In which I enjoy monkey worship, hop to an island and fall in lava with Nica

Back in January I had decided six days wasn´t enough time to get to Nicaragua and back. Funny how things change over time. With two days off school added to the weekend we decided that last weekend was the perfect time to pop up to the neighbours upstairs.

Having survived the bus ride to Panama the six hours to Nica passed stress free (excpet for the waking up at 4.30am to catch the thing). We crossed the border without issues and soon got to Rivas, our destination town. But it seems like the lure of the bus (and the quality films on board- Scorpion King and a film about a monkey that is also a spy. Yes, you heard me.) was just too much and we decided to stay on until the Granada. I´m so glad we did (Granadas always serve me well, first Spain now this). Granada is a beautiful colonial city perched on the northern shore of Lake Nicaragua. All coloured facades and tall church spires it has something of a tidier Havana feel. We arrived into the scorching heat of mid-afternoon (it was about 36-37oC, much hotter than CR and boy did we feel it.) After a meal for 3 which cost $7 in total we found a hostel and headed out to explore.

A quick stop bought us some Nicaraguan cigars then it was on to climb a church tower, trying our hardest to resist the temptation to ring the giant bells. Our will-power was rewarded with a stunning view over the city, which helped give us our bearings for more exploration. The main square was a beautiful, tree and cafe filled cocktail of noise and people overlooked by the city´s big, yellow cathedral. We wandered the streets, got a lovely dinner in an Indian-hippy-style restaurant and then settled down in a hotel bar overlooking the square where we drank red wine, Ben smoked his cigar (with hilariously queasy results...Hannibal never went green when his plans came together) and we were serenaded by two guitar players. All in all, pretty luxurious!

The next morning we got up early to run to the bus station, only to find we had a 3 hour wait. Luckily the station was slap bang in the middle of the busy, market area so we hustled our way through the streets, found some breakfast and soaked up the atmosphere. Our bus down to Rivas was a chicken bus (these old, yellow US school buses they have down here). It was baking as we loaded on but sat by the open windows, being blasted by the breeze we found the 1.5hr journey pretty pleasing. At Rivas we jumped in a taxi then boat to get us out to the Lake´s main island Isla Ometepe.

The island is flanked by two volcanoes, one active, and is a quiet little haven of natural gems. After finding a hostel we jumped on a motorbike tuk tuk and headed out to the nearest beach. A little, black sand peninsula it was a little rough round the edges but was a lovely place to grab a beer, wade into the cool waters of the lake and watch the spectacular sunset over the water. Driving back under a sky of candy-floss pink clouds it was hard not to notice the yellow signs flanking the road announcing that this was the key evacuation route in case of an evacuation. Possibly the only thing able to spoil the calm of the glorious sunset is the mental maths needed to calculate if you think you could out run lava.

Our next day we went in search of the ancient petroglyphs that dotted the island. It turns out the old inhabitants of Ometepe really like monkeys and weren´t shy in displaying that love through engravings on volcanic stone. It also appears 5 year old children today have better artistic skills than back in the day. That or monkeys have really filled out.

After the strenous task of tracking down stones we headed to the Ojo de Agua, a concrete lined, natural pool, surrounded by lush forest. There we cooled off in the clear blue water, drank caipirinhas which were delivered to the pool side and generally felt like superstars. It was a lovely relaxing break before we headed back to town to catch the ferry back to the main land.

We literally sailed off into a glorious sunset. It was such a beautiful moment sat on the smooth boat, listening to the National and Little Hands of Asphalt as the sunset all across the lake. Back on the mainland we pushed on in a taxi to San Juan del Sur, a beach town on the Pacific coast.

San Juan had a great, fun vibe to it. We grabbed some pizza then headed down to a beachside bar where Isabelle and I drank White Russians in front of the dancing lights of the boats in the bay and the lighthouses. We had a little paddle in the dark, wide sea before heading back to meet Ben at the hostel.

The next, and last day we headed out early on bumpy dirt track to a hidden cove where Ben and I had a surf lesson. I am standing up easily now and starting to try to catch my own waves without help. Had a few big wipeouts misjudging some of the waves which were bigger than times before. Having swallowed my share of the sea and burnt my face and butt it was time to head back to catch the bus home. We had had a serious think about staying in San Juan an extra day but the responsibilities of organising European and Middle Eastern night dragged us back to the hectic world of party planning.

