as we did yesterday. Meg wants the classic photo of Havana showing the curved promenade which links the old city with our hotel. I mistakenly tell the driver to take us to the old city. The view point is about 1 km before the city. As we approach I call out here will do. I repeat this instruction continually all the way to the fort but he is unstoppable and we have to walk all the way back. We visit the Captain General's residence noting that the cobbles outside are wooden to muffle the sound of passing carriages. Most of the streets are cobbled with stone used as ballast on the sailing ships. Like many of the places we see it is beautiful from the outside and a little disappointing internally. It does have a statue of Christopher Columbus and a bronze of the city's emblem which is a girl carrying a cross, her body is curved, she could be dancing.
The Tango house is still in a coma. We stroll along the harbour. It is picturesque and must have been a wonderful anchorage but it reeks of oil two inches of which floats on top of the Atlantic Ocean. One careless match and the lot could go up. A small fort houses cannons of various eras that have defended the narrow harbour entrance. We mohito at O'Reilly's and browse through the bookstalls and craft shops before deciding to have lunch. Our guide book recommends the restaurant in the science institute. Technically this is provided for visiting scientists but we are assured it is open to the public and anyway we both have A level chemistry. It is sited in the most elegant building on the junction of Prado and Trocadero. Well here we are on the said junction deciding which of the four pink and crumbly buildings would be described as the most elegant. Eeny Meeny Miney Mo! There are no signs to guide us but the door of one is open. The girl behind the desk looks surprised to see us. We ask if this is the restaurant. She does not appear to understand but she is at least smiling. We try knife and fork imitations... no result, tummy rubbing and baby bird impressions get a reaction. She asks in quite good English if we want the restaurant. We do! It is upstairs. We ascend the stairs. There is no sign of a cafe, just four diverging corridors. We chose one at random and find a large palatial dining room with sixteen pillars, about twelve tables two other diners' two waiters and a waitress. How do they expect to do any business without giving the hungry public more clues? The meal is nearly as good as the surroundings.
Back in the streets we watch the Cubans shopping. The pharmacies have no 'brands', if you have a head ache; you get the headache cure, if you have a tummy upset there is one thing for that too. It must be very economical. We had heard that the Cuban health service is the best in the world and consider that this may be because they are not being ripped off by the drug companies. The department stores and normal shops admit only two or three people at a time so each has a long queue outside. Queuing is an art form in Cuba. Most Cubans travel by camel. The name given to the public transport formed by a tractor unit that you would expect to be pulling a 44 ton trailer on the M1. Here it is hitched to a people carrying unit that has a hump at each end and a dip in the middle. The queues for the camels are not linear so one is expected to wander round the milling throng asking "Are you last?" and adopting that title until someone asks you the same question. At his introductory lecture when he recommended the official tourist taxis and not walking in certain districts, Santos had informed us:-
"On out late night TV you can watch films with subjects like murder, rape, sex, violence, robbery, romance, comedy, wild life, drug addiction, alcoholism, childbirth, gambling, shopping, courtship, divorce, or you can ride in a camel and see all these in twenty minutes." I would have loved a ride in a camel but could never find the end of the queue.
We eat in one of the new restaurants. Castro has recently given the population permission to open in their own homes provided that they cater for no more than twelve diners and employ only members of their immediate family.
"Welcome to my home" beams the owner, a twenty year old. We struggle through the options without the aid of a menu and with very little common language. Animal noises feature quite a lot in our orders. The result is that Meg gets one of the tastiest fish dishes she has ever had and I eat marinated beef. I bet the cows here never eat diseased dead sheep. Among our vegetables are yuccas, a white root cooked in butter and garlic. Who was it that said the Cuban food was bad? The whingers of course still believe that it is and can be heard moaning to that effect each evening in the bar of the Presidente. We drink Huevas. Meg notes that each time I order two one of Don Santos's young daughters goes out to the shop, next door and buys two more. This is just-in-time purchasing and superb stock turnover.
