Trials of technology

  Trinidad, Cuba
Sunday, October 26, 2003

18 October Continued
After checking out the niceties of modern colour negative archiving, and finishing an excellent fish stew meal, we were dropped at the airport about 10pm, very appreciative of not having to prove or disprove the existence of the 901 airport bus. We were early for the flight, and had to sit around for a long time waiting for a check-in desk. When one finally came up, we were first in line, but some other people without baggage were processed first. It became obvious that there was a problem for them, but we, with our bags already on the conveyor, were more confident, but soon found out that the problem was overbooking. The plane was already full with people in transit from other flights, and no-one getting on in Abu Dhabi (at least 10 of us ) was going to get seats, even though we already had a seat number. We were told there was room on a flight via Heathrow, with a connection on Air France to Paris. When it became obvious that there was no possibility of forcing our way onto the direct flight, which left at 1.30am and arrived in Paris at 6.15am, we considered the "Night Bus from Hampi" principle, and went for the alternative before its seats ran out. At first, we expected to get onto the Gulf Air flight at 2.10am, but it too ran out of seats, and we were hurried onto the BA 2.10am flight. At the Gulf desk, we were asked to sign waiver forms to get a $US350 each voucher for travel costs, and got a form to authorise Air France to issue boarding cards for the second leg. Our bags were booked through to Paris, so we proceeded hopefully, though shat, to the departure lounge. One highlight was MP having to take his boots off at the security check. We remember late to change our dirhams into Euros, but have to do it twice, as first kiosk only has E50 notes.
The BA plane was a Boeing 777, our first, with very strange, bathtub-like seating up front for 1st and Biz class, and quite good seating, with individual screens, and "ears" on the headrest to do the job that pillows don't - keeping the head steady. The man who was supposed to have the window seat was happy to take the aisle, allowing DP her window seat sleeping position, but confining both to the seats for longer than preferred. He also took up a lot of armrest room, making it difficult to operate the entertainment system. DP took a sleeping pill, and spent a fair bit of the flight asleep. MP was kept awake by a combination of upright position, sore backside bone and movies, but must have got some sleep. During the wait to leave, an attendant asks us to give back our 2x US$350 vouchers, and gives us a 1x$US400 voucher. Walking 3 kms.
Sunday 19th October Abu Dhabi to Paris
The lights of London are quite impressive coming in, at about 6am, but wear thin on our third holding pattern loop. We thought we had plenty of time (more than 2 hours ) to make our connection, but the next obstacle presented was a lack of air bridges, and then delays in getting and filling buses. The buses were then held up by a Qantas jumbo crossing the bus route. At Terminal 4, MP took a short toilet break, and during this about a thousand people got ahead of us. We had found from a board where Air France was, and were heading back down an elevator to buses to Terminal 1. The elevator was stopped because of a crush of people waiting for buses, and we had quite a long wait before we got one.
Out of the bus, there was another crush of people at the security checking barriers, which took nearly half an hour to get through. We then found the Air France desk number and tried to check in, to find we were too late, as the plane was due to leave in less than 10 minutes. The girl at the desk couldn't, or wouldn't, ring Gulf for authority to get us on the 9.15, there wasn't a 10.15, so we were pencilled in on the 11.15, but had to go to Terminal 2 to the Gulf office to get the authority changed to suit the new flight number.
Getting back through the bus system to Terminal 2, getting the authority changed on the computer, then hand writing the changes on our itinerary, going backward through the Terminal 2 security system, and re-passing security into Terminal 1 (which now had some sort of fast-track attendant to shepherd short connection people through), took exactly one hour, and all of it could have been done on the phone in one minute.. MP almost loses the cash wallet in the process, leaving it at security. The girl at the Air France counter, a blonde with a French accent, says she is not the same blonde with a French accent who was there an hour ago, and knows nothing about our problem. Books us in for the 11.15, but we need our luggage dockets, which we can't find, as they were detached across at Terminal 2. Fortunately we remember that we flew BA, who are just across the room, and they are able to give us the tag numbers. We later find the tag on the ground - must have stuck to some of the paperwork.
We proceed to the Gate lounge, a really crummy old third world effort, and can hardly wait to get out of Heathrow. Total score for Heathrow 0 out of 1 0, not just for us, but for lots of other short-connection passengers who got screwed by the (lack of) system, including the women booked on a non-existent Midlands flight who were being given a hard time by Midlands' duck-shoving.
London looks pretty brown and dry. There are a lot of reservoirs around Heathrow.The fields and villages south of London rate a few photos, but it clouds over once we cross the coast. Further on, the extent of farming in France can be seen, and we get to a very big Charles de Gaulle airport. We rate an airbridge this time, the airport is new, clean and uncrowded, and immigration a formality. The signs to the RER take a bit of sorting out, but we ask for directions at a kiosk, get a Paris train map, and are told to get tickets at the office. The ticket man is not very helpful, but we get two tickets to at least as far as the Metro connection, for €7.75 each. The turnstiles aren't quite as tricky as they used to be, but still cause some difficulty. In the station, we rush to a train then decide if it is the right one. An English speaker reassures us it is, and we settle down to sort out where the train goes and when to get off. DP works out it is an express, and only has a few stops. We take up a fair bit of room, but it is not crowded. Our change at Chatelet Les Halles means following a lot of Arrows, and finding out what line we need to get to St Paul. Our ticket seems to get us onto the Metro for a 2 stop journey, and lets us out into the street. It is a bit hard to get our direction, as the street changes name right at the Metro exit, but we get the compass and some directions, and head toward the hotel, hopeful that they have held our booking. The hotel, Grand Hotel Jeanne d'Arc (2 star) looks suitably boutique, and we are directed straight to the room, 3rd floor, 2 man, or 1 man with luggage, lift. The room is quite good, genuine 2 star, comfortable bed, and warm in spite of the low temperature outside.