Things have been pretty damn stressful with planning this flipping cultural night and perhaps you wouldn´t have thought a 3.5 day race around Nicaragua would recharge the batteries but it really did. We had heard some horror stories about dangerous times in Nica but we had nothing but pleasantness and beautiful moments.

Lessons learnt:

If there is one person better at sleeping anywhere anytime than me it might be Isabelle. Boats, taxis, beaches, you name it, she Zzzz´d it.

Despite factor 50 suncream, 2 hours in the water under the blazing sun, lying on a boad with your butt in the air.... does not make for a comfortable bus ride home.

Monkeys make good spies, according to a documentary film I think I watched on a 6 hour bus ride. It may have been their skills on espionage which made them so reverred by ancient island inhabitants.

Double volcanoes all the way!

In which I get green, threaten a tree and plan for domination

Tonight I’m meant to be preparing for a debate for my Gender and Human Rights Class. Tomorrow I am due to argue against LGBT rights which means I really should be spending this time looking at homophobic websites to compile info for my big, evil argument. But I don’t want to! So instead I have spent it making fresh lemonade (we managed to end up with a carrier bag full of lemons left over from a party.... and well the rest wrote itself), eating guacamole and hanging out.

Life has been pretty damn busy lately, (isn’t it always). We have these cultural nights, I may have mentioned them before, when each region presents food and entertainment from their countries. Europe and Middle East is coming up and guess which idiotic, pain-addict has ended up organising it. No not Charlie Sheen, me.  But it is causing a similar style breakdown. The problem is Europeans and Middle Eastern students are definitely the minority at the school, so while other nights had huge task forces we have a few brave souls running around doing everything. But heck if history has taught us anything it is that Europe doesn’t really see logical things like physical size as an issue when it comes to world domination. And yes, I just compared my party planning to colonialism, which may mean the party will slowly crumble as the guests take control of their fun, one by one. But I refuse to look that far ahead.

Anyway enough pseudo-historical party planning, it is all happening next Friday (April 1^st if you can believe that) and has a medieval theme. So I have a week to make a suit of armour out of tinfoil. If you have seen my previous fancy dress costumes you should know tinfoil is a favoured medium of mine and this should not be a problem.

Speaking of parties, we had a great Paddy’s night house party at our house. Guinness, baileys, beer and my skin got dyed green, songs were sung and merriment was had. I did badly miss my and Sho’s tradition of Guinnpagne (Guinness drunk out of champagne flutes), potato bread and Father Ted, but I guess this was the next best thing.

Other than that it has been a lot of studying and trying to get my thesis done as fast as is humanly possible. My new flat is working out brilliantly, I live with Rafael from Mexico and Patrick from US (Michigan) and they are awesome flatmates. We have just discovered an avocado tree that hangs over into our garden so every day I check if the bulbous fruit is ripe yet. (Rafa informs me shouting abuse to try and make them mature faster is not an efficient gardening technique. But then he hasn’t experienced the British schooling system).  

Tomorrow we have a leaving party (Mum please see Paragraph 5 which outlines the work I have been doing. Ignore all the rest about parties!) This party is for the Asian Leaders Programme, (40 students from Asian countries) which will be really sad. Then on Saturday I am popping up to Nicaragua for a long weekend, so will report back on that soon.

Lessons learnt:

Nothing about homophobic arguments, thank goodness.

Green beer is fun. Green hangovers are not.

I helped Rafa out making guacamole for Latin American night. 200 portions of guacamole. Despite cutting a million tomatoes, etc I still love the stuff. I think this is real.

In which I go dancing in the streets, explore a ghost town and spend 36 hours on a bus

On the 1st Jan I was walking, in the rain, across a crumbly old bridge trying to ignore the circling crocodiles below, on my way to Panama. I had a brilliant time but managed to leave the country without seeing the canal or buying a hat... and frankly that just did not seem right. So two months on I was back again, this time on the way to Panama City to dance by the side of an artificial waterway, while wearing appropriate headgear, for Carnival! Now let me tell you, I´d take moulding bridges and snapping crocs over a 23 hour bus ride, complete with 5 hour border queuing any day!

A whole day after setting off Isabelle and I finally pulled into the big city, bones creaking and tethers pretty much running out. To rub salt in our achy wounds we made it to the hostel to find the boys (Arthur and Patrick) resting up at the hostel having flown in that day, with inflight movies and open bar. Such is the cheap-skate, vaguely environmentally aware lifestyle I suppose, damn.