Tonight we are eating later and dressed as elegantly as I can manage. Meg can look elegant in a bin liner. At the Riviera around 10-00 broad men talk to each other on portable phones even though they are only two metres apart and areas are roped off. We are sent outside to form a queue. Several people jump the queue, some successfully some less so. We are quite near the front and a painfully slow filtering process gets us inside for an entrance fee of 20$ each by about 10-15. Inside the furnishings are grubby and the decor dingy. There are about 10 people in a room that will comfortably hold 500. A large screen video is playing salsa. There isn't a dance floor. For the next hour people dribble in. The video blares on. We are sold beers at three times the normal price noting that most of the others order a bottle of rum and four cans of coke. Around 11-30 the curtains open and a really hot salsa band play some really hot salsa. About four expert couples start dancing down at the front. Perhaps there is a pocket handkerchief floor down there after all. Near us a couple of girls start dancing in the aisles. Very quickly, all too quickly the band leader silences the band and asks
"Is there any one here from Italy" On being assured there is he proceeds to sing Volare. He them progresses through Collins atlas assured of success because the guy at the table behind us leaps up and shouts yes in response to every nationality. I'm sure it would remind me of Butlins had I ever been. The band manages a few more bars before he banishes them to admire him playing solo drums for about ten minutes. We leave about 12-30 pleased that we had been but very unimpressed by the salsa. You will hear better salsa at the Matlock festival in April. Outside the queue is 100 meters long writhing with people desperately trying to get in but the Cuban filter is ensuring that every passer by thinks that something absolutely wonderful must be going on inside. We repeat our now familiar late night promenade stroll back to the Presidente. On the way we pass "The Record Cafe", an unpretentious coffee bar in which young Cubans dance to records. I suspect that this is the place to see genuine salsa and only for the price of a coffee or a coke

Chapter 3 I Acquire a New Hobby

Today is our trip to Vinales. The name relates to the growing of grapes but they named the town before they planted the vines, and found that the earth was much too fertile for the vine. Bullocks pull Iron Age ploughs through the rich red soil. We have chosen the trip because it takes in some of the wilder areas of Cuba. I am hoping to see some of the unique Cuban birdlife. The trip however includes an obligatory visit to a cigar factory and rum distillery. I have been trying unsuccessfully to buy a Cuban flag. Here in the middle of our 100th trip to our 24th country I have decided I want a flag of every country I have visited. That should sort out birthday and Christmas present problems for my nearest and dearest for the next ten years. It will sort out the problem of what to get me, not where to get it. I am having difficulty getting a Cuban flag in Cuba. I discuss the problem with Santos.
The coach trip is very promising; there are birds in bushes on trees and in the sky. We are moving too quickly to identify anything other than cattle egrets and vultures but there are certainly plenty about. We pause at a roadside cafe for a drink on the edge of a sugar cane plantation and they have set up a small section processing the cane and producing sugar. They give you a piece of sugar cane to stir your coffee with. It is the first time I have been able to eat the spoon after I have finished with it. Saves on the washing up!
Our next stop is the town of Vinales. The contrast with Havana is dramatic. There all the houses are at least three storeys and very ornate in their decoration. Here all the buildings are single storey and have pillars supporting a cover for the pavement. We pull up at the cigar factory. A Cuban flag hangs by the entrance. Technically the factory is closed for the holidays, but a few women have come in to demonstrate sorting and preparing the leaves. There is not a dusky inner thigh to be found to roll them against but an old man demonstrates cigar rolling. The whingers moan but I am pleased that the visit will be shorter than planned. Even better, Santos has found me a super flag for 10$, not a bad price even though it is soiled by bird shit. On our way out I notice the flag by the entrance has gone missing during our visit. We drive to a view point near which is a tree with red flowers like pom poms. It harbours a wide selection of colourful birds. Here we discover who among the party are bird watchers. Six of us mill round excitedly watching little red things and little green things with curved beaks attacking the red flowers. One had a yellow bow tie marking. Meg sees a humming bird. The valley that proved no good for vines has some very odd features called mogotes, they date from the Jurassic period and for some reason also occur in Malaysia. They look like the tops of steep limestone mountains poking up through the valley floor. They are quite small in diameter but have very steep sides and are about three to five times higher than their width. We visit a rock face that has been rather garishly, and Meg considers tastelessly, decorated with pictures of the prehistoric animals that once inhabited the valley. The rum distillery is also closed. The whingers are having a field day. Lunch has been arranged in the open air on a tobacco farm, they sell the standard tourist trinkets but no one is buying. However the enterprising owner has a fall back strategy. She organises a raffle with everyone guaranteed to win a prize. like a prize chump I fall for it and buy two tickets at a dollar each, even though the only prize I want is a pair of claves and I can buy better ones than she has for 2$ at out local market. She even rats on her promise that everyone will win a prize. The lunch and the setting were well worth the 2$ though. We are offered a trip into a cavern and a subterranean boat ride but I prefer bird watching and am rewarded by finding a Cuban bullfinch. A young boy offers me mandarin oranges from the orchard nearby. Rather unadventurously I decline his offer. I have just seen a brilliant blue flash in the nearby bushes and there are all sorts of bird calls in the tree tops. I don't see all that many birds but the vegetation is almost as interesting. Some trees have the lianas trailing from them that you see Tarzan swinging from. There are some ferns that are sixty feet tall. Many of the trees have brightly coloured flowers and nearly all of them have interesting looking fruits. When the subterranean boat emerges into the sunlight I tell the other bird watchers about the bullfinch and lead them to the tree but the bird has flown.
