The (missing) bag lady

The final piece in my stressful travel puzzle was capped off by the inept staff at an airline I usually tout as one of the best to go to the USA with. My HUGE 12+ hour sleep getting into Brisbane and quick connection was marred by the disappearance of my bag, which I don't think was ever on the same plane as me, and also the fact that I almost missed the next flight trying to sort it out.

At one point I simply gave up trying to get a result and ran through customs, practically throwing my new feather earring with a seed attached to it at the customs guy (who insisted I had already missed my next flight, all that he knew), and trying to get on the transfer bus to the domestic airport. Of course the bastard driver didn't care how frazzled I was and wouldn't let me on without the Virgin free shuttle ticket, which I had no time to get cos my flight was already boarding. Over $30 in a cab later (between 2 fucking terminals, no less) and I was running to my gate with minutes to spare.

But it didn't end there.

Flustered and pissed off, I get to the front of the line and give over my boarding pass, only for a huge black cross to come up on the screen and the hostess to tell me I'd been moved to a later flight. Oh no, no, no I hadn't. I'm the friggin travel agent here, I didn't tell anyone to move my damn flight. "Oh but your flights were booked by Groups" - I don't care, I know between now and the 15 hours I'd been flying from LA to Brisbane, I had not put in a request to get it changed. But you can't board now, the flight is closed. But I have a fucking boarding pass. Did I mention I'm a travel agent? And so it went on. Eventually I managed to get myself on the flight, which was hardly full, and then it was straight to work, like the sick freak I am. But at least I had a sweet-ass tab.

It look 3 days to get my bag back. Use-fucking-less.

Getting home saga: Pt I

Over 3 weeks after I've returned from my holiday and I'm just about to write its final blog - how about that?! I'm not sure if it's been laziness, busyness or just a general habit of procrastination but in any circumstance, I am a little disappointed in myself. Moving on.

So my final day in Cuba consisted of much waiting around, and it started in the hotel lobby. Yet again, our guide let us down by promising to order buses and taxis - none of which arrived as they were meant to. The poor Irish girls and P, who was also going to the same beach area for a chill-out, were wandering around aimlessly when I came down with L for our taxi to the airport. Us being a little more pressed for time, thought it best to order our own taxi. Which came within minutes.

At least I got my bikini back in one piece. No, wait, two. But that's OK.

A was meant to be waiting in the foyer to bid us farewell, which never happened. In fact, a stuff-up at the beginning of the tour meant that he had to meet B anyway to arrange some kind of reimbursement, so poor B was also still waiting on the couch when we jumped in the car. Having still not been able to log in to see if my Cubana Airlines flight was delayed, I was just going on A's advice that there was no change and rocked up with a good amount of time. Only, again, I was misinformed, and there was already a delay on the flight. Nice one, A.

L and I faffed around a bit in the pre-departure shops, me finding I had a small amount of money left to burn (Cubanos are useless outside of Cuba) so I bought a small souvenir for my brother, paid my departure tax (lucky I was told to leave some for that!) and went through the gates. The boarding process was much more efficient than last time, and for the small delay, it arrived reasonably on time in Cancun. I had a few hours spare so wasn't stressed about getting my next flight to connect to my long-haul back home.

In Cancun, I felt like one last hurrah so headed - in what had now become a tradition in Cancun for me - to Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for a drink. Standing at the bar, I hear a man's voice call from behind: "Hey! How are you?" I turn to see a black American guy I've never met before, talking like we're old friends. Uhh, yes, umm, do I know you? "I was on your flight from Cuba, remember, we were filling in forms near each other in that departure hall?" Oh... yeah. He invited me to sit with him and have a drink, I thought hey I've got nothin' to lose.

We chit-chatted for a bit, ordering the biggest cups of cocktails you'd ever seen and some mighty tasty tacos that were prepared right in front of us, and when the waitress said his flight to Chicago was in its final stages of boarding, he threw his card over to pay and was out of there before I knew it. I sat there with the tacos, the cocktail and a big, relaxed smile on my face. Well worth the sit, I thought chewing in silence.

The quick flight to LAX was uneventful, me feeling pretty soft and fuzzy after all that drink, and when I got to the transit area I dutifully gave my bag to the transit staff to be whisked off to my Virgin flight. I thought it was quite nifty that United and Virgin could co-ordinate such a switch with so little fuss. Oh how wrong I was.

No Buenavista Social Club for me :(

Last day of my Cuba tour and I must say, I am ready to go home. Back to my new work responsibilities and back to the new challenges my life now had - boy, what a change! But all that aside, I was also happy to be back in Havana. It was a comforting city, and since it was where I started my Cuban experience, was a fitting place to end it as well.

It was a long drive back to the city from Trinidad, truncated by a drive-by tour of Cienfuegos where we learnt some quick history via the on-board mic (so interesting I can't remember a scrap of it now). We pulled over at one point to see the world's smallest bird, a hummingbird, and snap some pics. I really need to invest in a bigger lense, that thing was quite tiny! Looked almost the same as the dragonfly it was sharing a electricity cable with.

We quickly stopped at the place we usually eat, but since the timing was out we were due to eat at another place further along. I was really starting to feel the pinch in my wallet, so was getting increasingly frustrated at how EVERYBODY wanted a piece of you - tip-wise, I mean. I couldn't even go to the bloody toilet without giving her something! (I went anyway). There was a small farm with the Cuban version of a crocodile, but I wasn't about to pay to see that.

The place we actually stopped for lunch also had a bunch of animals, but more of a farm, with turkeys, chickens, lots of guinea pigs and of course another bull - to ride. In fact, the guinea pig became the key ingredient in a game to raise money for the farm when he put it in a box and spun it around, then let it go to a certain box with a prize, or not. Of course no prize but it was quite entertaining. Lunch was uneventful, actually the most memorable thing was that they actually ASKED if we wanted music while we ate and we said no. Over it.

We went to Havana for one last time, one last night, and it was straight into a final walking tour. A little bit out of whack, being the last night of the tour and all, but I guess it's better than nothing. It was back to the same hotel, this time firmly remembering to keep my bikini in my bag, and we were greeted with some bad news. The dinner that had been promised to us at the pub where members of the Buenavista Social Club play each night was not going to happen. Apparently, the tour company forgot to book it. What a fucking surprise. So all this time I was getting excited that not only I'd get to see Buenavista Social Club but also that I didn't have to pay - what a way to end my time in Cuba! Now... pissed off was an understatement. The pub was sold out, there was no other way in.

Some down-time at the hotel found me watching the only English program I could find, Dexter (not entirely a bad choice), so I watched that for a bit before getting dressed in my pretty Mexican dress for the finale evening. We were taken to an alternative restaurant, very nice with a piano jazz band, but not Buenavista Social Club. We had a nice dinner and I even had a dance with one of the waiters, the owner of a very beautiful jawline, but it wasn't Buenavista Social Club. We passed over our tip envelopes to the driver and guide, mine supplemented by P but still not that bulky (do you blame us?) and funnily enough, they disappeared soon after. We never saw them again.

Being the last night, we wanted to go out some more so we grabbed another drink at Plaza Vieja, the same beer house I went to the first night I was in Havana pre-tour. That was boring so we moved on to Cafe Paris, which sounded like it was still happening. We sat down and within one song they were passing a tip jar past us - arrgghhh, for fuck's sake!! With our disinterest, the band soon stopped playing. Awesome.

I could tell P was getting a bit drunk and rowdy again, and I wasn't really feeling it. Still stinging from the lack of BVSC, I just felt like going home. And to be perfectly boringly honest, I was starting to look forward to going home and getting stuck into my new management position. I left the others to do their thing and headed back to the hotel. Ahh, the soft, sweet folds of 5-star luxury... better soak it up while it lasts.