The journey was soon forgotten though thanks to pizzas and Panamanian beer. We met up with some American girls from Uni and had a nice meal near the hostel. Panama City is an impresive, strange city. It has a real futuristic, post-apocalyptic feel. Or like an abandoned film set. Unlike any other Latin American city I´ve been to it is full of shiny, skyscappers, which, next to the beautiful Pacific coastline gives it a Miami kind of vibe (I say having only seen Miami airport or the city from the airplane window). We heard a rumour that a lot of the sky scrappers are empty having been built to launder money from Colombia drug cartels. I asked pretty much every taxi driver if this was right and it seems like a bit of an exageration but there is no doubt many of the buildings are fairly empty, most likely because they are second homes.

The next day we woke early and took a taxi then hour ferry out to Isla Taboga, a beautiful little island off the coast. It is the city-dwellers weekend get away and, while pleasantly calm during the week we could see just why people would flock here. The island´s village is a scattering of white washed houses with splashes of brightly coloured walls. From the golden beach we could see the ghostly silhouette of the big city across the water watching over us as we swam. We hung out on the beach, Isabelle with her laptop finishing her Global Human Rights Systems essay (which frankly was how I had imagined doing all my school work before coming here!) That evening the boys and I went to check out downtown, which is full of tall buildings and bright lights. Arthur ate his body weight in clams and a jolly time was had by all. Except the clams.

The next day we went to a city across the isthmus (my new favourite word!) to a strange tax-free, walled mini-city. I took advantage of the cheap prices and got myself this little notebook. And just as well I did or this blog would be significantly less tangible than it is now. Shopped out we enjoyed lunch and some umbrella-adorned drinks in Colon (Colon city seems to be a popular Latin American name, I blame the second of Freud psychosexual phasing. Or Christopher Colombus, whatever,) before going to the Gatun locks to see the huge ships slowly passing through. What with my Dad enjoying the odd walk down by the canal I have seen my share of locks in my time, but I have to say these ranked pretty highly.

We decided to take an old school train to get back to Panama City. The train was how I imagine the Orient Express, all dark wood pannelling and green glass lamps, very 1930s glamour. We all held our breaths going through the tunnels wondering who would be the first victim of the charasmatic gentleman murder who was sure to be aboard. We managed to escape dastardly murder and took advantage of the outside carriages to watch the sunsetting over the wide canal. The trip wasn´t without peril however, after joking about a Rakes on a Train pardoy (I am so sick of these monkey-fighting rakes on this monday-to-friday train!) we were sticking our heads out of the carriages and Isabelle came inches away from having her head Krugerred off by a rake-like barrier next to the tracks. Thank goodness we made it off in one piece.

That night we decided to go check out Carnival, which after all was why we were there. We had a little pre-drink at the hostel before dinner, which took slightly longer than expected, and arrived to find the local Mexican restaurant closed. Fortunately the owner took pity on us and opened the place up just for us! Loaded up on burritos and nachos we headed out to the coast-side stretch of road which had been cordoned off for the party.

Carnival was fun but not exactly what we were expecting. Instead of floats and dancers it was more like a mini-music festival with large stages with bands and people hanging out drinking in the streets. We also learnt very quickly one of the most popular activities at Panama City Carnival was silly-string/fake snow/ confetti attacks. Isabelle got a throat full of confetti so we got our own back with silly-string vengeance. We drank seco (sugar cane alcohol) with lemonade, watched fireworks and fake-snow storms, boogied in the streets and watched some pretty awful bands.

The trip back was a lot better and somehow the 13 hours bus ride seemed to improve the chest/ear infection I had been suffering. So antibiotics can work but combined with massive bus rides it can also work.

We also:Checked out China Town. Ate some spring rolls and bought 5 different types of comedy glasses. Each.

Almost ate in a BBQ carwash! We turned up there on the way to find another restaurant, but if you like your burgers soapy this is the place for you.

Found a drive through ice cream parlour. Without a car. Walking by making brum brum noises is a passable alternative.

Explored the oldest settlement in Latin America... and quickly climbed all over it

The boys went to the ATM and took their cans of beer on the way. They got stopped by the police and forced to pay $100 as a bribe! A little different from Izz and my run in with the law where instead of a bribe we just got asked out repeatedly for a week.

Lessons learnt:Ridiculous sunglasses are not just stylish, they can also provide important protection from fake-snow attacks. (I am still scarred from PJ´s paintball blinding in Byker Grove. Whyyyyyyyyay man?!)