We head out straight away, walking the narrow streets through Sunday afternoon crowds. We're in the Marais district, in the 4th arrondissement, which used to be the bourgeois but bohemian district. Have a quick look at Carnavalet Museum in a nearby street, and see that all the restaurants are pricey. We see a lot of people eating felafel - find the source, but there is a big lineup. We settle for a long, flat roll, with tomato, bacon and cheese, heated in a toaster, and a Coke, and keep walking. Rue des Rosiers is quite Jewish, other areas are Gay, other areas grand, others cute, all in a km radius. The Place Des Vosges is an excellent collonaded 4 sided square (what else), with fan vaulted brick and stone ceilings (photos).
Back at the hotel, MP sleeps, DP reads. Later we head out looking for the river, via the Place de la Bastille, and down along Boulevarde Bourbon. We cross the road to see what is in the sunken area east of it, and find a large basin full of barges, boats and yachts with shipped masts. There is a lock at the end leading to the Seine. We cross the river and head upstream to look at the architecture of the Gare d'Austerlitz, as Dianne's bookclub has recently read the book "Austerlitz", which describes this railway station, and take photos. Back on Bvde de l'Hopital we try the local Macdonalds, scoring a rare win with two drinks because DP took the first and sat down while the Mac was turning up. Not bad. We've decided we're not dressed for fine dining, so are just attempting to satisfy the hunger rather than have a gastronomic experience.
The riverside walk past the Ile St Louis looked a bit deserted for MP, so we walked along the road to the St Louis bridge before Notre Dame, for photos. We ended up walking past the scaffolded front to take more photos. Had a bit of a look to see if we could see where we stayed with the kids on the Left Bank in 1987, but don't find it. Back past the Hotel de Ville, and down Rue de Rivoli, taking side trips to interesting areas. Back at the hotel, watched a bit of CNN to check out what is happening in La Paz, Bolivia (there have been riots, with people killed, in the last few days, and the airport has been closed, and we've seen that Britain is telling its citizens to avoid it - we have a flight out of La Paz in less than three weeks). To sleep about 11pm, to catch up for the lack of sleep the night before. Walking 12 kms
Monday 20th October Paris
We get up at 9am, surprisingly late, considering it is 12 noon Abu Dhabi time. Set off in search of breakfast and a pair of Mephisto shoes in that order. We walk west past the Hotel de Ville, take a leg to the north to look at an interesting street, and find ourselves at the Pompidou Centre, where the mechanised fountain is still entertaining, the building is still spectacular, and the queue to get in is still 100 m long. From here it is a short haul to the Forum des Halles, for some photos of the interesting use of space and form, and poor choice of materials, which are looking very much the worse for wear upstairs, where we go to take the photos. Downstairs, the building is in better condition, and warmer. The forecast temperature for the day is -2 to 7 degrees, and at present it's closer to the -2 degrees (a bit hard to take after we've had a miniumum of 27 and a high of 38 every day for the last two weeks!) We try the Belgian Quick chain of fast food for breakfast. Not too bad, but the delivery of the Quick Toast burger is far from quick. There is also some excitement upstairs in the toilet which can be enterd only with a docket code, and we've thrown our docket away. We got in anyway, then a bit of a mix-up till we realise that the room is for both sexes, but individual cubicles are either male or female. Dianne used the vacant centre one, which is blocked with a large wad of paper. Decides that flushing will unblock it, but it doesn't, and the whole thing starts to overflow onto the floor, and she has great trouble keeping her feet dry. Murray hears her scream from the next cubicle, and comes to investigate. Head up past the Palais Royal, and eventually to Haussmann Boulevarde, with lots of side trips and deviations, as the whole area is full of interesting streets and architecture. Eventually get to Galeries Lafayette Department store, which is in an old building with an old central atrium with an ornate glass dome, which is surrounded by ornate balconies and decorated columns (photo). They have Mephisto shoes, but not the style we want, but assistant gives us the address of a nearby Mephisto shop near Madeleine. Check out the nearby Au Printemps Department store, then walk to the shop, where we get the shoes (for €190 - hope they're as comfortable as the last pair). Fill in the forms to get a €24 tax refund. Continue walking - passing Place Vendome, Jardin des Tuileries, Place de La Concorde, and Petit and Grand Palais on the way. Cross the Seine, and on to Invalides then St Germain des Pres. We're heading for La Samaritaine Department store, which is supposed to have a good view from its 10th floor restaurant. See its name on a building on the other side of the Seine, so cross back. Pass the Louvre, so into the grounds to take photo of the glass pyramid, which was under construction when we were last here.
The restaurant does have a magnificent view, but it also has a freezing wind blowing, so take a few photos, and depart. Dianne deides she wants to brave the cold wind, so back for a kir royal (good, and very warming) for her, and a bad, half-filled cappucino for Murray (for a total cost of €8.60). By now our feet our getting very weary (especially Dianne's, because she's been wearig the new shoes). Back home via the supermarket, where we buy some French bread, and some muesli and coffee for Cuba. Back to room about 5pm, for French bread and vegemite and a rest - Murray does diary, and Dianne reads. Out again about 8pm for a meal a the Gourmet Chinese place, and to try and get money to pay our hotel bill. Machine threatens to keep Murray's card if he puts it in for the second time, so back to room to get Dianne's card, but the same happens, so end up paying our bill on Visa card. early midnight by the time we go to bed.
Walking for day 16 kms (and it feels like it, too).
