Part 7 and finally......

Finally the day has come when we can make the long journey home.  We set out on the bus and collect our Scottish friends from the next resort.  This time Bill looks like a different man, bright-eyed, bushy tailed and sober.  We chat and compare notes on our experiences of Cuba. They claim the food was awful and all the flies in Cuba inhabited their resort. Really?

We stood in the check-in queue in Havana airport and watched as the check-in staff rested, ate their lunch, ignored the fact that our flight departure time had long gone and occasionally checked someone in.  We departed two hours late and it was the first time I have seen passengers burst into spontaneous applause when the stewardess shut the door!

I was squashed in a centre seat between two rather large gentlemen, one of whom had a very productive nose-blowing technique.  In fact, several people on the flight were obviously very unwell, one chap nearby had a terrible cough and was using his sick bag as a spittoon.   Somewhat inevitably, a couple of days after arriving home, I was ill for a week.

I don't have the heart, dear reader, to take you through the entire horrendous journey home.  You'd hate it and I don't think I could live through it again.   Suffice it to say, it took 24 hours in total, about five of which were spent queuing.

We eventually touch down in Malaga, I only wish we could have exited the plane the old fashioned way, down a flight of steps, so that I could have kissed the tarmac in a Popesque-stylie.  I have never been so glad to be home.

exhausted but happy to be home

Our humble home appears, to me, like a palace.  Our house sitter has kept the place immaculate and our plants alive.  The dog is overjoyed to see us.  I vow there and then, no more economy long haul flights.

I don't think we will book another secret escapes all-inclusive special offer-type holiday again.  They are all well and good, it's us that is the problem.  I realise now that we have reached a peculiar stage in our lives regarding holidays.  We're too old to go backpacking in Tibet, I loathe camping and we don't like to be told what to do.  We hate forced jollity, and don't want to learn Salsa. Maybe being too long in the tooth to fall for the odd con or tall story means that we also miss out on some adventures.  The stupid things we did and the risks we took in our younger days often resulted in some hilarious detour or memorable party.  Am I turning in to a miserable old git?  Answers on a postcard please.  Maybe we should just wait a few years, buy matching trainers and khaki shorts and go visit ancient monuments around the world.  We might fit in there.

The final word must go to Air France - I spit on your croissants.

Part 6 almost the end

Our maid had a sense of humour, Ken had given her a 5 cuc tip on our first morning at the resort, whether this is why she decided to entertain us daily with her imaginative towel and blanket animals, we'll never know. Her first effort, waiting for us one afternoon when we returned for a siesta, was a blanket swan wearing my bikini top and flower hair slide.

This really made me laugh

followed the next day by this spooky little number,

Last night's storm has cleared the air, the humidity has dropped and the sky is blue.  We had a wonderful morning at the beach, again soothing my mosquito bites in the briny sea.  The three bites on my back have joined up to form a map of Cuba!

Later that day I was explaining to a member of staff how badly bitten we have both been despite bringing a plug-in for the room, using a vile smelling spray-on repellent on our exposed bits every evening, after-bite sticks and antihistamine cream.  'In that case it's probably not the mosquitoes' she said sagely 'It will be the tiny spiders'.  I had seen a couple of minute beige spiders here and there, but had no clue that they bite. Now every time I sit down or get into bed I have to sweep for spiderlings, bugger!

Tonight we are booked into the French Restaurant, fingers crossed it's not as 'crepe' as the rest. I can report that the 'Romantic French Restaurant' was neither.  It was a huge, featureless room, no music, no candles, no romance. It was like dining in a curtained off area of an aircraft hanger.  The food was edible but nothing a Frenchman would recognise.  For instance I had a dry rolled up piece of fish and rice, and ice-cream. The waitress offered us goat shit!  We looked at each other, stifling giggles, and asked her to repeat, 'Goat shit' she confirmed. We laughed, surely not, but then again.........