No rumba means more salsa

My day began earlier than usual in Trinidad, solely because of one loud-mouthed wanker and his friends being up all night and splashing about in the pool, yelling and laughing and singing so much I couldn't actually get it out of my head. I tossed and turned in the early hours of the day and eventually just got up to get breakfast, it was so impossible to sleep. By that stage they'd disappeared so I never had a chance to scream at them. When I told reception, they said sorry but I doubt they did much else - like maybe make sure a night security guard was on duty???

The first meal we had there, a buffet breakfast, wasn't actually that bad despite was A had told us. I stocked up as I knew we had another nature hike (oh joy) to look forward to. B, the Belgian, had arranged a scuba dive so went his separate way, while us 5 girls joined A in heading to the national park. Our guide didn't show (how unusual for Cuba...) so A begrudgingly filled in. Oh poor thing, you didn't get to sit in the air-conditioned bus and do nothing.

I could tell none of us was particularly keen to go for the walk, but we obliged, and it turned out to be alright. I was the only one to bring my swimmers, as they others had been burnt from wearing their swimmers under their clothes on the last walk and then just sweating balls when said watering hole was too dirty to swim in. But I was the lucky one - the place to swim this time was gorgeous. A small waterfall with clear, fresh water, it was the perfect refresher and I could've stayed in there all day. Alas, the others were over it and sick of watching me enjoy myself.

The group was keen for a final shop in Trinidad, as there were a number of art shops and trinkets around the place. I was on my last few pesos so couldn't really do much in the way of shopping, instead I used the time to look around the town and have a bit of 'me' time. So much so, that I actually lost where I was and ended up walking aimlessly around trying to find the meeting place for the bus. But I did get a moment to sit by the church, a little down about a dream I'd had about my ex, and straightened my head out a bit.

Originally, we were to hot-foot it to Havana to catch the Sunday rumba session in the art space we visited earlier in the tour but when our guide did the maths, he realised we wouldn't get there in time (why it took him until the day before we went to figure this out, I don't know) so we re-planned to leave later the next morning. We stayed in for dinner at the resort this time, which was actually not as bad as A had painted it - further proof he just wanted us to eat in that other restaurant.

There was another performance scheduled for that evening, but since the dance class I "missed" yesterday never actually happened - well, most of the scheduled activities seemed not to be happening - I wasn't holding my breath. But, as it happened, we grabbed a seat around the pool near the stage and core blimey, there was a performance! A dance troupe (Cuba loves a good dance group) did a few numbers and then there was some music to dance to - I was in the mood to shake my booty so I cut into the dancers and the people they'd pulled up, and started busting a move. Soon I had broken off with a couple of the guys and was dancing up a storm - fun times! Then the music stopped. The others had left by now so I went back to the hotel alone, and prayed the loser from the night before kept quiet this time.

The perfect refresher on a hot Cuban day

Beautiful Joel

It was a relaxing start to our 26 de Julio, the national memorial day in recognition of Cuban hero Che. We finally got a sleep-in, although we were in bed before 1am so it wasn't a huge necessity. I do wonder if we got a sleep-in to try and kill time so A didn't have to babysit us - just naturally don't trust him anymore.

I was one of the only people down for breakfast, apparently everyone else appreciated the sleep-in. Then we were all on the bus heading to a sugar mill to get a slice of history (and hopefully have some kind of sugar cane-related rum drink). There was a watchtower still standing next to the sugar mill we visited, and for 1 peso we climbed to the top to see some impressive views of the surrounding countryside and some of the other defunct mills nearby.

The next stop was in a famous local pottery maker (potter?) that had a shop in one of the nearby towns (given how late this is being written, I can't remember the exact town), but when we walked in we saw a crowd of excited children crowded around outside. Surely us tourists can't be that interesting... then we realised inside the pottery shop was a Cuban reggaeton star and they were all waiting for him to come outside. Actually, first I saw a very attractive Cuban woman sitting and looking bored on a seat in the shop, and wondered firstly why she was so done up and also what she was doing in the shop (if you're bored, bitch, just leave!). And then to watch her swagger out behind the rapper as he left, quite entertaining really.

Perhaps it was the outskirts of Trinidad that we saw before, but then we travelled into the main bit of Trinadad before going on to our all-inclusive resort Hotel Costasur. We were a bit excited about this all-inclusive prospect, as L had read in a Lonely Planet or something that there were only a couple of big resorts in Trinidad, and the one she saw was plush.

So it was a different resort.

Full of kids and actually lots of what looked like locals, running about doing their thing, one of the first things I set my eyes on was the activity board. Every hour there was a cocktail-making class, dance class, performance, something or rather... so I thought I had my time cut out for me. Our rooms weren't ready so we put our bags behind the desk and went to the bar to have the first of the shittest cocktails we had in Cuba - there was just no love behind it. It's like they just didn't enjoy serving unlimited free cocktails to stingy tourists that didn't tip.

I found an umbrella a little away from the main crowd on the private beach attached to the hotel, and settled down with my book. A little while later, I realised I'd been sitting close to one of the Irish girls the whole time and moved to join her. Time slowly ticked by and before I knew it, I'd missed the salsa lesson I planned to attend. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Despite the fact we were staying in an all-inclusive resort, A took us into town to have dinner (which we then had to pay for). True, the view was better with the setting sun, but we all did wonder if it was just because we was friends with the restaurant owner that we went there. When we questioned him, the excuse was something about the food being really bad at the resort - well then why are we staying there??

The most memorable thing about dinner, though, was the cats. They would brush past your leg unexpectedly and then take their place next to your chair, waiting for some tid-bits. One of the Irish girls was quite perturbed by them and in the feedback card, that was her first complaint. I was a bit drunk, given the number of free drinks I'd managed to quickly consume at the resort, so nothing much was bothering me and I was keen to hang back afterwards to see this Casa de la Musica place A had mentioned.

Only the Irish girls, L and I stayed on, the others choosing to go back to the resort. We went to the music place which was outdoors, in an amphitheatre kind of set-up, and we found a place where we could watch the band and some of the couples dancing salsa. Only it was different to Vinales - you really didn't want to go on that dance floor unless you knew what you were doing. A young guy with a hideous mullet sat next to us with his mates... and that's when I noticed Joel. The most intriguingly beautiful Cuban I'd seen yet, black with rastas and an awesome, sleek fashion sense. I eventually got talking to him, in Spanish, and he said we could go to a discotheque because he didn't like reggaeton or know how to salsa. Hold up - what?? Was this guy Cuban or not? Actually no, he said he was actually originally from Jamaica. Obviously not Jamaican enough to know English. Maybe he just wished he was.

Either way, I was not in the mood to party and it would have meant I was by myself, as the others definitely weren't keen. And I think I preferred to have a nice memory of this beautiful, sweet Cuban - every other time the veneer has been slashed once I actually started hanging out with these guys. So we tipped the band that came around with a hat (making particular time to walk past the tourists) and bid him farewell, and walked back down to meet our Cinderella coach to head back to the resort by midnight.

All in all, a rather sedate 26 July if I do say so myself. 

The Spirit of Sancti Spiritus

The bikini saga continued. I went down for breakfast before we were due to head out to the other side of Cuba and - surprise surprise - it still wasn't ready! I really didn't know what the big deal was with bringing it up and had a little tanty before storming off to the breakfast room, in typical hot-headed me style. But the breakfast buffet soon cheered me up - what a selection!

Afterwards, we were on the bus again and heading towards Santa Clara where the big Che monument was. At this point, I had given up playing my own game of 'Count the Che' because he was EVERYWHERE, and here was no exception. Before heading to his monument and burial place just one day before the national celebration of his first attempted military action, we walked around the town centre to take some piccies and have a mojito, then literally ran from the air-con bus to the stark white monument to quickly snap memories and rush underneath to the museum and tomb area for the guerillas. It was just so hot!