I am so sick of rakes on trains. And buses.

The Panama canal takes 8hr to cross on a boat, and you would need some strong arms to screw open the locks.

In which I try and catch up, get active and head across the border

This week I have been to the gym twice, gone white-water rafting and surfing, all for the first time. I only mention this because it is pretty much the most active I have ever been and hopefully does something to distract from the fact that I haven’t written anything in a really long time.

To rectify this here is a whistle-stop run down of the past month and a bit: firstly there was the surprise trip home. After making it through the fun of NY I arrived back to freezing Britain two days late, raced around London (managing to hit almost all my favourite pubs) and caught up with lots of people. Then headed up North where I almost gave the family a heart attack by letting off a party popper in my poor Mum’s face as she answered the door and by lurking out of the evening gloom when my Dad and bro came to pick Ciara up from sledging. I won’t be trading in jobs with Aston Kutcher any time soon, felt too mean about punking people and instead of delight I mainly got a mixture of disconcertion and confusion (also Demi is a bit too old for me.) I promptly caught a cold and slept a lot of the time trying to recover from the jetlag and illness. Still was nice to catch up and was great to see everyone again but also made me realise that I shouldn’t be too homesick because life goes on pretty much the same and my loved ones are so lovely as to remain that way.

Full of cold and sinus pressure I dragged my self back on various airplanes and, despite a blizzard in NYC (they know how to keep airports running- take note London!) made it back without problems and arrived in to San Jose airport to find Kayla waiting (Kayla was my best friend in Chile, she’s from the States and is totally awesome and lovely. Brilliantly we have managed to stay friends for the 4 years since Chile and now we were able to reunite on Latin American soil!)

Kayla and I had a brilliant time catching up. After showing her the two bars of Ciudad Colon we hopped on the sweatiest bus known to man or woman and headed down to the south Caribbean-side town of Puerto Viejo. There we went on lovely long bike rides, spotted monkeys and sloths in the trees, hung out at the beach, drank cocktails and spent a mad New Year’s Eve in a bar full of fire-crackers and inside fireworks (I jumped 10ft in the air everytime one went off- I blame this on my root-memories of Belfast but I think I might actually just be a scardy-cat.) Other things we saw that night included a crazy-eyed arm wrestling contest (if looks could kill) and a man walking round the bar using a tiny huskie puppy as the best woman magnet you’ve ever seen. We saw in the New Year dancing crazily to “Baby Got Back” and followed that up by arguing aggressively with some idiot boys from Florida who bought us drinks and then got on to universal healthcare and the right to food and it was all I could do to stop Kayla (rightly) ripping their heads off.

The next morning we dragged ourselves out of bed to head down to Panama. At 10am on the 1^st Jan we were walking, in the drizzly rain, along railway tracks and across a rickety, wooden bridge which linked the two countries. It was a very filmic and dramatic sight but we made it across without being shot by border police or eaten by the crocodiles swimming below. Once in Panama we took taxis and a long, arse-bruisingly bumpy boat ride out to the islands Bocas Del Toro. We stayed on the islands for several luxurious days, went dolphin spotting, accidently went snorkelling when the boat we were on stopped in the middle of the ocean and scuba gear was handed out, lounged on Playa de Estrellas (COVERED in star fish), ate good food and drank nice beer. All in all it was jolly nice!

It was very sad to see Kayla go but soon school had started again and we were back into the busy-schedule of class and parties. Ben and I recently held another open-mic/trivia night which went down really well. I have been overly energetic, as stated above. Oh and between Kayla and school I fit in another trip to Manuel Antonio national park where I saw more wildlife and did a lot more beach-bumming. Life is pretty bloody good. So there we go- just about caught up and I can start being more attentive and interesting in the future.   

Lessons learnt:

I surfed the same break as the current Costa Rican surfing champion. I'm not sure but this may mean I am now the Costa Rican champ. After 2 lessons..... it's possible.

Panama crossings involve rickety bridges and crocodiles- it is like something out of a really lame Indiana Jones.