The next day we skipped lunch and instead spent the afternoon sunbathing at the 'piscina tanquila', me reading Graham Norton's laugh-out-loud autobiography and occasionally taking a leisurely swim up to the bar for a pina colada. 'Hellish darling' as my friend Sarah would say.  We had a couple of rum and cokes in the lobby bar this evening, listening to some classical music played by a trio of piano, violin and congas.  An unusual combination but appreciated by the small audience.  We retire early to our room to watch some trashy American TV - 'Fat Guys in the Woods' - genius.

Our last full day at Memories was spent in similar fashion, topping up our tans and looking forward to trying out the Italian restaurant.  We were having an afternoon rest in our room when the phone rang. It was our rep informing us that Air France pilots are on strike and our flight tomorrow has been cancelled!  Bloody typical, the times I've been on holiday having a wonderful time, not wanted to go home and wishing this would happen.  The one time I'm desperate to leave 'et voila!'

The Italian restaurant lived up to it's dreadful reputation but at least it yielded a few comedy moments. There was a starter called 'atun de conejo' which literally translates as 'tuna of rabbit'!  This confused us somewhat, so Ken asked if it was tuna or rabbit.  'Rabbit' said the waiter.  'OK I'll try that' said Ken.  When it arrived it was a few tiny shreds of chicken.  'Is this chicken'? Ken asked the waiter.  'Yes chicken' he confirmed.  'But it says rabbit on the menu' Ken replied.  'It say tuna, but it's not that either' said the waiter .  You couldn't make it up!

Next morning I met with our holiday rep in the lobby.  She confirmed we would not be flying home this afternoon and so we'll be staying another night.  When we return to our room after more tan topping up, there was a note to say we would be leaving tomorrow at 8.30 am - hooray!

No more restaurants to try out so we settle for the open buffet, where I watch one guy eat 2 half-litre tubs of ice-cream in about 5 minutes flat.  I saw him again ten minutes later leaving the dining room with six more. Either this guy had brought his own freezer on holiday or he intended to eat the lot in the next half hour. We have an early start tomorrow so we have a couple of rum and cokes and retire early, hoping for one more episode of 'Fat Guys in the Woods'.

Part 5 - Memories may be beautiful and yet.....

We checked in for our 7 nights of bliss and were given our 'Diamond Club' wristbands. Membership gives us a few perks;  daily replenishment of 2 beers, 2 soft drinks and a bottle of water in our mini-fridge, an air conditioned side-room at the open buffet and the privilege of five opportunities to sample the A la Carte Restaurants. Not bad for a free upgrade.  The down side is that the flies only inhabit the air-conditioned room, it's far too hectic and humid for them in the main dining room, where the food is!  The mini-fridge did get replenished most days, and the restaurants? Well, keep reading!

Our room was in the block closest to the Lobby and furthest from the beach.  This turned out to be a lucky break because most days start at the Lobby with a good coffee, the open buffet is nearby and it's a nice place to chill out.  Our room was spacious and colourful with a small balcony.

One of the best features of the resort, by far, is the beach, an endless strip of white sand and crystal clear, almost fluorescent, turquoise sea. We spent our first morning there and it was great to relax.  We have never been very beachy people, but the salty sea was a balm to my bites.  More on my bites later.

There are two swimming pools at Memories; the activity pool and 'la piscina tranquila' (the quiet pool) both with swim up bars.  So, that's the good stuff.

In all honesty I was ready to go home after five days, although I dreaded the journey.  There have been highs and lows, mostly lows.  I could write an entire book about how bad the food was but 'The Cuban Restaurant' was stand out disgusting.  We ordered our food and decided to treat ourselves and buy a bottle of wine, after all it was our first full day and our first A La Carte dinner.  We should have stuck to the perfectly adequate (and free) wine by the glass.  We paid 15 cuc for some alcoholic battery acid!  We gave it to a group of girls at the next table when we fled soon after our food arrived.  I don't really remember what I ordered because the image of what Ken was served obliterates all else.  It was described as 'Beef in his own juice', when it arrived it was a dollop of wet fibres stuck together with smelly, gelatinous goo.  Que aproveche!

The next night was better at the Japanese 'Red Dragon'.  The chef did some knife juggling and we were seated around him in a group of 10.  This was more what we had hoped for, a chance to meet people and enjoy some good food.  We met a charming Canadian couple, originally from Poland, who were in their seventies, interesting and fun.  Although the food wasn't very adventurous, it was freshly cooked to order and not bad at all.