During the next drive I remembered that it was my sister and brother's birthdays soon and I should get some kind of foreign present for them, so I bought some "cucharones" (salad spoons) from a man at the next stop. It was, I soon learnt, the first of many wooden handmade stores around these parts. Lunch beckoned, and was delivered (included, we were ensured again) at some random hotel with a bunch of other tourists. A huge buffet, I of course stuffed my face too much and confirmed to myself once again that I cannot be trusted with unlimited food in front of me. I even had icecream, which over here is a delicacy for some reason - go past any icecream parlour and there is ALWAYS a line out the door.

Then it was on to Sancti Spiritus, indeed town in spirits as preparations were well underway for 26 de Julio. We had a hotel right in the central plaza, quite a cute place actually, and then went wandering to see what was happening with these upcoming celebrations. There was a fair down the road just setting up, pretty eerie actually as the rides all seemed to come from the 1930s (not entirely unusual for Cuba but still, a little weird) and were due to fall apart any second. Carnavil Infatil - "rustico" is the Spanish word for that, I think. I think I promised some locals a dance later on (there I go again, breaking hearts around the world) as I was in quite the jovial mood, and wandered the streets admiring the rustic architecture.

Back at the hotel, P and I felt like a drink so we tried something different from mojitos and daiquiris for a change. We opted for a sugar cane liquor with honey, me still trying to shake the relics of my recent sickness while also enjoying myself. I counted 11 ants in my drink, P didn't even bother taking hers out before downing the glass (she DOES live in Darwin, after all...). The others were siesta-ing I think, and eventually we met for dinner at the hotel (included). Then it was time to check out this 26 July celebration and see if this small town really knew how to party!

A took us to a street PACKED with people, we literally could hardly move. He bought us these annoying but pretty funny blow-horn things, which ended up being quite good to find each other. I think that's why he did it. We kept getting lost in the crowd! There were DJs, drink stands and a big parade with floats - although when we finally squeezed our way to be able to see them, we noticed the dancers had all but run out of puff. What was meant to be a high octane routine was just a slight hip flex and wave to the crowd. Maybe we were at the end of the street...

We tried some of the local beer, which you had to come prepared to buy with your own cup, and then some of the regular beer. There was a marked difference - the first was flat and a bit warm, while the other tasted, well, not home-brewn. But the home-brew was about 20c so you can't really complain. A had to buy us some of those drinks because they wouldn't take our convertible pesos. We had to find another bar that would serve us. The girls didn't want to drink beer so we had to buy a bottle of rum and some soft drink to carry around with us.

Finding somewhere to pee was an issue, and when A took me behind into some laneways, I was surprised to learn they favoured sensor lights in this part of Cuba. That aside, 'twas a good night and we managed to get a little dance in. We were the only tourists that I noticed there, which was cool. Really felt like we were experiencing something truly local. I had another dance in the plaza outside the hotel with the Irish girls, bottle of rum in hand, and then retired to our rooms.

Cigars, rum and daiquiri fun

Time to check out from Hotel Jasmines and say goodbye to the beautiful view of the valleys that had welcomed us the last couple of days. After breakfast, which I actually managed to eat properly this time since sleeping off much of my sickness, we met downstairs to get on the bus. Not before A awkwardly brought up the fact that we were meant to have paid the guide from yesterday - something none of us seemed aware of. Just another miscommunication between us and the guide. Not really impressed.

Next stop was Pinar del Rio, an area apparently known for its "slow people" according to our guide - although how much slower Central Americans could move was a source of intrigue for me. I had found some pesos hidden in my bag which I went to exchange, then we moved to see the cigar factory we had not had time to see on the first day. Everyone was pleased with the guide that he could fit this in still, all I could think was that it was likely his fault we missed it in the first place.

The cigar factory didn't allow photos, as it was one of the government ones which made the cigars us rich Westerners buy as luxuries, and it was all top secret. In actual fact, the muggy room the workers worked their long days had no air-conditioning (fans were brought at the expense of the workers), there was radio and an empty box where someone apparently sat at times to read stories to the workers, and a kind of organised chaos for the selection and stripping of leaves, rolling, testing, inspecting and all the bits in between. It was actually interesting. A got hit on by a worker, who was outrageously flirting and wouldn't let him leave without her number. He actually seemed embarrassed by the whole thing. The souvenir shop had air-conditioning. That annoyed me.

We also had time to go to a rum factory, another staple of Cuban society. Random locals out the front asked us for "sabon" I think, which I assumed was them offering us drugs or something, but I found out meant soap (??). Apparently it's something from a while back when they assumed all tourists gave the little soaps from hotels to the locals, along with pens and t-shirts and other random things they didn't want or value. I made a mental note to take soap out with me next time. The rum factory was small and so took little time to see. I wanted to buy some but I was starting to worry about money.

Then it was back to Havana to have a swanky lunch in town (this one was included, we made sure to check from now on), and a quick trip to an arts centre to see some local works. I bought a CD to help the kiddies of the project. All this made us late for the vintage car ride about town, so when we got to our meeting place, they'd already left to look for us at the restaurant. So we waited for their return, beggars slowly congregating outside the bus. In fact, one of the beggars was one of the only other rasta guys I saw in Havana. Awesome. Me and the homeless.

The cars arrived finally and we were whisked around the city, some of us in the soft-top (which was cool but an ugly metallic orange colour), some in the funky purple and white car that was playing old tunes like Elvis. We swapped between the cars as we stopped in various parts of the city, me loving the open air of the ugly car but worried that I was slowly burning to a crisp under the sun. But it was fun, so much fun!

In the afternoon, I tried the debit card another agent had given me after the last of my money-withdrawing facilities were stolen from me, but it didn't work. I was a bit anxious as this meant I would have to borrow off P, the New Zealander who lives in Australia. She was the only one I could have borrowed off, so I guess she felt obliged, but I hated having to rely on her. I searched for another ATM but none would accept the card. Geez, lucky I had the other currency spare!

I gave up and met a few of the others on the rooftop for an afternoon relax by the pool. With the original Bacardi building catching the last of the day's rays in the background, we looked over Havana in all its glory, music floating from rooftops restaurants of neighbouring hotels. This was the same hotel as before, so I enquired about my bikini at reception, just in case. Funnily enough, they actually had the bikini there (my bet is that the guide never even rang to check) and I was promised it would be at reception by dinnertime.

Dinnertime came but the bikini did not. I was promised it would be ready when I got back at the end of the night. We made our own plans for dinner this night, for once, and opted for Sloppy Joe's, a remnant of days gone by where Frank Sinatra used to dine and dance. There is a strange appreciation for America here, which I didn't expect. The Cubans seem to celebrate and remember their association with the superpower, while the Americans are the ones to hate on Cuba. This is said, of course, without little knowledge of all the shit that's passed between them throughout history. Just a casual observation.

There was hardly anyone at Sloppy Joe's so not much of a vibe to keep partying. We headed to La Floridita, famous as one of Ernest Hemmingway's haunts and for making the best daiquiris in in town. And drank a daiquiri. Claro. I was keen to perhaps check out somewhere else, see more of Havana, but no one else was so I retired to the hotel. Probably a good thing, since I hadn't completely shaken the sickness yet. I checked for my bikini, seeing the chambermaid on the way in texting someone outside the hotel, and was told it still wasn't there. Yeah, your staff are clearly too busy to handle it. 

Sickness (almost) becomes me

That niggling little feeling I had at the back of my throat yesterday woke me up with a ball-busting bang today. I felt like turd wrapped in shit. And to cap it off, this was the day we were apparently doing some kind of nature hike in the searing heat. Determined not to let a little sickness get in the way of my Cuban experience, I threw my wide sun hat on and lathered myself with sunscreen.

I also had discovered that my favourite little green Brazilian style bikini was missing from my bag and I remembered I'd left it hanging to dry in the bathroom after I'd run myself a bath in Havana. Dammit! Good luck getting that one back... I asked A to call the hotel but when I came down in the morning, he said they'd not found out. Just another thing to add to my list of lost shit.