In which I get stuck in New York- concrete jungle filled with Sesame St characters, photo opportunities and comedy-show -reenactments

Now the cat is out of the bag and has caught a death from cold I can fill people in on the epic journey that was my surprise trip home for Christmas. In a moment of hormonal, home-sickness (I blame listening to Dawn Landes “Dig Me a Hole” on repeat for a week), I had booked tickets home for Christmas. Having told my family the original plan, that I would be travelling around Central America, I decided to keep up the charade and surprise them. Easier said than done with the privacy pulverising Facebook in the mix, but some how, thanks to a combination of my friends’ discretion and their lack of interest I managed to keep the whole thing secret.

The main snag to the plan came slowly rumbling to light as I checked the news on the day I was set to travel and read England, once again, had been caught out and brought to its chilly knocking knees by a unexpectedly seasonal flurry of snow. Blindly optimistic I set off on my journey anyway and it was only when I got to Miami and checked with the staff that I was told, oh actually your flight won’t be getting to Heathrow. So I was given the option, stay in Miami or catch my connection as usual and get stuck in New York. Now I have seen Home Alone 2 so the choice was simple. New York.

Arriving in the first night I found myself completely shattered and bedless in the city that never sleeps. Issue is: I do sleep. A lot. After hours of queuing for information I already had (that the flight would not be heading off any time soon), I found the nearest, “cheapest” hotel and hunkered down for the night. Well it was 9.30pm, I was alone and Wizard of Oz was on TV. Fell asleep just after the part where Dorothy, trying to get home to her family, is stuck in the poppy-field full of snow but then makes it to the glowing lights of the Emerald City. It all seemed very apt. There  is no place like home but while I was trapped here I had big plans to check out all the munchkins!

The next morning I checked my emails to find to my, perhaps not his, delight that a friend, Stephane, from UPEACE was also stuck in New York. Plus he was staying in a lovely, swanky hotel on Broadway... so I promptly invited myself along and after a long subway ride next to a mentally ill but very friendly guy I was in the centre of Manhattan and ready to explore. I had a quick wander around and discover our hotel was three blocks from Times Square, the glamour, if anything being added to by the presence of people dressed as SpongeBob and Elmo on the streets. It was like I had wandered into the TV, and all the channels were playing at one.

I’d agreed to meet Stephane at 11am and sure enough, on the dot the elevator doors opened and there he was. The rest of the day was a montage of brilliant moments. Like an seasoned New Yorker I showed Stephane around Times Square, mumbling “hey I’m walking here” under my breath to anyone that came near. Stephane got a picture with Minnie Mouse and as she held out her hand after I realised she expected payment and felt very much like the naive little country mouse in the big city. Where I’m from the mascots on the street are in it for the love of the game.

I assured Stephane that I had a pretty good innate sense of direction and would get us around. I then proceeded to take us in EXACTLY the wrong direction at every turn. After walking for twenty minutes and not finding Central Park we found instead Madison Square Gardens and Penn Station. I also found myself a giant pretzel and had to squirrel most of it away for future snacks. We managed to get ourselves to 5^th Avenue and there found a kind of photo-booth where you could dress up in hideous Christmas gear and get a photo, all for a donation to charity. Like they say, when in Rome... dress as a giant Christmas-present and pose infront of a fake fire place.

I, eventually after several wrong turns, dragged Stephane to Rockafellar Square where we watched the ice-skating, looked at the Christmas tree and I recreated every moment from the opening sequences of 30 Rock. Stephane had never seen the show but was very patient and polite, diplomatically commenting that my face looked “interesting in that photo”. Well it should I was being Kenneth.

We found the Empire State building but were both under-whelmed by it. They should never have gotten rid of the giant ape, it really finished it off nicely. The Chrysler was much better. From there were headed down 5^th Ave, sparkling with Christmas lights and finally found Central Park where we saw a break-dancing squad, carol singers, 50 half naked rugby boys, some aging extreme Frisbee players and big bird having a chat. We also stopped at every hat and glove stand and piled on the layers (I only had a raincoat from Costa Rica and so was wearing every jumper I had with me- it was still freeeeezing).

Later we got the subway to China town and who should be sitting opposite us but.... Todd, the bongo playing third Conchord from Flight of the Conchords. It was all I could do not to say Arf Arf. Stephane had never seen that show either (honestly it as if the French have better things to do than watch hours of TV) so was a bit confused as to why I was bouncing up and down with excitement.