The following night, being Saturday, was the 'Memories Special Dinner' by the piscina tranquila, followed by a Michael Jackson tribute show. Unfortunately for me the previous day I had been talking to a couple from Essex on their last night in the resort, and shared with them that we had a reservation for this special event.  They told me they had attended the week before and it had been the best food they had eaten during their entire stay except.... and then they stopped.  'Except what'? I asked. 'Don't tell her' said the husband. 'You can't do that' I cried 'you have to tell me now'.  'It's just that it was teeming with rats' said the wife.  Aaarg!  'They weren't near the food' she said by way of reassurance.  I wish I'd never asked, this kept me awake, tossing and turning, all night.  Luckily for me it was a wash-out due to torrential rain and the electricity going on and off like a whore's drawers, phew. The Michael Jackson show was off, too.  I blame it on the Boogie!

We spent that evening in the Lobby watching sheets of rain fall and and the sky lighting up as the storm raged, not every body's idea of fun but we loved it.  Ken had secretly been hoping for a hurricane. We passed the night chatting to a young Canadian couple who were great company.  She had moved to Canada from Brazil and he was of Portuguese descent.  We talked about life and we told them about some of our past projects, the successes and the failures.  That made them laugh.

Here I have to digress and vent spleen on the most annoying aspect of our trip so far, the Canadian tourists. They are the life-blood of tourism here - it's a very cheap holiday for them and a mere three hour flight.  In the same way that not all British tourists are lager louts or football hooligans, there are of course, many Canadian visitors that do not belong in this category of loud-mouthed, obese slobs.  I am no light-weight myself but here I looked like an anorexic on a crash diet!  I never thought I was 'fattist' but when confronted with gluttony 'en masse' like this, it made my blood boil. The all-you-can-eat buffet was a sight to see, someone should put a sign up explaining that doesn't mean 'all it's humanly possible to consume'.  I don't think it has ever occurred to any of them to eat when they're hungry.  One small example of this was a woman with 22 pieces of cake on her plate, she was tempted by a 23rd, but realised it was an architectural impossibility.

They are easy to spot, they don't have limbs, they appear as enormous 25 stone (350 pounds) flesh mountains with hands and feet stuck on and sunglasses on the back of their fat necks - and that's just the women!  They're like some weird tribe, and they've come prepared, carrying barrel-sized flasks so that they can get 3 litres of beer or Pina Colada at a time and save themselves having to waddle to the bar too often.  I wanted some photographic evidence but realised it was just wrong and I might get my skinny arse sued.

It occurs to me that the cushiest job here must be working in the fitness centre.  They should offer liposuction, they'd be able to fuel the whole resort on the yield.  Phew - I feel better for getting that off my puny chest.

Part 4 Havana to Varadero

Lookie-Likies in Havana, Che G is probably spinning in his grave!

Wednesday 10th September

We're are ready to leave Havana.  Although an all-inclusive resort in not normally our style, we are looking forward to some relaxation, peace from the hustlers, the beach, the pool and not having to pay for anything. For a poor country our first three days in Havana have been expensive.

Whilst enjoying our last breakfast at Hotel Terral and looking out over the Gulf of Mexico, up pops the beaming face of Eduardo!  Uh, oh.  He wanted to take us on a tour of Old Havana, we declined but invited him to have a beer with us.  We walk to a nearby bar, just a couple of blocks down from the hotel, which has a little garden oasis.  Over a few mojitos and beers we chatted to Eduardo about Cuba's economy, the changes that have happened and his future hopes and dreams.   He's divorced and lives with his 85 year old Mum.  He wants to remarry and his ambition is to move to Italy.  He too gives me a 3 peso note featuring Che, which he has signed, as a memento.  Time for us to head for Varadero and the beach.

