Very disturbing thing happened last night. Was woken up by a woman shouting in the street at maybe 4am. She was shouting in Spanish, the same thing over and over. I could hear her as she came up the street and as she got nearer, I could hear something in her cries that was chilling. Her voice sounded desperate and fearful, repeating the Spanish phrase over and over, louder and louder, echoing around the silent street. A couple of voices called back to her at one point. I wish I knew what she was saying. It sounded like cries for help – or possibly the wails of a mad woman. Either way, it was horrible and I lay awake in bed long after her screams had faded away into the distance.
At 5am, I was woken again by hammering on the front door, over and over, and then the doorbell ringing frantically. I heard my casa owner answer the door, but heard no conversation. It truly is an intimidating country when you are unable to speak the language. My number one piece of advice to any traveller wanting to visit would be to learn at least basic Spanish, and not to travel alone. Really underestimated the difficulties I would face here, alone and unable to communicate.
I got up for breakfast at 7, moron that I am, because my casa owner speaks no English at all and refuses to slow down her rapid Spanish, meaning I agreed to eat at the crack of dawn by accident in garbled Spanglish. Woke up still hammered again and was subjected to breakfast that was merely huge, rather than the usual gargantuan offering. Consistency is not a concept that exists in Cuba.
After a joyous 30 minute fiesta of a toilet session, which is becoming part of my daily routine as my stomach slowly packs in, I shoved my things in my backpack and left quickly, with the casa owner waxing lyrical about something that I hope wasn’t important because I stared blankly and left.
Went to the bank, asked for 30 cuc, she tried to withdraw 300, took some explaining but got there eventually. Some old guy flogged me a cigar for a cuc which I sat and smoked in the town square as various stray dogs asked for food and stray Cubans asked for my sunglasses. The dogs were considerably less persistent.
Found a taxi to Havana for 15cuc – very cheap, like a 2 hour journey for a tenner. Joining me in the knackered old classic car was a German girl called Hannah who has been here for a month. She is visiting Cuba in memory of her late father, who listened to salsa music all his life, sharing his passion with her. He never got to visit the country. Really touching. Silver lining – he never got electrocuted and impaled in the shower, either.
We had a great conversation about Cuba, music, politics, films and sociology – it’s her degree. She was impressed by my media production degree – I was reluctant to shatter her illusion of it having any practical use. She asked me my three favourite films. Not necessarily favourites, but I recommended Scott Pilgrim, Airplane and American Beauty. Hopefully she’ll enjoy at least one of those!
Back at Casa De Ania now, Martin and Sanya are exploring the city somewhere. Will no doubt see them later and then it will be party time.
Went out and grabbed something to eat from a street stall and had a beer walking through the city. Didn’t hang about as the heat was fierce.
Met a Canadian guy called Sammy at the casa who had just arrived after fleeing the unfathomable dullness of his all inclusive week at Varadero.
Two familiar bronzed German faces arrived back at the casa. Was great to see them again. Martin has a sunburned lip that has become infected. Looks a mess. He’s mortified. Hilarious.
Writing this two days later. Past two days have been a rum soaked blur. Met more people as Ania’s – a 38 year old Chilean woman called Fransisca who visits Cuba all the time, and an English artist called Joe who’s 22 and has been funded to go to Cuba to draw the country – pretty epic.
Fransisca told us about some local place by the seafront and we all piled in a taxi there, four of us crammed in the back on top of each other. Was a cool salsa bar overlooking the ocean with a large dancefloor. As soon as we arrived we grabbed some beers and were dragged onto the dancefloor by Fransisca, where a group salsa lesson was being led by a yelling Cuban man. Failed miserably to keep up with the locals and soon sacked it off and slumped on a wall nursing my beer, watching the Cubans flinging each other about.
Got pretty smashed pretty quickly and somehow lost everyone in a bar about the size of a tennis court. Assumed they’d gone home for some reason and got a taxi back by myself. Driver tried to rip me off by pretending he had no change. Refused to hand over the fiver he was asking for and he soon miraculously found a couple of Cucs in his pocket.
Drunkenly woke a homeless man while stumbling past and handed him five Cucs. He was still bleary from his sleep and held the money up to a light to see if it was real. Seemed grateful and confused.
Everyone else got back around 12 and angrily told me they had spent 30 minutes trying to find me. Whoops.