Tuesday 21st Oct Paris(France)-Havana(Cuba)
Murray awake 5.30am, but goes back to sleep till 630. Stay in bed till just after 7am, but then up. Murray's worried about missing our 11.45 flight, so leave room by 8am. Have trouble getting tickets at the Metro, as can't see a ticket-window, and the machine only takes coins (which we don't have) or Visa card, which it won't accept. Dianne goes upstairs to newsagent, who says there is a ticket-seller. Back down, where find a man wiping the window (which we assume he has just opened). Get tickets, and train, then change onto RER with no problems. At airport before 9am. Expect the train to go right into the airport but we have trouble finding the terminal - just find signs to a shuttle bus to terminal 1. It is a fair way by bus, out onto streets with traffic. Inside, we find the Iberia check-in, then ask info for the location of the tax office, and are surprised to find it outside the secure area. Organise to get our tax refund, after DP lifts her feet to show the goods in question, then through Customs etc with no problems - EEC always seems very casual about immigration. Plane is on-time, and have an uneventful trip (not much to see - cloudy most of the way) to Madrid, where we have a 3-hour wait for our connection to Havana. Sit in airport and type diary, and recharge Palm Pilot battery. It is a very long walk to our gate, and we are racking up km's on our pedometer, but MP busts it when it hooks on the airplane armrest. Another Airbus A340, the big, 4-engine one. The seat arrangement of 2,4,2 is better than a jumbo, as you get both a window, and an aisle, but the 10 row is right up against the bulkhead, with restricted legroom, and a hard-to-see flat TV screen with lots of reflections.The Stalone comedy mob movie is pretty weak, and one about a young boy was hard to follow. The food and service was pretty good. Celebrated leaving civilisation with a bottle of bubbly each.
MP's backside is still painful, but it seems to get better as the trip proceeds. We are feeling pretty shattered by the time we arrive at Havana at 8.40pm. After an hour of immigration (separate interviews), and waiting a long time for the second bag, which is always worrying, it is about 10pm by the time we emerge into the arrivals area. We hold our nerve and knock back US$25 and US$20 taxi offers in the terminal, but take an $18 offer from a mini-skirted taxi co-ordinator at the kerbside. All uniforms seem to be pretty short, and are worn with non-regulation jewellery, makeup, etc.
Our taxi is some sort of modern 4WD muscle wagon, with a mustachioed latin-type driving. The ride is pretty scary, at high speed through potholed, ill-lit roads with a variety of decrepit traffic. Our man talks to our $25 offer man at a traffic light, but he has a fare, and doesn't seem to notice us. Off the main road we get into some pretty mean streets around the refinery and the rail station, and it gets worse, with narrow, potholed streets, almost no street lights, closed off streets, and one-way streets, with lots of people sitting and standing around. The buildings are incredibly decrepit - sections missing out of balconies, gutted buildings used as workshops etc - looks like you'd imagine Europe after World War 2 when people were making the best of it in bombed-out areas.




We hope our information that the area is safe is correct, as it sure as hell doesn't look it. If this was Central America, we'd be in serious strife in an area like this. We are starting to think of our Delhi experience of being semi-kidnapped to the wrong area and hotel, but out man knows what he is doing, and finds the right bell to ring in the gate of our Casa Particulare. It is a while before we get a response, which we understand later, but the owner turns up to welcome us. Our taxi man is happy with his $18, and gives us change in $US for a 20.
The reason for the delay becomes apparent when we are led up 4 flights of steep steps to the Casa level. There is a savage bell on this level, and some sort of remote, cable actuated door release.
The casa has an airy terrace area for breakfast, and a large, high ceilinged room at the back for us, with a clean tiled bathroom across the sitting room from us. We are shown the view from the roof, and the landmarks are pointed out, then we get a small bottle of cold water and retire. The combination of our fractured Spanish and his English is enough to sort out the formalities.
The shower eventually hots up, and after a shower we hit the sack, turning off the ancient Russian air-conditioner which no longer has any controls working -just turn off the electricity. Later open the windows to achieve sleep conditions .It is a bit noisy at first, but settles down.
Wed 22 October La Habana, Cuba
MP is awake pretty early, but DP manages to sleep through till 7. We have not refused breakfast, so when we see the tables set up, we sit down and cop it sweet, without knowing if it is included, and if not, how much. Coffee, guava and grapefruit juice, fruit salad, fried egg, very crisp (stale?) french bread, butter and honey. Not too bad for US$3 each, although last night's apparently complimentary small bottle of water was pretty savage at $1.
We look at the market being set up in the yard below (which explains some of the early-morning noise), and take some photos from the roof, then MP sits at the breakfast table to jury rig our pedometer, as DP has become quite attached to it. We talk to four Swedes staying here, who have signed up for salsa lessons at the casa, then depart, with MP doing a return stair climb to get the purse. It is a long way down Sol to the harbour, past mostly decrepit, and sometimes abandoned, once grand buildings. Quite picturesque, but it has a post-apocalyptic look about it, populated with strangely cheerful people. The harbour is large and well protected, but the water is dirty, and the waterside buildings are in poor condition. In one building occupied by uniformed officials, the floor has dropped out into the sea in the middle of the room. There are particularly trampy steamers in the harbour, and across the far side is a smoky oil refinery. It is not a good first impression, but it improves as we walk north into the tourist area proper. The first landmark is San Francisco's church, which deserves a couple of photos. We then criss-cross the main part of the old city, taking photos and checking it out. The landmark buildings are impressive, and most have been restored, or are in the process. We go looking for the Hotel Inglaterra, which is reputed to have a good French patisserie, but can't find it, so we continue to the Casa de Cientificos and look at a US$31 room, which looks pretty good, in a faded glory sort of a way.
From here we continue along Paseo de Marti (the Prado), to the Malecon, photographing our first "camel" (large bus bodies built onto articulated flatbed trucks - they're named for the shape of the coach, which sags between two humps like a Bactrian camel).