Last moments in Havana with Eduardo

Our coach arrives promptly at 2 pm and we head into Havana to collect others headed for Varadero. We stop at a smart hotel and an attractive blonde lady gets on, sits across the aisle from me and we exchange a smile.  As the coach slowly pulls away she leaps to her feet, saying 'No, no, stoap, stoap' in a broad Glaswegian accent.  She explains to the bi-lingual guide that her husband hasn't yet boarded the coach.  The guide recognises the urgency in her voice but the words are unintelligible, I translate. The drivers eyes roll and his foot hits the brake.  The blonde leaves the bus and moments later bundles her belligerent and florid-faced husband, let's call him Bill, into a seat and off we set.

We're told it's a couple of hours journey time to Varadero and we'll stop half way for a drink and a pee. We get chatting to the blonde and husband Bill, being Scots I ask them how they've voted in the up-coming Referendum. Like us, they arrive back in the U.K. on the 18th September, the day we will all discover whether Scotland has voted for independence or to remain as part of the U.K.  I'm surprised to hear they have voted to stay in.  As Bill so eloquently put it  'See if I get home and the vote is to leave, that's me and my business f****d'.

Bill passes across a 2 litre bottle of Coke to Ken, who takes a slug, his eyes widen and he says to me 'Do you want a sip'?  'It's about 50/50 rum and coke'.  Bill manages to finish off the lot in about 15 minutes and then unsurprisingly needs the toilet.  The guide tells him he will have to wait.

We drive through green tropical scenery and appropriately enough a tropical storm erupts - heavy rain and impressive lightning.  We're pleased to see the rain and hope it clears the air.  After an hour or so we arrive at said watering hole and paddle through puddles for piddles.  The arrangement leaves a lot to be desired and I am happy to have rainwater puddles to wade through on the way back to the bus, to rinse the urine from my feet and sandals.

Bill had a unique ability to mix generosity and an undertone of implied violence.  Ken had ordered a couple of beers for them and when he went to pay, Bill insisted on paying, saying 'That's no how it works, Pal'.

Off we set again and an hour later we start dropping people off at their resorts.  The first few we pass look distinctly like prison camps.  My heart sinks just a little.  Fortunately, they seem to improve the further along the peninsula we go.  At the penultimate resort we wish farewell and happy holiday to our Scottish friends, and I can't help wondering which will fail first, Bill's relationship or his liver.

Finally we arrive at 'Memories'.  The main lobby is impressive, a high ceilinged, open-sided area, abuzz with chatter, music and the hiss and gurgle of coffee machines - hoorah!

Part 3 Havana continued

Our guide yesterday explained that the Cuban ethnicity is a mix of Spanish, African and Chinese, the latter was a surprise to me, but the mix does explain the striking good looks of many Cubans.  He said 'The lighter our skin the more Spanish blood we have, the darker our skin the more African blood we have'.  It also explains why the colour of your skin is, refreshingly, not an issue here.

There was once a large Chinese community in Cuba, most of them fled during the revolution.  There is still a Chinatown in Havana although we didn't get to see it in our short time there.


Tuesday 9th September

Our last full day in Havana, we received a call from Yorelis to say our bags should arrive later today. We decided to head out on the open top tourist bus. We have taken these city tours before in Barcelona, for instance, and they are great value, you get to see so much more than you would on foot.

At this time of year the humidity in Cuba is unbearable, so to have the breeze through your hair, or over your head in Ken's case, was bliss.  We stayed on the bus for hours, only getting off to have a drink and admire the view from the terrace at the Hotel Nacional.

parked outside the Hotel Nacional

We knew that the classic American cars were an iconic image of Cuba, but they really are an incredible sight, well over 50 years old and so varied in type and colour.   Stand still for five minutes in Cuba and you will see more classic American cars than you've probably seen in your entire life. Apart from the sheer size of the cars, which is pretty breath-taking, what I really loved were the colours.  You just don't see them in modern cars.  So many shades of blue and green alone, plus orange, pink, purple, yellow, chocolate, bronze and gold - I could stand and watch them all day.

Most of these cars now have modern replacements engines, some of them are immaculate and others are patched and battered.  They are all for hire these days, everyone's a taxi-driver in Cuba since it opened up to tourism. Things changed drastically for Cuba in 1991 when Communist Russia fell and with it, the financial support it used to give Cuba.  The financial crisis was so desperate that Cuba had to find another income source, and fast.  Of course people have been visiting Cuba for many years but now they needed them in numbers and mass tourism was born, and with it the opportunity for the Cubanos to make a buck or two.   For me here lies the discomfort and the conflict.  A Communist state where everyone's an entrepreneur.  A dictatorship where everyone's on the make.