In the evening we return to Don Santos' house, he is delighted that we have returned. Meg's fish dish is not on offer tonight. She has lobster I have pork with the aid of more animal noises and lots more rum. Well I am actually quite sorry we missed out on the rum distillery now because I suspect there is quite a lot to bet learnt about the subject. Don Santos does his best with three different grades of Old Havana. He also gives Meg the recipe for mohitos, in Cubanol! Back on the veranda of the Presidente I hear the whinger in chief returning from her evening meal. The soup was like dish water, the meat was tough, greasy and tasteless the vegetables cold and it was all very expensive. She didn't ever eat much but they had to go for a meal because her husband needed three square meals a day. The food had been so bad however that he had to leave it all. It sounded almost perfect for a whinger. We retire early having booked a 05-00am wake up call for our full day (little did we know) trip to Trinidad.

Chapter 4 Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer

We fly to Cienfuegos on the Caribbean coast in a Dakota; a DC3 to be precise built in 1947. When on the ground, the fuselage is inclined at about 30 degrees so you need to use the seats as a sort of via ferrate to get to the front seats. During the flight we are invited to visit the flight deck. It all looks delightfully primitive. The views over the island are spectacular. We see the Bay of Pigs and the alligator swamps. After we land, we take the air crew with us and leave them at a hacienda before being taken to another viewpoint where we can climb a rickety wooden observation tower. We see small falcons. Possibly American kestrels soaring and stooping in a dramatic aerial display. There is an obligatory stop at a small ceramic factory which for some reason is not making ceramics but it is slaughtering pigs, from the bay perhaps??
Had they been making ceramics we could have watched them from the circle of rocking chairs arranged around the potter's wheel. Rocking chairs are a feature of the Cuban porches. Built by the Spanish and prospering from sugar and slavery, Trinidad is cut off by the Escambray Mountains and in this secluded state was ideally placed for taking an active part in piracy. The centre of the town has for some reason avoided development. The main square is a gem. It has a central garden with tall palms and some seats. The palms in Cuba have a bulge in the trunk and are referred to as pregnant palms. The square is cobbled and the buildings house museums and a church. We are given time to explore on our own before meeting for another excellent meal. We see most of the museums; climb some tall towers to see over the red tiled roofs. Towards the end we retire to a bar to sample canchancharas. A drink made from brandy and honey. A local character lopes round the cobbled streets riding bare back with his machete in his belt. The machetteros are the sugar cane cutters and also formed a large part of Castro's recruits. In Trinidad we see the classic car to end all classic cars, an Edsal. One of the features of Cuba is the amazing collection of 1950s American classic cars that are on the roads. The Cubans have found some way of keeping them mobile. Someone suggests that they probably all have lada engines. In Havana they have a car museum but it cannot have anything like the variety of models you can see on the roads. I get very excited and insist that Meg takes a picture. The Edsal is one of the classic marketing mistakes that I frequently refer to in my lectures. The only place I have heard one referred to was in the film "Back to the Future". We buy a salsa tape in the music museum which had three old violins in it, before driving back to collect our air crew and board the DC3 air taxi. Fifteen minutes into the flight, the steward has just started serving in-flight drinks when....Cough cough splutter splutter crump cough hrgh gerumph de de d d d.....drone drone drone