We drove back into town to meet the walking guide, who was running late so we walked to meet him with the other tourists he was taking out. It wasn't a hard hike but I just felt so shit, coughing and spluttering at the back of the group. We went through some agricultural land, mainly tobacco, and saw how the smaller operations work. The whole Cuban cigar thing is interesting - while I don't smoke nor like anything about the addiction, it is a huge and famous industry in this country and in a way fascinating to see behind the scenes.

In a little hut owned by the farmers, the 'duena' (boss lady) of the house demonstrated how to roll a cigar and then passed it around to smoke. No thanks. You want to buy? No thanks. Afterwards, we walked through a mountain (just a cheeky few stairs up and into a cave that used to be used to hide from hurricanes) and into more farmland for cattle, all green and lush. At another little shack we stopped for cocoloco, a freshly cut coconut with honey and rum. I thought it was only be a smart decision, since alcohol and honey could only be good for my throat. It tasted good.

It was still hot and we were still walking. The guide was good, entertaining and spoke fluent English. We stopped at another house offering more drinks. You want to buy? No thanks. Geez! Then it was over. The guide asked us if we'd paid and since the relaying of information from our guide to the group seemed strained to say the least, we all assumed it was included in the price. The longest 1.5 hours I've ever seen, we finished just in time for lunch and drove to our (included? Who knows) lunch. I had pushed on too long. The heat and the sickness overcame me and I just burst into tears. What the fuck is wrong with me?? I sat out on the stairs (in the direct sunlight, smart girl) and regrouped before having something to eat and drink to at least fill my stomach. Nothing like a bit of lobster to set your stomach straight.

Thankfully, there were no other activities on the agenda we I was able to head back to my hotel room for a siesta. L had the same idea so we drew the curtains and fell onto our beds. Soon enough, it was dinner time again and we were off to the cute little cottage near the hotel. Something was cooking up a storm on the grill outside, we took bets as to which animal it was... we never figured it out. Again, it was the same choices for the menu... I guess this is what they mean about Cuban food being bland. It's not so much bland as monotonous. And it doesn't help that our included meals all consisted of pretty much a set menu. But any country following the Mexican banquet must struggle to compete.

A didn't accompany us to dinner this time, as his baby girl was ill back in Havana. Without him, we finished dinner and were driven into town for another night at the same bar as the previous night. Again, there was lots of live music, including a full band, solo singers and a dance troupe. Not as hot as the night before, but still entertaining. Some intriguing costumes too... the token male was all frills and bells and whistles. Hard to really believe he enjoyed dancing with members of the opposite sex.

I danced and sweated and danced some more. This time, however, without our guide we sat with some of the other local guides that we met the night before. The group peeled off until it was just me and the older New Zealand woman, a rough but well-meaning lady. Last night she had become a bit hard to handle after a few drinks so I took on the responsibility to take care of her this night, and before I knew it, it was just the 2 of us and we actually stayed until the place closed (only about 1 from memory). But because A wasn't there, we had to organise our own transport, which proved a little more difficult than expected. Some nice locals tried to call a cab but we ended up flagging down a car that seemed to be operating as a taxi, and get a lift back to the hotel, a good 15 minutes away. Not before verbally slapping P to sort her shit out... I tolerate little bullshit. But most importantly, I was most chuffed that I had made it through the day alive. 

Hotel Jasmines, Vinales

The Valleys (and dance floors) of Vinales

After sleeping off most of my sunstroke, I felt somewhat better (but looked a great sight worse) as I headed into breakfast and meet the rest of my tour. L and I headed down to what was the best breakfast spread I'd seen all trip - mountains of choice, from freshly made omelettes to cheeses to a bakery section, to fruit... there was everything.

We went out to the foyer, assuming it was the main foyer not the foyer of the joining hotel which we were staying in. Again, not a lot of detail was given about where to meet etc so we just took a stab. L had met the Belgian guy on our tour last night, somehow, so we found him easily. We also didn't know how many people were on the tour, so just stood there looking at everyone questioning if they were with us. Finally, 2 slightly frazzled looking Irish girls stumbled in with their backpacks and I knew they were part of our party. There was just 1 person left, but since her travel agent hadn't notified her of the change in hotel, she had stayed at a different one and had to be picked up separately. Quite a unique character, this poor Kiwi woman had a stressful start to her tour but still had a smile on her face.

We met our guide, a local who usually does the bike tours of Cuba but had broke his arm and was re-assigned to us minions. He took us to our bus and introduced the driver, a sweet father of several daughters who had to drive over 8 hours to get to Havana and work with us for the 8 days. We drove through the richer suburbs which used to be for white people only, now it's a mix of people living in multi-flat rentals within mansions and the odd rich person still hanging on to the old glory.

Because of the delay picking up the last person, we were running late for the cigar factory and had to pass on it, hoping to get there a little later in the tour. We stopped at a random place for a drink and cheap Havaianas - again, being given a pina colada with rum as well as the bottle of rum in case we wanted to top ourselves up -  then headed on to get lunch and do some sightseeing. We headed to a big mural painted in the 70s, illustrating the prehistoric history of the area and apparently the biggest mural in the world, or something. We had an included buffet lunch, the first of many that gave the basic options of pork, beef, chicken, fish and lobster. Lobster - yeah! Just as common as fish around here. Oh, and men singing Guantanamera.

I rode a bull to the restaurant area. Because I could.

Our guide, A, revealed to us that day 2 of our surprise tour was to include a horse ride through the agricultural land around the mural. The horses, if I could call them that, were a bit on the thin side and the man who helped the girls on didn't even bother adjusting their feet into the stirrups. Not that there was much point, the horses weren't going any faster and were only interested in eating the grass along the track - not that I blame them... My horse refused to go faster than a quick walk and I got to the point of no more kicking, and just sat back and tried to take in the scenery around me.

The other girls hadn't really ridden much before, so were giggling and screaming behind me - I was fairly bored. Because the group was small, our guide came along on a spare horse and even he remarked at how crap it was. We stopped for a breather at a random little cottage where a lady asked us for drink, no doubt an extra charge, and none of us were keen. I think it was coffee she offered - dear god, coffee in heat like that? She must be loca.

When we'd finished, it was back on the bus and out of the heat. It was straight to the pool area when we got back to our hotel, which we had already dropped our bags off at, but when I got there one look at the water, and the kids, and the thought of when it was last cleaned, and all I could manage was a quick dip to cool off. Even writing this now I shudder. Instead, B from Belgium and I just enjoyed the view of the valleys surrounding us. The hotel, a soft pink colour, reminded me a lot of the big Blue Mountains hotel which is also situated on the edge of a cliff looking down on dense bushland and sweeping valleys. It was a calming place, and a nice way to spend an afternoon.

Before we knew it, it was time for dinner so we got ourselves dressed and ready for what we all hoped would be a lovely after-dinner dance in the town of Vinales. Dinner was at a lovely spot overlooking the valleys again, but with the added beauty of the sun setting as we sat at our tables. The platform we were on was built out from the edge so we were literally bathing in the fading light in a world all our own. Well, we shared it with a fair few mosquitoes and a loud Cuban group to our left, but otherwise a world all our own. My legs remained untouched (by the mozzies I mean, not the Cubans) because my horrendous smelling insect spray from Mexico had leaked through my bag that sat at my feet.

After dinner, we were whisked into town and to the main place open for business. There was a band already playing, a Cuban outfit with horns, saxophone, piano and a bevvy of singers. We had a boogie then sat as other singers came out to the dance floor for their moment to shine. All pretty talented. Every now and then a local would come up and ask for our hand on the dance floor, I wasn't going to dance with just anyone, so I enjoyed watching for a while. Then some of the band came down and coaxed a few of us gringos onto the stage, where they demonstrated some Cuban moves for us to mimic. I must say I was one of the only white girls who could move her hips, but even so, when we found ourselves on all fours watching the singer rotate his pelvis around, I started questioning just where this was going.