At the waterfront, we watch a local doing his washing in salt water in the rectangular bathing pools cut into the coral rock, and local rod fishermen along the promenade. We walk around the Castilla de San Salvador de La Punta, which guards the entrance to Havana's harbour channel. Take a photo of the fort on the other side of the harbour entrance, then walk along the waterfront to where there are a lot of tour buses. There is an art and craft market here just on the edge of the old town, with a lot of tourists looking at wood carvings, paintings and trinkets. Common among the carvings are open cage-like structures which appear to have been made from a log of wood whittled down to pencil thin components. We look at about a quarter of it, then look at an interesting bar and cafe under fig trees. It looks very touristy, but the prices are reasonable, so we have a beer, a mojito, and a rather strange plate of battered pork with sweet-and -sour sauce on the side which was more like apple sauce, but the combination was surprisingly good.
From here we zig-zagged through the old town, past the Catedral de La Habana, and the attached plaza, where we watched an old local black man all dressed up, approaching prospective customers to have their photos taken with him. He had his pat down well, and was quite successful.. Continue walking, following interesting turns as we found them, which was surprisingly frequent. At the Plaza de Armas we rested for a while on a seat in the park, and the middle-aged Cuban couple beside us started a conversation. It turned out that they were touting for a private restaurant, or paladares which could do a full banquet of local fare for $10 each, which wasn't too bad a deal if you were a big eater, but $10 worth of food and drink generally fills both of us. It was quite interesting talking to them, while at the same time MP was having a fractured Spanish conversation with a 73 year old, cigar smoking black woman on his side of the seat. It appeared that although the man was an accountant, he could make more money touting, and didn't seem embarrassed by his occupation. They said they would be in the park until 6.30 if we were interested.
Later we walked past Frailes, a monastery converted to a boutique hotel, with a beautiful courtyard garden which incorporated an old aqueduct channel. In the street outside there were walled enclosures showing the same water system. In the foyer there were excellent bronze sheet metal sculptures of empty monks' habits, sitting and standing.
We missed the Cadeca exchange office, which legally converts US$'s to pesos (also $), by metres, but continued on into the non-tourist section of the old town, (which is a stark contrast - similar buildings, most less grand, but all in a derelict condition, but with an incredible number of people living in them). Back to our Casa Particulare for an afternoon sleep.
We ventured out again after dark, walking through dark streets, with light randomly provided by doorways and building lights, and the occasional car. There were plenty of people about, and it didn't feel particularly threatening, as we were walking towards a better lit area around the Capitolio and the Hotel Inglaterra. We checked out Floridita, Hemingway's watering hole, but were not impressed. Picked our way over the broken pavement and water repair works in Obispo, the main tourist street, checking out restaurants. The full menus tended to offer more than we needed, and the snacks semed too little. Nearly took up an offer from a helpful Maitre de at La Mina, but decided too much food and money, and moved on to O'Reilly street. Were actually seated when we checked out the drink prices, decided they were a ripoff, so left, and finally settled for O'Reilly's bar just up the street with an identical menu, but cheaper drinks. It turned out to be the same operation, with meals supplied from O'Reilly's Bar. Settled for grilled fish, bistecca de Rey, Cristal beer and Coke. The food was good, if a little oily, although the salad component was pretty wilted. All up it was $9.50 which might as well be $10, as the change was two 25cent (peso) coins, or three quarters of bugger all. We are learning to end up with round number dollar totals, even if it means spending more. The walk back was down the well-lit tourist streets to Compostela, then into the unknown. There were still a lot of people about, but also a lot of dark doorways, derelict buildings and alleys. Makes it interesting when you are carrying the equivalent of 10 years of local salary on you. Once again it is demonstrated that repressive regimes make for easier travelling. It's not apparent at first, but there are actually LOTS of police around. Most blocks have one or two on them, but they seem to blend into the mass of people.
MP goes straight to sleep, while DP reads till midnight by the light of the one active 40 watt bulb out of a possible five in the fan/light combination about 3 metres up above the bed. By about 5 am they were dragging barrows and pounding something flat in the market next door. By 7 am they had gone reasonably quiet, but a bit late for sleep. Walking 12 kms
Thursday 23 October La Habana Cuba
We get prepared for the day and venture out for our usual breakfast. The bread is still rock hard, must be the way they have it. Only grapefruit juice today, but still a good breakfast. After, our landlord wants us to do something for him - it will only take 5 minutes by taxi. MP sorts out a lanyard for his sun glasses while we wait. It turns out that only foreigners have "the right" to have a mobile phone, and a foreigner and his passport is all that a local needs to get started, after which he pays the bills, or it gets cut off, and the foreigner shuffles off home, with no repercussions. This is how our landlord has a "legal" internet connection, under the name of some girl from Sweden. It seems reasonably foolproof, particularly if a deposit is paid, and the phone company cuts off supply once the deposit has been exceeded.
The taxi we go in seems more like a car belonging to a friend, and we drive right through the new town as far as Mirador, getting a good look at the Malecon. It is being rebuilt, and a lot of it has seating framework for the November carnival, so we are advised not to use it. There is an interesting fort turned into a restaurant at Mirador (photo), then we go through the tunnel under the creek, and around the back streets of a reasonably affluent looking area to the mobile phone company.
MP is given the mobile, as though he owns it, and we wait outside before it is our turn. Our landlord and his mate both look a bit nervous, and it is catching. They also don't seem to know what phone plan they want, as there seems to be a hefty deposit or connection fee with all of them. He manages to get an English translation contract, but it still looks pretty heavy to MP, particularly as they have a photocopy of the Passport, and there are a lot of pages to sign. There is also no deposit just a $40 connection fee, so we could be exposed to a bill for a month's calls. Could be savage. but DP trusts him, and we'd leave him in a bad position if we pull out now, so MP signs. It seems to be just a way around the regulations, and everyone, including the phone company, seems to understand this, as the girl doesn't even bother communicating with Murray, even though we find out at the end that she does speak some English.