Having finally calmed down we got some Chinese food, searched in vain for Brooklyn Bridge, grabbed a taxi home and stopped off at Times Square again to see it all lit up. Staring up at the big, neon lit billboards Stephane said “you know, just once in my life I think I should get my face up there.” The universe must have been listening because the next second the ad we were looking at flashed over to reveal a sign saying “Get your 15 seconds of fame, come in doors and get your photo taken.” Well you can’t ignore the universe, especially when it messaging you through a 50ft TV screen, so we got our best poses on in the shop and 5 mins later we were stood in Times Square watching our huge faces flashing up next to Hollywood stars and signs for Broadway shows. It was brilliant! So I can tick “Get my face on Broadway” off the list. I only wish I had had my Christmas present outfit from before.

Feeling like the stars we had been for 5 minutes we headed back to the hotel, sat in the incredibly plush bar and drank Manhattans and Cosmopolitans until the bar shut and our bank balances had run dry.

The next day I had to leave for the airport at 12 so we got up and headed off to nerdishly drool over the United Nations building. We took the tour and got to go inside the General Assembly room while they were in session. Couldn’t hear what was going on but pretty sure everyone was just chatting away on Facebook saying “OMG did you see what BKM just said! Happy face, angry face.” By the time we’d earmarked where our future offices would be it was time to go and I got the shuttle to the airport and held my breath while the plane was delayed and delayed and finally went! Off I flew to English snowy fields and to scare the living daylights out of my unsuspecting family. All in all, the best possible disaster.

Lessons learnt:

I mainly listened to Fairy tale of New York and Last of the Melting Snow (Leisure Society).

If you haven’t seen Home Alone 2 (like Stephane), spending hours in Central Park trying to find a bird-lady ally may seem a waste of time.

The General Assembly building is totally falling apart. Big damp patches and everything. The guide said, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day that balcony falls off. I might have to get into the Security Council instead. They probably have a retrospectively cautious plan to address having had a balcony fall on you. But it would be vetoed by China just because they know how to build walls that last.

In which I make a pilgrimage, have a breakdown and salsa the night away

So though some time has passed and I have been busy organising Christmas concerts, toy-drives and sponsored runs I thought I really should finish up writing about Cuba.

So when I left off last time we’d spent a few days in Havana and had acclimatised ourselves to the attempted scams and had actually become super cynical to the point where when the taxi driver took us to the bus station I was sure he was trying to rip us off when he was actually just taking us to the proper station.  Isabelle also found the smiling and nodding your head when she doesn’t understand people’s Spanish doesn’t always work out, especially when the taxi driver is saying you girls don’t like me with dark skin, you think we’re ugly right? Ah inadvertent taxi racism.

We got the bus down to the centre south of the island to the town of Cienfuegos, (meaning 100 fires). Ironically given the name, five minutes after we arrived there was a town-wide powercut. We ended up eating dinner in a paladar (where people’s front rooms are converted into mini restaurants- with 4-5 tables), in the pitch black being serenaded by the most beautifully-voiced singers. Very surreal, and you would pay a fortune to go to the pitch-black restaurant in London. We walked home in the pitch black along unfamiliar streets aware of the movement from the doorways where residents of Cienfuegos regularly sit out on their doorsteps and chat to each other. In fact just hanging out on the doorstep seems to be the primary form of leisure activity in this town.

We were staying with a very friendly couple who were both doctors and rented their room out on the side. They made us pina coladas and we had a lovely chat about all sorts of things. Restricted by the powercut we had a early night.

The next day we crammed onto a bumpy, run-down bus and trundled away to the seaside. As is standard on all our trips a young child vomited next to Isabelle (once is gross, more than once you have to start wondering about the effect you have on small children.) Found the beach, roasted in the hot sun and went for a lovely swim. We got back to town on a very loud, crammed in bus and freshened up before heading out to explore the non-re-illuminated bright lights of Cienfuegos nightlife. Started off in a very tiny, Cuban-only bar where we were quickly joined by the only other 2 men in there. Was quite nice to chat although I had said we don’t talk Spanish to give us a get out clause (Cuba brings out the liar in me), and then had to act really hard to not react to what they were saying in Spanish. After that we headed to a club called Benny’s where we hung out with a nice group of Cuban’s and tourists (6 ft 5 skin head from Salamanca, Spain, mid-40s playwright called Dante from Italy, plus young Cuban kids called Bryan and co.- looking around at our merry group I swear we looked like something out of Lord of the Rings). Drank rum, met a guy we’d met early who had come up to us at dinner and said “oh i saw you guys in Havana- let’s meet up later”, but turned out he was just a really European looking Cuban trying to fool us.  