So we head back to the hotel and our bags have arrived, which we are told, is very lucky sometimes it takes a week!  Tonight we have tickets to see the Buenavista Social Club at Cafe Taberna.  For a mere 30 cucs each, you get to see some of the original musicians (allegedly) playing live with three drinks included.  As we set out for the evening we meet Eduardo, who asks if we need a taxi.  For the first time we actually do.  'Yes' we say. Although we are both blessed with a complete set of limbs and could've hailed one ourselves.  'Two minutes, please wait' says Eduardo.  We wait as numerous taxis sail past.  Five minutes later he arrives beaming as a passenger in the front seat of a taxi.  'Plaza San Fransisco'  I state confidently 'we're off to see the Buenavista Social Club' .  I take charge really just to be difficult, Yorelis had told us that Ken would have to do the 'No thank yous and clear off pleases' as no-one will look at me, much less take any notice of me as a mere woman, hmmph.   Off we go and arrive at an unfamiliar place, outside a completely different venue boasting 'Buenavista Social Club'.  It appears as the band's fame has spread the Cubans have found a way of turning every musician over seventy into a cash cow.  A beaming chucker-in goes to open our taxi door, which is just as well because the inside of the door has no inner panel or handles.  'Is this Cafe Taberna?' I ask. No, Buenavista Social Club' says the chucker-in.  I notice above the door its says Club Tropicana.  'I asked for Plaza San Francisco,  didn't I?' I say to Eduardo.   'Yes but very good Buenavista Social Club here' he says.  'There are at least two then.  I want Club Taberna near plaza San Fransisco ' I say.  He claims I know more than him!  Maybe I should have let Ken give the instructions after all.

We finally reach our desired destination, are seated and given a pre-mixed Mojito, unwanted in Ken's case and exchanged for a beer, a wise choice in the event.  The evening passes well enough the music's good, the staff unsmiling and I'm left with that unpleasant taste in the mouth that a tourist trap leaves.

I lose count of the taps on the shoulder that night, the offers of unwanted assistance, hustlers all.  We decline help to find a taxi home and start to walk back to our hotel.  En route Ken spots a battered 1954 Oldsmobile taxi and decides he wants a ride in one of these cars before we leave Havana.  The back seat was over-sprung leather and the driver was lovely.  He drove slowly along the Malecon, so that he could turn to look at us as we chatted.  The inside of the car was original and in great condition.

Interior of 1954 Oldsmobile

The engine had long since been replaced by a Perkins diesel engine from Argentina.  The driver patiently answered all Ken questions.  I was reminded of something Yorelis told us.  She said 'If you approach the Cubans you will find them warm and friendly, it's the ones that approach you that you have to be wary of. You're safe, they'll never harm you, but they will trick you, sell you banana leaf as best Cuban cigars or any number of other well practised cons,'  Havana is not a place for the gullible, that's for sure.  Fact is there are good and bad people wherever you go, it's just a matter of proportion.  Well we had approached this taxi driver and he couldn't have been more genuine and helpful.  He asked for 4 cucs to take us to our hotel, which was smack bang in the middle of the 3-5 cucs that Yorelis had said would take us pretty much anywhere in Havana  When we finally arrived in style at our hotel , he waited patiently while Ken took a couple of photos of him and his taxi and seemed genuinely happy and surprised when Ken gave him 5 cuc. And so ended our last night in Havana.

chatting away whilst driving along

back at base

Part 2 - Havana

I only wish Ken or I had a Grandma we could have taken to Cuba with us, I would have called my blog 'Our Nan in Havana'  but alas neither of us has.

Hotel Terral Havana - 8th September 2014

So, we arrived at our hotel located on the Malecon, a 7 km stretch of road facing the Gulf of Mexico, at around 8pm although it is 2 in the morning to us. We are greeted with a big smile from the Receptionist.  We need to change some money, so we get 116 cucs  (the Cuban tourist currency) for our 100 euros, a poor deal for us and so it began.......