A DJ followed the band and other performances (including some random dance troupe who were a tasty little treat on the eyes), and we danced. And danced. I finally relented and let some of the locals have a dance with me, not wanting anything more from them but also relishing the fact that every one of them knew how to salsa before they could walk. I certainly didn't know all the moves but it was a very welcome change to have someone leading ME on the dance floor for once.

I sweated. And sweated. And sweated. At one point I had to go outside (even though inside was roofless anyway) to have the bouncers flap a piece of cardboard in my face to revive my senses. I definitely couldn't wear this dress anymore without a trip to the laundry mat. Our guide had come with us for the night, one of just a few times he would join us, and arranged for a taxi to ferry us back to the hotel as our driver had retired for the night. And just in time, we were pooped!

Hot Cubans - come with a price

A few gentle observations about Cuba. There is a lot of green. Everywhere. Outside the city of Havana, there are endless fields of vegetation, lush and beautiful. Most of the people are black, which I later found out was a result of generations later from slavery, so it makes sense - I just thought there would be more of a mix of black and white people. The rumours are true and there are beautiful vintage cars everywhere, and they're pretty much all taxis. There are no American chain stores here - no McDonalds, no KFC, no Subway. I saw only an Adidas shop in Havana. In fact, when I met R at the beach, I asked him if there was any McDonalds here and his reply was priceless: "Mac...donalds?? Oh, to live such a blissfully ignorant life.

Another interesting observation - the old cars have old radios, that's no surprise. But what is interesting is the fact that their owners now listen to music by playing their iPhones on speaker. An interesting clash of cultures and ages. I saw one car with an Apple sticker on the back, even though Apple is clearly non-preferred in this country.

I came in last night to see my suspicions confirmed - the husband and wife were sleeping on the fold-out futon in the main area and I was in their room. Awks. In the morning, it was time to check out and head to my fancy-pants hotel for the tour I'd signed up for. Breakfast wasn't as plentiful but I paid anyway, only a few dollars really, gave her a tip with the total bill and headed off. At the hotel, L was waiting outside for our beach date but I wanted to check in before we left, so we headed to the room to drop my things off. L got told she wasn't allowed to be with me in the room, but the porter was "making an exception"... ahh chill out, we're leaving in a second.

We had the choice of a bus or old car taxi, which was the price of a return bus ticket, and way more fun, so we chose the latter. 20 minutes later we were primed and ready for some serious people-watching on the beach, while also not wanting to run into any guys from previous beach outings. That wasn't too hard, in the end, as the beach was just as packed as the day before and no matter how much we walked up and down, looking for somewhere to go, I recognised no one and no one recognised me. All good in the hood.

Eventually, we found a chair and umbrella and sat ourselves in prime position, right in front of the water, mojitos in hand, just watching life. Not a minute later and we were awestruck by 2 beautiful men walking past, shirts off, strutting their hot little sculpted bodies by. Well, this just can't do, one MUST make the most of this situation. Come here, I motioned to them, we want - nay, NEED - a photo with you. Then they wanted a photo with us! So went off and got a camera, and before we knew it, we were cheersing cups of straight Santiago de Cuba rum with our newfound friends.

Then we were in the water. This was truly a moment to remember. As I waded out into the crystal clear blue Carribean sea, I looked behind to see a gorgeous Cuban man trailing me and the sun beating down on me from above... I had no worries in the world, only if I would spill my cup of rum (even then, there was more where that came from), and I was on holidays. In fact, this was my life. Time to shine.

There was a little canoodling in the water but I kept it in check - these Cubans are known for pushing the boundaries as far as you'll let them and I was not about to be the first to let that happen. L, on the other hand, was given her guy a free-for-all and there were several occasions I had to say, "Take control of the situation!" We kept talking with each other in English, the guys begging us to talk in Spanish, but we needed SOME way to be able to talk about how crazy and random this whole situation was.

Out of the water, I just wanted a bit of down-time, and the novelty of these guys was fast wearing off. I gave myself a break by going to look for lunch, but having no luck I was left alone while the other 2 went looking instead. By this stage, the guy I was sitting with had completely taken over my banana lounge and when I finally managed to push him off, slid alongside me and started pinching/rubbing his hands all over me, I guess in a sign of affection but ultimately just annoying me.

When the others came back and we sat there eating the rice and chicken (the other guy feeding L, more controlling behaviour that she didn't stop), oh and his DAD stopped by to meet the foreigner his son had scored, I thought it was time to go. It was really getting too much. Only after we left them high n dry did L tell me that the other guy had pulled out a condom on the banana lounge. We're still trying to figure out the meaning behind it. Honestly, give Cubans an inch... they take out a condom.

As the afternoon drew to a close, we made for the bus again and I headed to my fancy hotel to meet with the rest of the tour. At least I assumed that's what was happening, as I really didn't have any idea of what was going on. I bid L goodbye, exchanged some kind of contact, and headed up. In the hotel room, there was a note saying there was no dinner meeting because everyone was getting in late. A surefire sign I should've picked up that this was not going to be the most organised tour.

I was pretty sure I had some mild sunstroke, since L and I forgot to put on sunscreen until really late (and even then just slapped it on before running straight into the water), so I kept it simple this night. Wandered around to find a nice restaurant and got another meal which came out on fire (prawns this time), then back to the hotel where I saw my roommate had arrived but was not physically in the room. I stayed up late watching some English-speaking films and had been asleep not long when my roommate finally made it back. She apologised for being loud and late and drunk etc, but she was actually pretty together. I was to find out later she was a big apologiser and not usually a big party animal, so that was an interesting first impression.

Foreigner pays, local plays

I woke up and remembered, HOLA BITCHES I'M IN CUBA!! Fuck yeah! I sprung out of bed and got ready for la playa, the beach mutha fukka, Santa Maria to be exact. The help provided a refreshing fruit salad for breakfast and not much in the way of conversation (I assume her accent was the equivalent of bogan Spanish), moved rooms to what looked suspiciously like the couple's room who owned the house. I was primed and ready to go - but first the internet.

In Cuba, the internet is not a widespread commodity - no surprises there - so I had to walk to one of the 5-star hotels and purchase a 1-hour card for $6. I used half of it to contact loved ones, and send a nice birthday message to my ex (to which I got no reply - well, at least one of us is still nice!), took some photos of the cool cars (which now roamed the streets) and headed off to the beach. 

Easily enough I got to Santa Maria, a long beach packed with summer holidaymakers cramming onto the beach chairs and umbrellas. I wandered along, checking for pockets of hot people or maybe some promising sightseeing in the water, and soon realised practically everywhere was a good vantage point. These people are beautiful! I settled onto a chair and grabbed a $2 pina colada, sighed a breath of relief that I had nothing in the world to worry about at that point in time. Except where my waiter was.

I accidentally caught the eye of a white man in his 40s, well kept for his age but of no interest to me, and soon enough he was near me asking if I needed help rubbing my sunscreen in, and I made the stupid decision not to be rude when he asked if he was bothering me. He tried to buy me a drink (the first and only time this happened in Cuba) but I know 1 drink = min 5 mins of small talk. And I wasn't having it. 

I went to the water to have a breather and that's where I met Rene. A beautiful black guy with washboard abs and a cheeky smile. He waded over to me and in my version of Spanish, somehow arranged for us to meet at Tropicana that night. I'd heard about the club, the best cabaret place in Havana apparently, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the older guy hanging about. Urgh, give it up man!

I came out of the water and took to reading my book - American Psycho, just for some light holiday fun. The older guy sat next to me, split my beer actually, and kept trying to talk to me. I was not even bothering not being rude anymore, I was blatantly ignoring him. Then he reached over and kissed my arm, and that was it. Fuck off! Leave me alone! Douchebag. 