The next day we found a bargain taxi driver and started out on the very long drive to Santa Clara. It was lovely to sit back and watch the flat fields of sugarcane monotonously rolling by... that was until the beat-up Fird Fiesta started spluttering the way and finally gave up the ghost and broke down right in the middle of nowhere.  After much pushing, and huffing and puffing we managed to get it going again and, holding our breath, rattled on to Santa Clara. The city its self was pretty underwhelming but we were there to visit Che’s tomb. Was an impressive site with an interesting museum but is all a bit strange with the deification of a man who’s claim was to be one of and for the people.

Our journey came full circle as we headed back in a collective taxi (with, unfortunately, the most overwight Cubans I’d seen since getting here.) Was great t get back to Havana after the quiet, understatement of the other cities. We wandered the streets with a homecoming joy, ate a lunch to tapas, did some shopping and then got ready for our last night out in Cuba.

First we headed out to eat at La Guardia, a paladar which had been set up in the flat used in the firlm Fresa y Chocolat, and a place I had been too poor to visit last time I was here (Eve and I had asked if we could stick out heads in the door without buying anything.) This time we sat in the relative opulence and ate nice food, mojitos and two very chocolatey desserts!

From there we had a quick power nap then headed down to the main street to find a good bar. We didn’t need to look far because soon enough we stumbled across a street party, full of salsa dancing and generally a fun atmosphere. We soon got chatting to two Cuban guys and had a crash (not kidding) course salsa lesson which soon made us the focal point, and probably chuckling point, of the street. Danced away and then we headed on with the guys to a discoteca where there was more salsa lessons (got quite dictatorial- a lot of not like that like this- Isabelle and I tried to teach them some of our patented disco moves but they were having none of it. After the disco we headed out to the Marecon, the sea wall where we sat and listened to the sea and tried to divide the boats’ lights on the ocean from the stars. All rather romantic and nice to use the Marecon the way the Cuban’s do- as a cheap date location. Headed home and packed up all ready for our flight out the next day.

Lessons learnt:

The cheapest taxi option is not always the best, unless you like your journeys to involve some cardio-vascular workout

Hiding from the 20 mins of rain we had the whole trip we ducked into a bookstore where I spent $60 on film posters. No-one needs that many film posters. Especially when you don't own, or plan to own, any walls. You can try and escape capitalism but it will find you.

Che was a man. He did some very cool things. It is weird how he has been made into a deity and a logo rolled into one. I'm not sure he would have liked this. (I still remember reading his diaries the first time in Cuba. "Day 2: We are low on drinking water. I think I remember reading somewhere if you mix sea-water and drinking water together it goes further. Day 3: Everyone is sick." He is a legend just for that.)

In which I enjoy some Havana nights, politicize icecream and find there ain't no party like the Communist Party.

A few weeks ago I woke up with a hangover and an email stating I and my friends Isabelle had just bought ourselves a ticket to Cuba. This being one of the less dramatic and dangerous fall-outs from a night of partying I was happy, and besides we had plenty of time to plan the details. However, it appears time in Central America moves faster than back home, much like water going to wrong way down the drain in the Southern hemisphere (and yes I realise that comparing time passing to water down a drain is a pretty darn depressing analogy... all the more reason to carpe the diem and live it up in Cuba.)

Touching down in Havana and driving in to town past all the huge propaganda posters brought me right back to my trip here three years ago with Eve (it had been our graduation treat to ourselves- though were so poor we ate nothing but cheap rum and rice and subsequently got very sick- a money saving trick of it own, you can’t spend money if you are laid out.) We even stayed at the same lady’s house that Eve and I stayed at. In Cuba if people have a spare room they can rent it out to tourists to make some extra money (the taxes from the renting go to building new houses for couples- which is nice.) Our taxi wove its way through the dilapidated grandeur of Havana’s centre to the apartment. Stepping back in side was like déjà vu, the high ceilings, the central open courtyard; even though the outside was, like most houses on the street, slowly crumbling, inside was as beautiful as ever.

Miriam, the lady we stayed with had two rooms and we stayed in the different one to Eve and I last time, though we shared an intersecting bathroom. I had a very weird Borges-eque moment when in the bathroom I spotted someone’s contact-lense equipment, remembered the eye-trouble Eve had had with her contacts last time (necessitating an exploration of Cuba’s renowned eye-doctors) and had the strangest feeling that we were staying in a room next to Maeve from 3 years ago. They say video games are bad for the mind but I swear Argentinean surrealists can mess you up.