Back outside it seems there is a hitch, as the phone in question won't work, and hopefully, by the time we leave, there won't be any calls made. Apparently, his son has asthma, and the phone is mainly for short calls and incoming ones.
It is too complicated to get them to take us to the bank in Mirador which has an ATM, so we get them to drop us at the Nacional Hotel in Vedado, the middle-class section of Havana. They actually drop us at a branch of the same bank, below the hotel, but we find they only have a peso machine, and the guard says there are no dollar machines in Cuba. We then walk along the lower level to what looks like the hotel entrance only to be told that the only entrance is up the hill.
It is a pretty grand entrance, with a genuine faded glory foyer, all dark varnished wood and marble floors. The ATM sign points us upstairs but it is a mystery machine, probably in pesos, so we go to the exchange booth. Once again we regret the National Bank screwing us out of a Visa debit card, as the Homeside card gets the fish-eye stare from the cashier, but the Visa credit card works OK for a commission-free US$500.
We walk the green lawns and garden overlooking the sea, look at the historic cannons (Havana has a million old canons, used as street furniture, bollards, fenders etc) then walk up what we think is the Rampa (but isn't), into the shopping area. We correct our mistake and find the Coppelia Park with the famous ice-cream kiosk inside. MP can't believe all the crowd milling outside the park entrance is for the ice cream, but it turns out to be so. As dollar carrying faringis, we are allowed to jump the queue, but find that the advertised sundaes are not available, and ice creams have a complicated, expensive, price structure, so give it a miss. Walk back through Central Havana. Pass Iglesia del Carmen, a large landmark church with a statue on the spire,

then down Neptuno into the central area through decrepit streets, with lots of old US cars in them, some parked, some goers, some under reconstruction.

We have noticed that there are some very well restored cars, mainly in the tour trade, but a lot are a bit like the Phillipines Jeepneys - almost no jeep left in them, or the axe with three new handles and two new heads.
The supermarket which was closed yesterday is open, so we buy provisions - water, rum, biscuits and tinned fish, trying to get an even dollar amount, but it costs less than we calculate, and we get 80 cents of peso change. We can't believe the supermarkets and "department stores" here. They have very little stock (as well as variety of stock) in them, and are depressing, stark places. You have to pay for everything in US dollars - Cubans are allowed to buy in them as well (if they have dollars). Apparently there are more modern malls elsewhere.
We then see and smell a bakery, buy what we hope will be a fresh loaf for $1, but although fresh inside, it has a brittle crust. It still tastes OK, and we eat some on the go, France style, on the way to the Hotel Lido, which has a good terrace on the 5th floor. The lift is dead slow, but the terrace is OK. We take a panorama photo, plus detail photos, and have beer, lemonade, spaghetti and pizza, all for US$7. Not too bad. The hotel room rate also seems reasonable at US$35, including breakfast.
From here we cut through the tourist section to the Peso exchange bank, find it is open till 10, and cash US$20 for a great wad of 52 ten peso notes.
The exchange situation is pretty incredible. The government says that the exchange rate is one US dollar to one Cuban peso. All accommodation, and tourist facilities have to be paid for in US dollars. However the government recognises that this is not the real exchange rate. Previously there had been a thriving blackmarket (for obvious reasons), so the government has got rid of this by having an exchange place where you can get the real exchange rate, which is 26 pesos to the US dollar!!! They only have notes, and not coins, so you get the situation that the cheapest thing is at least one US dollar, or if it is, say 20c, you must pay with one US dollar, and they give the 80c change in pesos (as 80c in pesos is worth about 3c, you've effectively paid 97 cents US for something worth 20c). As you can see, the system is not perfect, especially for the poor tourist. We now have pesos, so all we have to do now is find someone who'll take them, rather than the US dollars that everyone wants!
As far as we can work out, the average Cuban wage is about US$10 per month, paid in pesos, but rent, food and utilities are so heavily subsidised that they are virtually free. Therefore no-one starves, but unless you have access to US dollars, you live a pretty spartan life in a pretty spartan house. The main ways people get access to dollars is through the tourists, or through having a relative overseas who sends money back. Maybe one third to one-half of the population have access to dollars. Cuban Americans are now allowed to send back up to US$1,200 each per year - they are estimated to send back US$1 billion annually!
Walk down to Sol, and across to our casa, for an afternoon sleep for MP, and a lie down and read for DP.
The coming and going of people in our casa is interesting. We know there are four Swedes staying here (we think in rooms on the roof). The owner, his wife and son also live here, as well as "Grandma" (we're not sure whose Grandma, but she's pretty old). Another lady is quite often present, who we think is the owner's mother (we don't know if she lives here or not, but she does some of the cooking etc). Another young woman comes in the morning and does washing etc. A few youths turn up at various times (do they have a room somewhere?). We never find the answer to these questions, but all the houses seem to have a myriad of people living in them.
After our rest we open our rum bottle and the local cola before taking a walk around the close streets, down past Convento de Santa Clara de Asis, an enormous nearby convent, through an arched road tunnel, and up as far as the first major road. We are feeling more comfortable with the dark streets and street life, but decide to give it away after about half an hour, heading back to the casa for another rum, and reading/diary. We only have "Jackie and Kerryn", or vice versa, in our ficion library, so the reading choice is either the guide book, or the spanish Course text book from 10 years ago. Walking 8 kms.