R and I waited for the bus and I jumped on just before the rain started, planning to meet again later in the evening outside the fancy hotels. He got the locals way home, which I think costs about one-tenth of what we pay (even though we only pay $5 for a return). I used the spare hours to dry myself off and asked E where a good place to eat was. She rang her friend to check if they were open in the rain, and directed me around the block to a door I was meant to knock on.

It was easy enough to find and before I knew it, I was being led up a long staircase, past what was clearly someone's house and up to the rooftop level with tables and a couple of guys tuning guitars. Even though I was the only one there to play to at that stage. I sat down and was told there was all sorts of meats, including turtle (not sure how I feel about that), and was just ordering my cocktail when I heard another girl sit down behind me. I thought I heard the word "Australia" so I turned to look, but she looked more Lebanese or Middle Eastern. I looked again, caught her eye and asked if she was Aussie. She said yes and motioned me to sit with her.

We got chatting, she was a cool chick with her head screwed on. She was travelling alone but seemed to be doing a good job of it. I must say, it does seem a lot easier to get around than I was expecting. Cuba must be getting a lot more tourist-friendly. So we had a good chat, planned to meet the next day to go to the beach, and went off to meet our respective Cuban friends we'd made plans with that day.

I went off to make myself look pretty and soon found myself waiting for R outside the Ingleterra, an ironic situation if you knew the significance of 20 July and the meaning of the Ingleterra and me waiting for essentially the first date I'd had in a couple of years. Anyway… So he turned up, looking sweet, and instantly he told me that we couldn't do Tropicana because of the weather (it was largely outdoor), so we went to another place near the beach instead - which, weirdly enough, was also mostly outdoor. So who knows the real reason why we didn't do Tropicana. 

Probably a good thing, in hindsight. Because this whole, foreigner pays for local thing really did seem to be the way it goes over there. If we'd gone to Tropicana, I'd have been expected to pay that. Expected as in asked, but not necessarily done. First he hails a cab to get there, asking if the price was OK, I'm wondering why then realise it's cos I'm paying. Fine, just a cab ride. Then it was "$5 and $5" for entry, so I guess I pay for that - but not before pulling him aside to clarify, in bad Spanish, just what the hell this was about - and then the drinks inside. I'd really have had a problem if the rounds came to more than $3 each time. Ha!

The club had some Cuban pop band playing, apparently pretty hot property, but really they were hilariously camp and a kinda bad Spanish version One Direction - already a bad entity in itself. 3 boys with over-styled hair, tight shirts and cheesy choreography crooning with almost obvious distain to members of the opposite sex. R was loving it, while drinking the beers I bought him and in between telling me "Te amo te amo" - not sure which part was more of a turn-off. All I knew was that I was NOT taking this guy home - despite the fact I wasn't allowed, I wasn't interested.

This was the first time I realised Cuban men are only good for looking at.

I called it a night about 3am, when our taxi was meant to be waiting outside, but when it wasn't, we joined the throng out on the street waiting for something to take us back to town (a good 20-30 minute ride). R tricked me into kissing him, not an entirely bad thing, but still I was really not into him anymore, the gloss had definitely faded, so when we finally caught a lift off a random Cuban couple I was pretty relieved. He walked me back to the hostel and I bid him goodnight, saying yeah sure I'll see you at the beach tomorrow…….

Cuba calls

My last day in MeHico. With a belly still digesting the lobster flambe from last night, I gathered my things for the Cubana Airlines flight I still didn't know was going to be on time or cancelled altogether. Given their reputation, I'd safely assumed one of the two. Since I had no easy access to internet, and when I did try I couldn't seem to access my booking (even more worrying), I could only hope it was all going to be OK. 

I got the bus to the airport, with a spare seat next to me taken at the very last moment by a strung-out Canadian backpacker who started conversation with me as soon as she sat down. Only it wasn't normal conversation - her first piece of worldly information came in response to the fact I was Australian. "I had the most AMAZING sex with an Australian guy the other night!" Geez… thanks. 

And it continued… I learnt how many drugs she was still processing in her body from the however many days she'd been partying with random artesans, how she hadn't paid for a hostel room for a while and just crashed on people's floors (what a charmer), how she didn't know if she was going to get through customs because she was so fucked… I tried to close my eyes to indicate sleep was preferable, but she didn't seem to notice.

Then it all went quiet. She was passed out. Only problem was, she was on the aisle side of the seats. And I was busting for the loo. Eventually I had to cave and nudged her awake, asking if she minded if I went to the toilet. She just smiled and went back to sleep. Level of annoyance just reached fever pitch. I sat there, not really wanting her awake next to me, and just held on. At the airport, I grabbed my bag and ran to the bathroom. Ahh, sweet relief! And no one to tip. Double bonus.

First things first, how late was my flight running? Hmm… only 3 hours, OK then. Now for my Cuban visa - this was a point of contention, as my work gives advice to pre-purchase a visa for $120 but everywhere else on the internet said you could pick one up from Cancun airport for $50. I chose to risk it and was rewarded - 30 seconds and $25 later, I was a proud holder of a Cuban visa. I even took a photo to prove it.

The flight wasn't just delayed 3 hours, in the end it was about 6 hours, and so when I finally boarded I was sleepy from dozing on and off at the airport. I'd spent my time eating in Bubba Gump because it was showing Forrest Gump in English, although when Celine Dion's All By Myself cuts in, it really cuts in. Deep. Yep, I'm all by myself, thanks Celine. 

It took forever to board the plane, delay after delay, and we ended up landing at dark, a shame since I hadn't booked any accommodation and had planned to wander around in the afternoon getting my bearings before deciding where I wanted to stay. Now, with the darkness folding in around me, I had some anxiety about where exactly I should sleep tonight.

Execution decision made - I was to book somewhere close to the fancy start hotel of my tour. A lady found me a $30 cassia - half house, half hostel - and I found a couple of tourists to share a cab into town, since the only bus that serviced the airport only took non-convertible pesos and tourists were only supplied convertible pesos. The convenient way Cuba sorts the locals from the tourists.

In the cab (not a vintage car as expected, bit of a letdown) was myself, a New Zealander about to go on a tour with the same company as me (but a different tour) and an American, who I quizzed about his entry rules for Cuba (of which there is one - DO NOT ENTER). After waiting AN AGE in line, the passport controllers didn't even stamp my passport, a shame as I will never have evidence I was in Cuba, but good in case it caused any further immigration problems for me. As it is, my passport is almost full, must get a new one within the year.

I was the last to be dropped off, the others in the cab were more than generous so I paid just a few dollars (pesos) for the ride. My place, a far cry from their 5-star hotels of the others, was down a dark street with some locals wandering about outside, some piles of rubble and bricks outside the door which was just like the rest of the street - no actual sign that this was a hotel. Thankfully, the owner was waiting outside and helped me in.

The wife of the couple that owned the hostel showed me my room, speaking in decent English before I said I was trying to learn Spanish and then continued on in native tongue. She got to the part about the guys picking up foreign girls, taking them to bed then asking them for money - I thought I was misunderstanding her Spanish but then she repeated it in English. How odd, I thought. But it's just the way it is here, she explained, and therefore no one is allowed to be brought up to the room. Fine with me, sounds too bloody complicated anyway!

I freshened up and went for a walk to check out my new 'hood, having been told by "Emmie" that it was quite a safe city. Nonetheless, I took only the bare essentials and kept my wits about me. I put on my new pretty Mexican dress, it was a Friday night after all, and took to the streets. There wasn't a lot on in terms of bars, well maybe I just didn't know where to look, but I headed to Plaza Vieja (Old Plaza) at E's suggestion and found somewhere that was still cooking. 

I'd been warned the food was bland, and true it was much less flavoursome than Mexican food, but it was food. I'd not eaten much during the last 24 hours and a feed and locally brewed beer was more than welcome. There were cats and dogs everywhere - some dogs wearing a special tag around their necks. I later found out this meant they were dogs of the high-up officials in the city and were not to be touched. Honestly, they looked just as scabby as the rest of them.