The Receptionist told us how lucky we were. There had been a cancellation so we could upgrade to a suite and would only need to pay the difference in the hotel-room tax.  Only an extra 50 cucs per night!  '50 cucs ' we cried, 'that's a lot of money, almost 50 euros a night extra'.  'No, no' she said 'it's much less than that'.  'No, no' we chorused 'you just gave us 116 cuc for a 100 euros so it's nearly 50 euros per night extra.  'Ah yes but that's because the hotel exchange rate is very low' she countered.  Hmmmmmm.  We renamed her 'The Deceptionist'.

We took a look at the suite, which was enormous, and then our original room, which was spacious and more than adequate and settled for that.  We had a light snack in the small hotel bar, me a tuna salad -  very nice - and Ken had two courses now long forgotten.  We went to bed and slept like babes in our huge comfy bed.

Monday 9th September

Next day, our first full day in Havana, we had a 9.30 appointment with Yorelis the local rep, so we went down to breakfast about 8am looking forward to a good strong coffee.  Oh the disappointment!  Ken's natural default setting is 'mildly disappointed', he's only rarely very pleased with products or services.  I, on the other hand, am easier to please and rarely complain but I do take my morning coffee quite seriously.  I couldn't drink this milky dishwater.  We tried again for stronger coffee, still no good.  Our waiter suggested 'cafe de la maquina', which is what we're used to,  and we eventually got some good strong coffee.  The breakfast choice was good with fresh fruit, hot bread, eggs of every description and meat for the carnivores.  I had revueltos with cheese, a Spanish version of scrambled eggs, yum.  Although not as yummy as the eggs Benedict I had the following 2 mornings.  This description is misleading though, because if memory serves me right, eggs Benedict usually involves spinach, but hey.  Here though, it's 2 lovely soft poached eggs on some soggy bread with melted cheese over - suits me, Sir.

So, on to the meeting with the rep Yorelis, not another shark but a lovely, smiley, friendly and warm lady who spent a good hour and a half with us.  She was very informative and gave us loads of great advice and tips which proved very useful.  She was unimpressed when we told her about the Deceptionist.  When she left she gave me a 3 Peso note with an image of Che Guevara, as a souvenir!  She also made a call for us about our luggage and said it should be with us the next day.

In search of a toothbrush and some toothpaste we set off a few blocks behind the hotel, we didn't see any shops for quite a while, lots of people and hole-in-the-wall food outlets but no shops.  Finally we found a fridge shop and then one that looked more promising.  We stepped inside, they had shampoo, hair dye, toothpaste and one toothbrush, all in glass cabinets.  I made my purchase and, as we wandered the streets, we saw how the locals pass the day, many of them living in appalling conditions and it was quite depressing. This was not Old Town Havana with it's impressive buildings, we were off the tourist trail.

Later that day we set off on a half-day tour of old Havana with half a dozen other folks.  We were shown Revolution Square which had monuments to Che, Fidel and other past leaders and heroes of the Cuban Revolution.

We visited a cigar and rum shop where Ken and I were the only ones to avail ourselves of the fabulously strong coffee.  I opted for 'un poquito de ron' in mine. Enough rum to kill you with just enough caffeine to keep you alive.  Then on to a piano bar to sample a gorgeous Pina Colada served in a whole pineapple.  We sat with a lovely Russian lady called Julia who ordered her Pina Colada without rum!  The waitress left the bottle of rum on our table so we could help ourselves.  I convinced Julia to try a little, she put a nip in her pineapple and slurped some through her straw.  Her eyes smiled.  She topped it up again, took a sip and repeated the process again and again.  I think she liked it.

We walked around Havana old town marvelling at the crumbling buildings and strange vehicles.

colourful, fading grandeur

A cut and shut stretch Lada limo

Our tour-guide, Cornelius, pointed out the Capitol Building, a copy of the one in the United States, under restoration.  'Ours is two metres taller', he proudly stated.

Some of the grander buildings in Havana have been, or are being, restored but many are in a terrible state that goes way beyond fading grandeur.  Some people are living in appalling conditions in buildings which are literally falling down around them.