Friday 24th October Havana - Trinidad
The family is up early, possibly to make sure they sell us another breakfast. The young woman, probably our host's wife, is ironing on the terrazzo floor of the hallway, the older woman is in the kitchen, and the internet is on. After packing, and during breakfast, DP does an hour's internet, including demonstrating Lonely Planet Thorntree website and pulling up the references to this Casa Particular. There is no internet charge, so we pay for the outstanding night and breakfast, and leave when the taxista rings the bell right on 7am.
The taxi has a meter, which solves one problem, and a roof rack and octopus strap which solves the baggage problem.. We start off heading North, away from the destination, passing a truck full of beat police changing shift, then hit the main coast road, swinging right past the railroad station. The streets are filling with traffic, but we follow main roads right across town to the Viazul bus station, unable to follow the progress on the map. The meter comes to $5.03, so we are faced with the old change problems, end up with a couple of useless coins for 97 cents US.
At the bus station, we are accosted by taxistas offering the same price as the bus to go to Trinidad, but we say we already have boletos, and this discourages them. At the ticket window, they have our names on the list. We present our passports, sign up, get some flimsy partially detached tickets, then make our way to the sala d'espera, translated by MP as room of hope ( it actually means waiting room), but we are told the baggages don't come up, so drag the bags back down the stairs to find an efficient baggage checking system.
There are no interesting looking travellers in the sala, so we settle down to wait. The system is very orderly, with a permanent painted timetable on the wall of the ticket office, a map of Cuba which has the routes lit up in neon when the bus is departing, and announcements in good, decipherable English. We see our bags go aboard, then board ourselves to find the perennial 3rd world problem - the seats are in numerical order, but either side of the aisle. We decide on the left side, put our bulky water and food supply on the shelf and settle in. Eventually we take a seat on either side, and survive several purges by the inspector trying to keep his list in order. In the typical luxury coach style, you can see bugger all out the front of the bus, and there are curtains which block the view, even when drawn back.
The bus leaves the station, then stops outside, but we don't get the usual 3rd world bunch of late, or standby, or freeloader passengers hopping on. Must really be a luxury coach! We head back into the main town, past the Government offices and the tower of the Marti monument to the main bus terminal, but don't get any takers.
The route out started in the general direction of the airport, but we reached a giant cloverleaf interchange which led us onto the National Route 1 aotopista. The road was 3 lanes each way and in reasonable condition, but tired. The curved concrete flyover bridges were showing classic tropical decay, and the roadsides were unkempt. In the town proper there were groups of 20 or more people hitching at intersections, and there were full camels heading into town, and empty ones coming back out.
Out of the city proper, the roads were just about deserted, quite often with no vehicles in sight on a dead flat, straight road. The main form of transport out in the countryside seemed to be horse and cart.
There wasn't a lot to photograph, just rough, tropical scrub and bushes, the occasional stand of royal palms around a homestead, and the odd collective housing complex. However, MP decided 24 shots left on the camera card were not enough, so proceeded to delete the Dubai shots which were definitely on the CD. This move was carried out successfully, without a 'delete all" disaster, but he then proceeded to look at all the functions, including the "format" one. Thimking this meant SD or Memory Stick format, when the menu didn't give an Exit choice, he left the format on SD, and pressed the yes button, immediately deleting all the information on the card, including all our Abu Dhabi, Paris and Old havana shots. What was meant on screen was REformat. This name, or a " do you really want to do this" notice would have been nice. At this stage he read the instruction book, and all was revealed. He then retired shat to consider the beauties of chemical photography.
After a stop at a dollars-only isolated bus stop, we reversed direction and headed south toward Cienfuegos, still in flat, boring terrain. Approaching Cienfuegos, we could see a lot of power station and industrial chimneys, including a giant one in the distance. This could be the Nuclear power station, doubtless Russian designed. It is nice to think that you don't need an enormous stack on a nuclear plant, as nothing is being discharged.
The town itself was nondescript, could have been anywhere in South or central America, decaying old stone, or new concrete housing, old American cars, horse drawn public transport. After a stop at the bus station, we had a short entertainment when the French couple we had been talking to were seen outside getting into their rucksacks, then, two minutes later were back in the bus. They had thought it was Trinidad.
In spite of heading what seemed the wrong direction according to the map, and rough, potholed roads, the journey improved from here. The Bahia de Cienfuegos is quite big, with a narrow entrance, and there are rivers running into it, and wetlands. We were also approaching substantial, though not spectacular, mountains, which we skirted to the west before reaching the coast and heading east.
The coastline has a coral rock fringe dropping straight into deep water, with only the occasional beach where a river runs in. The water didn't look clear or inviting. We managed to sneak a couple of photos through the dense scrub along the coast, ot at river crossings. Our first sight of Trinidad was a radio tower on a hill with a town below, more like a village when we came into it. We were surprised to find that it was Trinidad, possibly expecting something more grand.
At the bus station, it took some time to get the baggage out, and were accosted by lots of people with rooms to rent. Tried dragging our bags on the cobblestones, but soon decided the heat, hasslers and bags were all too much, so Murray stayed with the bags, and Dianne went off to find a room. Had a couple of possibilities, so checked them out, but not impressed - especially with lack of privacy, and very saggy beds. Trinidad is maintained as a living museum. It reached its peak during the 19th century sugar boom. The buildings are fronted by mahogany balustrades, fancy grills of wrought iron and turned wooden rods, and tile-floored rooms connected by double-swing half-doors, which makes them very quaint, but far from private.