I headed back to the hostel shortly after, but got myself lost and after getting thoroughly frustrated with myself and the bike taxi guys who wouldn't leave me alone, a policeman (not bad looking either) and his dog pointed me in the right direction. Or thereabouts. I eventually got back and was happy to have a good night's sleep ahead of me. 

Feelin' Hot hot HOT

A Whale Shark of a time

Today was our free time! And I chose to spend it swimming with whale sharks. Yep, it's the thing to do around these parts. We had a number of choices of things to do, some people went swimming with the dolphins (in an enclosure), others were still sick and barely had the energy to explore the town. There were a few of us in the bus heading to the whale sharks, mostly the people who had been partying the night before.

It took about half an hour on the small boat before I vomited. The sea was rougher than I expected and, well, yes I was a bit hungover. The drive out to the sharks was fairly long, and by the time we spotted one we could no longer see land. If we really thought about it, it was a little daunting. And if I REALLY thought about it, I'd remember that I have a fear of deep water and sharks and what the hell was I doing out here with a flimsy life jacket between me and one of the biggest creatures of the sea?? Nah, they'e gentle giants, true.

So it was all anticipation, us watching the other boats splitting off into different directions and then mostly out of sight, seeing the occasional dolphin, then we saw the fin. Quite small in comparison to the rest of its body, we were all asking what it belonged to, the captain joking that it was a tiger shark, before saying "Kidding! Jump in." And literally yelled it: "JUMP IN!" Go, go, go, we pulled on our snorkels, propelled ourselves overboard and before we knew it, we were surrounding this beautiful, spotted beast of the ocean, seemingly unfazed by our presence, just slowly but swiftly moving through the water.

It was quite hectic, as the shark moved much quicker than you'd think, and they tried to rotate us so while some were swimming alongside, others were being driven in the direction the shark was heading, ready to jump in. It was surprisingly fast and hard to keep up, the water was still a bit rough and I was out of breath by the end of it. Feeling a bit sick, too. T said she vomited whilst in the water, ha!

And then it was all over. A shame, but as I was still catching my breath while hanging over the edge of the boat, I was kinda happy at the time. Now, I wish I could do it all again, but right then, it was a good decision. But I will never forget that feeling, jumping in and not knowing where the shark was, only to see it rise up from the depths and come straight at me, mouth open so I felt I could fall right in - but just so beautiful and harmless. I wonder how anyone can hunt animals like this.

After the sharks, we drove to Isla Mujeres. Now I'm from Australia. I've lived in the Caribbean. I've done a fair amount of travelling to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I've seen a few. Some may say I'm a bit of a beach snob. But Isla Mujeres has GOT to be right up there with the most gorgeous beaches I've ever seen. The water, yes it was clear but oh my gosh how did it get THAT clear?? T and I even saw a little sting ray rush past as we waded out to land, and after telling M, he was convinced he'd seen one too - only it was the anchor to our boat and its cord ha!

Lunch was served while we were still in the water - Corona in right hand, plate of prawns and guacamole in the left. What we didn't eat was fed to the fishies. The other boats, some of which had now reappeared, was pumping some random tunes while we danced around and appreciated life. Then it was back to the port.

A bit of a downer afterwards, when they tried flogging us photos of us boarding the boat in a cardboard frame printed with whale shark photos (even halved the price when we weren't looking interested), again and again. I'm sorry but I don't need a photo of me getting onto a boat, I want a bloody underwater photo! Then things got slightly more frustrating when the coaches that were "waiting to take us back" didn't arrive for over an hour. Nevermind, we spotted a pub and had a beer while waiting.

It was a shame, though, that we happened upon a group just coming back who had a video taped while they were underwater. Not only did they have a whole school of whale sharks but giant manta rays too, and an underwater video. And much, much longer in the water with the sharks. We were happy with our experience, but after seeing that, it was a bit disappointing and I'd certainly not recommend the company we went with ever again.

When we got back to Playa, I saw some of the others and we went to the beach for a cocktail. I enquired randomly about the price of a beachside massage and, upon hearing it was just $30, signed myself up right then n there. The masseuse was probably one of the cutest Mexicans I met, with a few little dreds sprouting out, and some good, strong hands on him. One of the girls brought over my pina colada and I positioned on the sand it under my face which poked through the massage table, taking sips every now and then. Oh yeah. Life is good.

At the end of it, the masseuse gave me a bead from his dred to remember Playa, how cute. I told T how good the massage was and she jumped right onto the table, admitting afterwards that her onset of sunstroke and sunburn was perhaps not the wisest state of mind to go into a massage in. Onwards to dinner time and I took it upon myself to make the most of the last shout by the tour company - lobster flambe! Another meal arriving on fire, it was prepared and cooked in front of us all, with tequila and white wine the main ingredients in the sauce.

We all headed to the Blue Parrot for our final night on tour. Situated in the heart of Playa's club strip, it was a slightly better option than some of the other trashy ones like Cocobongos, and the best part was that all us girls got an open bar tab just so we'd stay inside. Truth be told, we were quite early and pretty much the first people in the club. It was open-air largely, with some cool decorations in a Carnaval theme and, best of all, random acts by Carnaval style performers who just happened to also be quite well put-together. A drumming outfit, Carnaval dancer, guy on stilts and capoeira fighters...

I wasn't really feeling it, to be honest, and the drinks seemed watered down and a bit sweet. So I danced around in the balloon animal things being thrown onto the dance floor, and flung my arms about when they sprayed an oxygen bottle over the crowd (well, I think it was oxygen)... I got into it as much as I could. But had to call it a night, walking home by myself. Hey, what did I have to steal? My dignity perhaps. It was nice, though, to have some me time. I was about to go on another tour in Cuba, so having a moment to think my own thoughts was welcome. 

Pick my pockets bare

We had some spare time before heading to Playa Del Carmen, so it was suggested we go to check out the souvenir shops and make the most out of a less touristy city. T and I went to explore with some others, trying to find these markets J told us about - with no luck, T and I broke off so I could find a post office. I made sure to always have my hand on my bag and the zip done up. Shortly after, I went to lend T some cash and found my wallet was gone - A-FUCKING-GAIN. Awesome work there, sneaky fingered Mexicans. I don't even know how it happened, the fucking prick, I swear when I took a swig of my bloody water or something. Argh.

I went to an internet cafe and the lady let me use her computer for free to try and cancel my cards. But of course I was out of Skype credit, and when I tried to top up, oh they needed my card details. Then I tried to transfer T some cash but of course, they needed to send me an SMS code to the mobile I'd had stolen. Life was hopeless. So I gave up and met the others at the hotel, where a staff member collect called my bank and I was able to cancel my cards and order $1000 emergency cash. A nifty little service I didn't even know existed.

It was a 5-hour drive to Playa, which was welcome since I wanted another sleep. Everyone was waiting for me, some with sorry looks on their faces for my misfortune. Others, with slightly green looks on their faces from oncoming sickness. And we hadn't even started driving yet.

We had checked into our hotel, a last-minute change since the original (and much nicer looking) hotel was having renovations and was too noisy. We had a cute little apartment situation which we weren't going to take advantage of since we were out n about eating on the tour company's tab. I had to nip off from J's tour of town to sort out my money situation. What I did see of the strip in Playa was pretty cool - obviously mega touristy with vendors yelling "hey lady hey lady" (my favourite) "you want to look, I have good prices for you, Cuban cigar??" And it went on... A different vibe to Cancun, kinda more compact, and full of good-looking tanned bodies.

Thankfully, the robbery happened just before I got to Cuba, not IN Cuba, so I was able to get money from Western Union. But that was a whole 'nother mission in itself, in Playa del Carmen. Had to run to get there in time, only to not be able to find the actual Western Union, then finding out it was actually just at the supermarket check-out. Thoroughly confused, I stood there as the manager lady ran about gathering $100 here, $100 there, so she could make up the huge amount I was taking from her. Another bloody rich tourist, she probably thought. I made sure to get a cab back to the hotel and hid the cash in several places in my luggage.