We spent the next two days exploring Havana- this city takes a hold of you, the classic cars nonchalantly cruising down the streets, crumbling facades and colours everywhere. Our casa particular (the house) was in a fairly plain neighbourhood but walk 5 mins down the road and the street opens like the mouth of a river to the Prado, the main street. Here it is easiest to see the luxurious grandeur of a world frozen in the 50s- the Hotel Inglaterra, National Theatre and Capitolio (huge, domed, ex-presidential palace) peer down on the bustling street below.  

We also did a fair amount of hanging out in my favourite square, the Plaza de Armas in the old quarter. These days the plaza is full of second hand books stalls, brimming over with political writing and fiction (I got myself some Marx and Hemmingway- when in Rome.... mobilize the proletariat and go fishing.) I also love that the “Arms Square” is full of books- the revolution will be fought with ideas not weapons.

We managed to actually find some good food to eat too, though I still got more than my fair share of plain rice and tomatoes (unfortunately my vegetarianism didn’t allow me to try the “gizzard and banana sword” at one restaurant. When, oh when, will the world make Quorn gizzard?!) I also dragged Isabelle all over town looking for the famous Coppelia ice-cream parlour where a key scene from seminal gay-rights movie Fresa y Chocolate, thus combining my hobbies of being a massive geek and eating massive amounts of icecream. Unfortunately they were out of strawberry icecream (the symbol in the film for homosexuality) so I had to have carmel and chocolate- I don’t know what this says about sexual freedom... icecream eating shouldn’t be so political.

The only downside to Havana, and the other cities we visited, was that everywhere we went, (and I mean everywhere), we were serenaded with cat-calls and this weird psst psst noise that seems to be a less energetic form of wolf-whistle. It was incessant and got very very annoying. I blame Isabelle for  being a blonde, lovely Swede, (in fact as much as I hated the cat-calling it was a bit of a blow to the ego to hear them all say “linda rubia”- beautiful blonde. I wanted to shout “Shut up you misogynist pricks... and what am I chopped liver?!” Ah the feminist-egoist’s paradox.)

Other snapshots from Havana:

Walking along from the sea-wall at sunset I turned around to see some kids had grabbed Isabelle’s camera and were pulling on her bag. Her being awesome and tough she held on for dear life, I screamed “DEJALO!” (Spanish for LEAVE IT!) and the scamps ran off, dropping the camera on the way. So Isabelle got robbed but didn’t lose anything.

I was stopped in the street by a guy that asked where I was from, I said England and he got super excited and said “ahhhh Ali G- Booyakasha!” There is very little one can say in return to that.

We had a great night out by accident. We met some Cuban guys on the streets and they told us about a cool area to go out. We jumped into a collective taxi and zoomed off back to the North of Havana, right next to the icecream parlour we’d walked so far to find earlier that day. Now admittedly we broke all the rules in the book- allowing ourselves to be picked up by drunk guys on the street and guided to unknown places but I trust my instincts and in the end it turned out to be a great night (except a guy who was chatting me up suddenly stopped, looked at my stomach and said “oh wait are you pregnant”! Worst chat-up line ever.)My non-existent unborn baby and I ended up in this great reggae club filled with rastas. Thought I was getting a lesson in rasta philosophy from this brilliantly-turbaned guy, all about seizing the day and living life to the full, but turns out he was trying to persuade me to cheat on my imaginary-excuse boyfriend (quite the phantom family was forming). Years of skanking to ska helped on the dance floor and we danced the night away (totally sober), before trying to escape by going to the toilet, though we were followed. Shook off most of our want-to-be suitors and got a classic-car taxi home along the sea-front. They tried to charge us $40- I laughed in his face and gave him $6. A day of exploiting our attempted exploiters, dancing, icream and a lot, and I mean a lot, of walking. The next few days would take us out of Havana, though the adventures would continue....

Lessons learnt:

Repeating the same word continuously does make a coherent, persuasive argument. Being asked “taxi?” four-hundred times, despite having said no the first time, is not a great business model.

Smile nicely enough you can get yourself up to the private, roof-top bar of nice hotels... and then nurse the cheapest drink for an hour while taking in the view. Almost setting the place on fire due to a latent pyromaniac desire to play with candles is less likely to be tolerated.

There are a lot of very buff-body builders in Havana- apparently the body politik isn’t the only thing the Cubans have been attending to.