After walking through just about the whole town without finding anything particularly good, Dianne, hot and exhausted, goes back to where Murray is waiting, still accompanied by a lady hoping he'll take her room. We just about weaken, but Dianne decides to have one more look down the street, when she is accosted by a man whose "brother" has a house nearby. Weaken and go with him. Room is modern with no character, but it is private, clean, with a non-saggy bed, own bathroom and air-conditioning, and a roof-top table-setting with views of the surrounding mountains, and down to the sea. Price comes down from US$20 to US$15, so take it. Rest for a while, then out to walk around the town. Check out La Canchanchara bar, which is full of tourists. Talk to the French couple, and tell them we'll return for a drink after we've been for a walk. We stay mainly in the old section, as far down as Parque Cespedes, which has a lovely spreading arbour in it. Take photo of the non-touristy housing.

Later back to the bar for its house special, made with aguardente (raw rum), mineraal water, honey and lime - very nice. French couple tell us they had a very good fish meal at the Paladar La Coruna, so we go there for dinner. Paladares are licensed by the state, and are in people's private homes. It's a strange experience to walk past the family watching TV in the loungeroom, and out to the dining room where there are three tables set up, just like a restaurant. Grandma stops watching TV to do the cooking, and her daughter is the waitress. We have a quite-good salad of avocado, some strange hard, biscuit-like bread, and some very ordinary fish which seems to be partly steamed and partly fried. Our "fruit salad" is strange oranges and bananas. This costs us US$16, plus US$2.50 for our drinks (we thought they were included in the price). We then have the usual situation of them not giving them us any change. We end up paying the 50c in pesos, which was not Madam's intention.
Walk around for a while, then back to our room.
Walking 5 kms (plus 2 kms extra for Dianne)
Saturday 25th October Trinidad (Cuba)
Up fairly early. Walk around town. We try to locate our water bottle, left either at the restaurant, or the bar, without luck. Dianne sees a man with a large bag, calling out what sounds like "pan" - find his bag is full of bread, so we make our first peso purchase - one enormous loaf of bread for 5 pesos -30c Australian. After this success, buy about 10 little, but very sweet, bananas for another 5 pesos. As we now have our breakfast, we walk to the outskirt of town looking for a park to eat it in. Don't find one, so settle for a concrete path outside someone's hame at the edge of town.
Head back to our room, and pack a bag with our mask and snorkel etc, for a day at the beach. Get a taxi for US$6 to take us to Playa Ancon via la Boca, which doesn't look too bad, but the french peopled Routard book says it is the sewer outlet. The land toward the point is flat and scrubby, with either coral shelf or sandy beach. We cut inland to the lagoon, which is shallow and choppy, not particularly clean, with a large boat wreck and industrial activities on the far shore in front of the hill with Trinidad on it, not very far in a straight line.
The taxi stops at the hotel, this seems to be the end of the line, so we pay him off and walk through the hotel foyer, which looks very Iron Curtain, with a lot of unused conference and public rooms on the ground floor, and a list of ativities. We walk toward the point, but are acosted by an english speaking dive guide who offers us two hours of snorkelling for $9 each. We say maybe, then walk to the nearest tree, where DP sits while MP checks out the water. It is a bit cool, with medium visibility, so MP swims out about 100 metres, finding only sea grass, seven fish and a jelly fish. We decide that the snorkel trip is the only way we are gonig to see any coral, particularly after talking to the guide again. We have to wait till 1pm for the trip, so set up camp under a dangerously low thatch shelter on two of the hotel's fractured banana chairs. DP swims around the wharf, but sees nothing.
Eventually we are fronted for a dollar to sit on the seats, even though we are waiting for a tour, so MP insists on giving them up, but sitting under the shelter anyway. When it is time, DP gets a house set of fins, and we head out in a diesel inboard launch with the guide and three Iranian Canadians. We have seen a severely overloaded Laser 16 sailboat take about a dozen snorkellers out about a km and anchor Turns out to be the same spot, a reef which has drying outcrops at low tide. We anchor in the lee of it in a half metre swell, and are told to keep on this side as the other is shallow. The water is not too cold, but very bumpy, and we swim maybe 200 metres to the end of the reef and back, in 2 to 5 metres of water, over a scoured bottom with occasional outcrops almost to the surface.
The main features were sea fans, waving in the swell, and a fair variety of fish, lots of everything, but bugger all of anything. We spotted a damaged, probably dead obster with a crab having a go at it, and later a large red crab. Our guite hailed us to come and have a look at a big lobster under a ledge. It was indeed quite big, but hard to see. To our surprise, he left it alone.
In general, if this was the best snorkelling in the area, it was time to be moving on. The hotel didn't look too bad from out on the water, so MP removed the camera from its layers of improvised waterproofing to take a couple of shots, but ran out of battery.
Back at the dive shop, MP changes sort-of discreetly,
then we head back to look for taxis. There seem to be some about, so we give a sort-of indication for 3pm, and do a short, but very hot walk across to the Marina on the lagoon side. It is particularly hot for DP, who lost her Hard Rock Cambodi hat overboard, and didn't yell out until it was beyond recovery. We are stopped at the gate, but get in for a look around, including out onto the thatched roofed floating marina. Most of the boats are SunSail charter boats both Cats and monos, 12 to 15 metres. There are about 8 sailing types around a big table at the bar with a bottle of rum on it. The style seems to buy your own botle of rum, then mixers as required. We split a cola, but the group breaks up, no one gives us more than a casual nod..
Back at the hotel, the taxista is still there, and we confirm $6 and hop in for a quick return trip by the south route around the lagoon, not via la Boca, and are dropped off at the bus station, and we walk back home for a rest in the AC room. Later DP goes out looking for a cold cola, has to get it from a bar, but the barman shows her a house-front shop, which is open late for a big bottle, and a can as change. We are starting to get the hang of the change thing.
We sit upstairs for a pre-dinner drink, where Snr is doing the chicken on the local Weber equivalent BBQ, helped by his prospective son-in-law. He offers us some rum to go in our drink, but we reply that what looks like water in a bottle is actually rum. We get talking in fractured Spanish, and he has a little English.