Havana is an assault on the senses.  The trees are beautiful and varied, there are huge ostentatious monuments, socialist propaganda bill boards, fabulous old american cars, beggars, pedlars, humidity, sewage, hustlers, music and rum.

Apart from the heat, the hassle and the insect bites, a good day.  We were shattered so we ate a very weird meal close to our hotel, to this day we don't know what it was, and went to bed.

Part One - Malaga to Havana

 9th September 2014 - Havana

Our third and final day in Havana and our luggage has arrived, hoorah!  It's surprising how little you can actually get by on when you have to.  It also makes me realise that I've packed loads more stuff than really necessary, but it's good to have a change of clothes at last.

Friday 7th September 2014 - Malaga to Paris

I suppose I should start at the beginning.  So day one starts at 6am, arriving very excited at Malaga Airport at 7am for our 9.45 flight to Paris.  The flight was delayed by an hour which meant cutting it very fine to make our connecting flight to Havana.  A new experience for me in Paris seeing 'LAST CALL' next to my flight number and realising that the gate we had just landed at was about as far from the gate we needed as it's possible to be; Gate C4 to L48, or something like that.  We limped and puffed our way as fast as we could to the departure gate, to be told by the attendant that she had just cancelled us from the flight!  We stood there dumbstruck for a few long seconds staring through the glass at the plane, then she said 'I can put you back on'.   Oh the relief!  She proceeded to tap away at the computer and we were on.  It struck me that if she had 'cancelled us' then they'd probably removed our luggage too.  'What about our bags?' I said. 'Erm, I'll try to get them put on, go.go, run' she said. We ran.  We took our seats and the plane began to move - not much time to reload luggage.

The plane was enormous.  A 777, I think.  The last time I was on a plane that big was way back before the Internet was born, so the personal touch-screen entertainment centre was a revelation.

I've never been able to sleep while travelling, be it by car, boat or plane but the first 5 hours went by eating, reading and watching 2 films back to back.  Finally I could tolerate no more sitting, so decided to do a couple of laps of the plane and discovered a kind of self-service cold drinks area and a huge box of mini ice-creams, to which people were helping themselves.  I returned to my seat and proudly proffered said ice-cream to a sleepy Ken.

For me the second half of the flight was the most uncomfortable; desperate to sleep but unable to, fidgety through sitting too long and surrounded by hundreds of other uncomfortable people and the smell of their farts. - Get me off this plane!

Finally, we touch down in steamy Havana.  My first thought was 'damp'. Everything smelt and felt damp, the baggage reclaim area, in fact the whole airport needed wringing out.

We stood by the luggage carousel in the vain hope that our bags would make an appearance, which of course they didn't because they were enjoying a mini-break in Paris.

It's funny the things that strike you as odd in a different country or culture.  The arrivals hall in Havana was swarming with customs personnel all dressed in tan uniforms.  Most of them were young females and all of them wearing patterned black tights.  Are they mad?  In this heat!

There were two little brown and white Spaniels wandering around the arrivals hall.  I'm used to seeing people and their pets at Malaga airport but of course these weren't pets, they were working.

Thank God we speak Spanish.  We were told to go to the 'Oficina de reclamaciones' to report our missing bags.  It wasn't hopeful, it didn't look good.  It seemed nobody was interested much less cared.  However a list was found, our names were at the top, they knew our bags had not made the journey with us.  I felt a little more hopeful.  We were given a reference number and told that an Air France flight came every day and our bags would probably arrive the next day and be at our hotel the day after that.  We both had a change of undies in our hand luggage but no wash kit. Ken's medication was in his hold bag, doh!   Note to self;   next time pack all essentials in hand luggage.

Having dealt with the lost bag situation, we were eager to leave this damp hell hole and not miss our hotel transfer.  We were in such a hurry that we forgot the advice to change our money there rather than at the hotel.  No time to go back now, so without a cent to buy a bottle of water we headed to our bus.  Thankfully the bus was air-conditioned and we met a lovely Irish couple , 'the Kennies'.  We didn't understand a single word they said.