The steward stops serving drinks. I look expectantly at the silent intercom. The plane levels out and starts a slow turn to port. If it had been to starboard I might have imagined that planes with one engine behaved like boats with one oar. The pilot has it under control but the steward is hammering on the flight deck door, perhaps that is where the parachutes are kept. After a minute or two it opens briefly but the steward is not admitted. He returns after a minute with three coffees. The intercom remains silent. The passengers remain silent. I ask Meg how her engine is doing. Apart from a few loose rivets its doing OK. The chap across the gangway from me says Dakotas can fly on one engine and land in fields. He also believes that they can successfully glide down engineless. Well he ought to know, after all he is a passenger. I'd like the pilot's opinion. We are maneuvering over the Caribbean to approach the airport. The plane lands smoothly. I am ashamed to say there is no round of applause. There is still no announcement. The door is opened and some people get out. Some others head for the terminal others wander round the plane. I photograph the good engine. Someone suggests it will take only five minutes to tighten a few nuts but I'm afraid it is only another passenger. We sit on the terminal steps drinking coffee out of polystyrene cups as watching the other two aircraft take off as the sun starts to set over our DC3. It is not going to be a short repair but it may well be a long night. We speculate about the chances of finding spare aircraft, coaches, drivers, petrol stations, late on New Years Eve and decide to make a late raid on the duty free. Three bottles of rum and lots of biscuits will make an odd party but we intend to make the best of it we are at least not bruised and battered in a swamp and the whingers opted out of this trip.
Our guide has found a coach! The estimated time to reach Havana is six hours; it is nearly 19-00. We will see the New Year in on the coach. Off we set, it is dark. There are times when a good sense of direction is not a comfort. As most of our party's spirits rise now we are on our way, I realise that we are heading south and Havana is north. Our coach has a number of other calls to make before it can head for Havana. The calls are duly made and after about an hour we are passing the airport again. We look for signs that the locals in the villages we pass are getting ready for the celebrations. I think they are in for a dull time, not much is going on. We stop at a roadside cafe and our guide arranges for us to be given tasty sandwiches and a drink. The coach makes it back by 23-30! There must have been a tail wind. We have paid $20 for dinner at the Presidente. It has all been eaten. We want our money back. They do not want to part with it. We are obdurate. They are nearly as obdurate. I ask to see Delia. Our dollars are returned and we join the revelers who are dancing by the pool. The ones who are really enjoying themselves are the Argentineans. The English sing Auld Lang Syne and we dance off at about 01-00 after our oddest new years eve ever.

Chapter 5 Dancing all the Way

As it is the day that Castro beat Batista we expect big celebrations to be happening somewhere but are informed the Cubans will celebrate at home so we fall back on a well tried and trusted formula for the first part of the day. Mohitos in a cafe with a band in between wandering round the old town. We switch cafes and buy a tape off the band. I am intrigued by the guy playing a wooden box on which he sits. It has a hole cut into one face and five springy bits of steel mounted by the aperture. The Tango house has some people sitting around. They spring up when we enter.
"Do we want them to Play? Sing? Or Dance?" They ask.
"Can we dance?" we respond.
"The tango??" they ask in astonishment!
"The tango!!!" We assure them.
They have not encountered English who can tango and the guitarist tries a few tunes for us. The Argentinean tunes are not quite suitable and we regret not having had a surreptitious practice because we are a little rusty but they are very appreciative. They explain that it is not like theirs and we tell them we have seen Argentinean tango in England. The woman sings, passionately. The guitarist is excellent. She wants us to hear her partner sing but he will not be here for an hour. We promise to return after more sightseeing and tell all the English about the place so the when we return it is with reinforcements. They sing duets and make the afternoon special. We cannot stay for long because our big finish includes a visit to the Ballet to see Cinderella. The Opera house is grand and an odd feature is that the cast are using the bar so as you sip your beer, snowflakes and fairies wander past and courtiers practice stretching exercises. There is no orchestra but the dancing is good. The audience is very knowledgeable. Tonight is the first night and several of the audience gets a round of applause when they enter. The longest is reserved for the choreographer. I find myself seated next to three Americans. I am surprised that any are allowed into the country.