Unfortunately the table is laid downstairs, so we go down to eat a good BBQ chicken, taro, soup, rice, bean-avocado-cucumber salad and fruit supper. After we walk the town. DP is determined to find the Disco-in-a-cave which doesn't start till 10.30pm, in the Las Cuevas hotel, which is off the edge of our map.
We walk most of the streets of the town, familiar to DP who has checked them all out. The music venues look good, especially those in the roofless ruins. Eventually we find ourselves at a ruined church with a road up the hill, and take it to find the gatehouse for the hotel, which is another few hundred metres up the hill. We find the turnoff to the disco, but it is down a dark road and it is still early, so we go cross country to the hotel proper to check it out. There is a good view from the pool deck, and Cuba playing Panama in the world championship. There was great excitement when Cuba hit a home run.
It didn't look like we would last long enough for the Disco, so headed back, buying the drinks on the way, after getting lost in the winding streets. Senor and the young girl who proved to be the niece, were watching the game, so we joined them in time to see the same Cuban hit another home run. We then met the 21yr old daughter, who had been getting tarted up for the disco in the tight white pants, lace top, high heels, the whole lot. She left in a car driven by the fiancee, who was wearing only shorts. No idea if he was going or not, or in what state of dress.
It looked like Cuba was going to win, so we called it a night. There was plenty of Saturday night action going on, but it quietened down, and in the morning was very quiet - combination of Sunday rest and Saturday night hangover. The church bell was ringing but it sounded pretty sick.
Sunday 26 October Trinidad - Playa Giron (Bay of Pigs)
We are able to sleep in a bit as it is pretty quiet, then had the rest of our bread and banana upstairs. The read is generally better on the second day - is not as brittle in the crust, but we lost a fair bit of it in the brisk morning wind. We packed, then headed up to the bus/taxi station without the gear so as not to look too desperate. On the way we were approached by a "particulare " taxista who was going to do us a good deal for $50, claiming that the official rate was closer to $100. As we had already been quoted $50 at the bus station office, we headed straight there. Boris taxista went with us, doubtless to chat up the drivers, but we got a ticket from the office for $50, and took the only official taxi there.
It was a reasonably new Diesel Citroen, with a reasonably old Cuban driver, who spoke little English, but was friendly enough, and pointed out a few points of interest.
The wind was blowing strongly offshore, making the sea look unattractive, though there were a few small beaches we had missed on the way in which didn't look too bad. What we thought was a salt works is actually a lobster breeding station. We were doing over 100k a lot of the way on two-lane tar roads with occasional potholes, but the driving was pretty safe, apart from the qualities of Cuban tyres. It looked for a while as though we were going right to the entrance to Bahia de Cienfuegos, possibly to a ferry, but turned back to skirt around the town and the bay itself. When we took the turnoff to Playa Giron, it was through the streets of a small town, completely without signs. Would have been interesting in a hire car!
From here, the road was flat and straight, through sugar cane, then swamp and scrub, quite boring. We got to a small, scruffy looking town in the scrub, and were surprised to find that t was indeed Playa Giron! No sign of a beach, or the sea. We had an address for a casa Silvia Acosta, and our man asked around until we found the right street, and eventually the right house, covered with shells. Like the widow Birch, Silvia took some time to arouse, but it turned out she had given up the CP business. She rang around, but having seen her place, reputedly one of the best, and the one up the road, and no sign of the beach, we decided to give the hotel a run.
It too took some finding, but was definitely on the beach, and had a good looking pool and grounds. The first offer at $60 seemed high, then it was explained as 2x$30, including 3 meals, AND free drinks, it started looking better. The meals alone totalled $62, although not necessarily worth it, and the drinks were strong and readily available, so we took a room, for one night initially, but changed to two after a few drinks. Later, we also paid $4 for a key to the strong box.
After walking forever to find our large bungalow, we headed back for lunch. We were put off by lhe lack of customers, then told we couldn't come in. Seemed strange, at 1.50pm when lunch was from 1 to 3pm, but found that the clocks had changed because of daylight saving. We thought at first we were being turfed out early at 2.50, but turned out we were too early at 12.50, so we had a mojito and a look at the pool and beach.
The buffet for lunch seemed well stocked, but the meat course turned out to be liver, and lots of it! Having bitten the bullet, not pullet, it wasn't too bad. Little did we know....
After lunch, we had our first free mojito, then got into our swimmers. The surf breaking on the anti-insurgent sea wall was far too rough for snorkelling, so had a second mojito, and DP had a swim in the pool. Later we walked around the anti-insurgent wall around the edge of the coral platform to the west as far as it went, looking for possible entry sites, but nothing looked inviting. On the way back we saw our first curly-tailed lizards, but had to hurry as we could see a rain column heading for us. We sat out the storm while having another cocktail, then walked east to check out the beach and the next hotel. This beach presented a possible entry for snorkelling, but had a fair surf running, and would have been pretty murky.
We were down early for tea, even though we were still full from lunch. There seemed to be plenty of meat available, so we each took plenty. MP was throgh his second piece when DP thought she recognised it. She had it on the tip of her toungue when she realised what was on her tongue was indeed the tip of exactly that. MP had a third piece, but that pulled him up. Fortunately there was plenty of other food, including a late serving of chicken. There was soft drink, beer, and good coffee plus fruits and cake, so it was hard to starve. In true Iron Curtain style, there were half a dozen drink flavours, but all but one produced soda water. It was funny watching the reactions of people to this.
After, we had another cocktail for the hell of it, then hit the sack, avoiding the evposed plastic pipes across the path on the way back. The night was quite cool, so we were able to do without A/C once the room cooled down.