Day 8 of my Cuba diary. The misadventures of Trinidad are in the past, my oafish drunkenness is behind me. Things were looking up. Oh, hang on. That’s not true at all. Tits.
After just a week in Cuba I’d taken a hell of a beating: alone, humiliated, skint, sunburned and stupid. With the safety of hindsight, those were special days, the kind of days where you really learn about yourself. To me, those are the most valuable of all. Oh, and in case you haven’t spotted a trend by now, rest assured it gets worse still. Enjoy!
On my sixth day in Cuba I bid farewell to my German travel companions and it turns out that was terrible idea resulting in one of the most profoundly humiliating evenings of my life. When you’ve read today’s diary entry, consider this: it actually gets worse. Enjoy!
The fifth day of my Cuban adventure, and things are going awry pretty quickly. At this point I was already sun burnt to hell, running out of money, and halfway across the country with no plan of where I was heading. And it gets worse. Oooh, so much worse. Enjoy!
Okay, so the first few days of my Cuba diary are hectic, but for the most part I think I didn’t make too much of an arse of myself. Well, from here on my whole trip goes south fast, gathering speed like a runaway train made of bad decisions and cheap rum. Enjoy. It only gets worse.
Last week, on a sunny Thursday evening after work, I’d had a couple of beers with friends who were heading off to watch the rugby. I said goodbye, and hopped on a bus home. I was on the back seat and watched the bus slowly fill with people. An old woman stepped on, and headed straight for my back seat. She asked me if I minded her sitting next to me, and I smiled and shifted along to give her more room. I didn’t pay her much attention. She was wearing a pink t-shirt, and had her hair in a ponytail. She didn’t look very old, for an old person. Continue reading