"I am surprised that 'Bill' let you out! Will he let you back into the States?" I ask.
"Did it not occur to you that we work for 'Bill'?" replies my neighbour. No it didn't I think to myself, but perhaps it should have done. Politicians never practice what they preach. He asks about the cost of our holiday and thinks it very cheap which is odd because his visit is costing him nothing. 'Bill' is apparently picking up the tab.
We dash from the auditorium to beat the queue for a taxi. We need to get back in time for the coach to the Tropicana. There is not a taxi to be seen. New Years day? Our head start over the audience is gone there are now hundreds milling round outside. I move down the street hoping to intercept an approaching taxi. Good strategy if there were any taxis approaching. I am approached by a small swarthy individual.
"Taxi?" he enquires
"Taxi!!" I confirm
He leads us to his private car parked some distance away in the shadows and then leaves us sitting in it. He returns and asks for our destination
"Hotel Presidente!" Off we go. Not a route we are accustomed to. Through the area we were warned not to walk in. We are not surprised; it looks much rougher than anywhere we have been. The general direction seems OK but he favours Ligne, a road parallel to the promenade. I suspect he is avoiding the police. We wizz past the avenue Presidente. I restate our destination. He carries on towards the Riviera but on my second restatement fortissimo and in a higher key starts weaving his way through the back streets. He has only a rough idea of where he is or where we are going. Fortunately we know, but he asks for confirmation from a passer by. We get back just in time. To be fair he was very cheap and he was the only taxi we found.
The Tropicana was in the past THE! Night spot of the Caribbean. It tried, with some degree of success, to rival the Follies Bergere. In the last few years Castro has let them reopen it. The setting is magnificent. An open air night club with a huge stage and several elevated platforms. There is a cast of thousands which comprises of about forty of the best dancers you will ever see and a couple of hundred scantily clad posers. I say scantily clad but they do in fact wear ornate costumes, it's just that the costume manages to hide nothing. They dance on the stage and the platforms and pose in the aisles platforms and every available space for which they compete with the waiters serving complimentary rum and cokes. A dance based on African rhythms is particularly memorably and a juggler provides the only non dancing act but he is really exceptional at keeping things in the air. After the performance our departure is delayed because our coach has broken down. It occurred to me at one time to call this saga; "due to unforeseen circumstances there has been a change of plans", but "Pink and Crumbly" seems more appropriate.
On our final morning I wander outside the hotel with my trainers in a bag but there is no sign of their new owner. Someone was mugged just outside the hotel a couple of days ago and there is now an ever present policeman. We sit on the veranda and watch the police assisting a couple whose car has just juddered to a stop. Before we depart, we leave a message for our friends, Fran and John who are coming next week. Later we learn that they did not get the message, but they did stay in room 412 and found it infested with cockroaches.
On the way to the airport we pass through an oil field being harvested with the help, of the Canadians, I bet that annoys Bill, Our final stop is at a cafe where a young man hacks the top off coconuts and adds rum to the milk. You drink the delicious mixture then he slits open you nut for you to enjoy the white bit which is much softer and tastier than the dried version that we associate with coconut.
We are surprised to learn that several people on the trip moved into the Inglaterra on the second day and intend to sue Jules Verne for the expense incurred. Rather maliciously I make a mental note to write to Jules Verne telling them how much I enjoyed it. The delays on the way home are on such a minor scale that the tail winds more than compensate for them. At Gander I buy a Canadian flag and rue that I did not get one in Costa Rica. So how can I summarise Cuba?
Pink, Crumbly, Warm, Rhythmical
Cheap, Fascinating Interesting, Friendly Alcoholic
All of those plus an interesting history and better food than you might expect.
The lasting impression is I think the music accompanied by mohitos and watching ancient American cars crawl by. The delays don't matter, the accommodation is adequate, even the muggers are quite friendly and as long as your port engine keeps going the whole experience is highly recommended.
It has been the policy of the "Useless Travel Guide", never to attempt to give useful advice, but here I make an exception. If the fickle finger of fate decides that you are going to be poor, choose somewhere warm, where the alcohol is cheap every other person is a musician and food is easy to grow. Cuba is a place like that and I have it on good authority that Western Samoa also qualifies.____________________________________________________________