Then it was dinner time, on the strip so lots of people-watching. This is where the music began. The first, of many many times, I was to hear "La la la la la la bamba!" Oh, save me. They wander around wanting tips - sometimes it's fun but it gets old fast. Especially when they come, one after another, all through pre-drinks, during dinner and into after-drinks. Give me strength. Tour from the tour company, T, M and I felt like a boogie, and were trying to decide the best way to go, and somehow it all ended up in a gay club.

We stopped off to get some of T's hair braided, then went in the back door (ha!). Considering it was mid-week, the place was empty but the tunes were pumping. Same old shit as Global, same old shit as every other pub, but you really just have to embrace it. It's there, so just deal with it. Throw your hands in the air and fukn never forget YOU'RE ON FUKN HOLIDAYS!!! I befriended the best gay Mexicans ever, with matching black tank tops and, you guessed it, MOUSTACHES!!

We spent the best part of the night gawking at the hot bar guy who insisted he was straight, in between staring at himself in the mirrored bar, before figuring that if we were gonna do body shots anywhere, it'd be here. Up we went onto the bar, tequila in mouth, lemon on stomach. I think that's how it goes, anyway. Good enough. Photo proof. A taste of my old wild days. Just a taste.

After a good ol' knees up, we headed back to the hotel and did a bit of creative swimwear (or lack thereof) in the pool. Figured with whale sharking (swimming not harpooning) the next morning, I should head to bed. Got to my room and yelled out from the balcony that they were being super noisy and the it was travelling up to the top levels, they didn't understand it was me and hushed their tones, thinking they were in trouble. Too funny. Sleep time.

Horse, cart and.. rails?

Breakfast at our hotel in Merida was plentiful, and I can definitely say it was the first time I'd seen deep fried broccoli as part of the mix - yes, of course I tried it. We were set to go to some cenotes (pronounced sen-ot-tees) today - the morphed Mayan-cum-Spanish interpretation of large cavernous swimming holes with crystal clear water and a welcome shade from the sun.

Another mini-bus ride later and we were in a random little village, clearly centred around these tourist rides to the cenotes. I say rides because we were now looking forward to some kind of horse and cart experience, except of course that the horses pulled us along on this weird rail system where they trotted along the outside of the tracks and we wheeled along behind them, creaking and crackling all the way. We were amused by the whole thing, swatting the numerous bugs from our exposed swimmer-clad bodies.

First, we saw a cave. Nice and all that, but where are the cenotes?? Back on the horse and cart, poor little skinny things pulling 5 of us along apiece, where I notice an old horse feed bag and 2 things spring to mind: they actually feed these horses, where does it go? and they even put tortillas in the horse mix? I suppose it's not that bad an idea. We got to the first cenote, down a vertical ladder (2, actually) and into a dark cave with a small, thin pool at the bottom. I was the first onto the slippery slope, stupidly trying to do it with a camera in one hand, hair flying everywhere, my white dress quickly getting filthy... ahh, no. I'd rather not die today.

When T practically jumped down the hole, I thought I'd better man up and sort it out. So off came the dress, up went the hair, down went the camera, and I scooted off after her. It wasn't so bad actually, and quite nice to have some relief from the sweat and heat of upstairs. In the end, there were a few of us in there but the large part of the group stayed above ground.

Onto the next cenote, and it was one of the bigger ones around - and you could tell. Family fun for everyone apparently that day, with swarms of people running around, jumping off the little platform, squealing delighted little Spanish yelps. I swam away a bit and just floated in the strikingly blue pond, watching little fish dart around my huge lifeform and most probably nibble at my hair.

Then it was back onto the horse and cart, off to lunch at the random little village. And back onto the bus, where I once again fell asleep as J drifted into my consciousness with her casual observations about what lay beyond the window. I couldn't really tell you much of out there, I was spent! Then it was free time in Merida, for shopping and getting various things done. I bought some postcards then found it impossible to post them, go figure. Dinner was at another nice restaurant with a little old lady making tacos in the corner. And cocktails. More cocktails. 

Mexican cenote

Pickpockets to Panchos

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Never trust a Mexican. And the first morning of my mini-tour of Mexico proved this again, without a doubt. Not long after our guide had explained that Mexico wasn't a dangerous place, just be careful of your belongings, we wheeled our suitcases to the nearby bus station and had 2 phones pickpocketed just minutes later while buying snacks. At this rate, there'll be nothing much left to steal!

We boarded the bus to Chichen Itza, I almost got left behind at the in-between stop as I gazed out into nothing in particular at the bus station, but J ran out and got me. The bus was actually pulling out, bastard bus driver. Whatever I ate at the bus stop disagreed with me and by the end of the day I was dashing for the loo. Gross.

We dragged our luggage off the bus and into the storage at Chichen Izta (some of the oldest ruins of their kind in the world), before heading in for a tour with Julian. He was quite good actually, explaining all about his heritage with the Iztans etc etc (obviously I didn't listen THAT well)... and we learnt how anyone born between 6 and 10 August was marked as a sacrificial child. They drugged them to make them less scared and I guess slit their throats before tossing their jewel-laden little bodies into the pond of death (the Itzan name was much more impressive had I remembered it). Anyway, that was my main memory of that tour. Little sacrificial bodies.

I managed to practise my Spanish with Julian a bit more, Mexican Spanish is not that hard to understand (unlike Cuban) and T and I explored the markets - a good decision in hindsight, they were the best markets for souvenir shopping I saw in all of Mexico. I bought a beautiful handmade Mexican style dress, which I planned to wear that night. Of course for this we were late, running for the group who were already halfway through their lunch. Which meant we had to cram some hideous thing into our mouths to catch up - I think mine was meant to be pizza.

We continued to Merida in a private mini-coach, which I slept most of the way on (I'm becoming quite the pro at sleeping in transit), and arrived at our (nicer) hotel with the sun still blazing. J took us for an orientation walk of Merida, the "home of the hammock" apparently. She got one of the street vendors to demonstrate how they work, the best way to sit in them and signs of a well-made hammock. They were quite nice, to be honest, but I already have a hammock so no purchases for me.

We freshened up for dinner and met at Panchos, a restaurant owned by a Cuban therefore with speciality for good cocktails. We got right into the happy hour situation, getting our first taste of cheap cocktails (about $2.50 each) made just right. You'd wanna hope so, since you had to wait about 10 minutes for each drink! I made friends with a beautiful Italian lady sitting by herself at the bar - had I been travelling solo, we would've been dancing on the tables 2 hours later. Alas, I had other people to entertain.

Dinner was good, again a hearty mix of tortillas in various stages of the life cycle, the first of many shouts by the tour company - gotta love being an agent! Some of the group retired to the hotel afterwards, the rest of us moved to a table at the top bar that sheltered us from the rain. Happy hour started up again randomly, so the cheap drinks came thick n fast. Mojitos were the speciality. Then they closed up, telling us that they were the only place really open on a Monday night.

Liars! As soon as T, E and I walked out the door, we heard music playing a couple of doors down. It was a locals bar, exactly what we wanted as I was getting a little edgy playing it safe with these tourist-friendly bars. There was a live band, lots of short, happy Mexicans bouncing about on the dance floor. The bar had countless bottles of alcohol stacked up behind it, all wearing teensy little sombreros - ever so cute. The staff fawned over the foreigners with the cash dowla - I think we were the only ones who got table service.

Of course people stared, and pointed, and tried to make conversation. To be expected. Then they started asking for photos with us, but mainly with T. Something about her fair-skinned, brunette body that they really took a shine to. Me and the pretty little blonde English girl next to me - couldn't give a rats. We had 1 quick dance with the locals, but my partner was pretty wasted and at the point where he took my hands and placed them on his chest (expecting me to.. rub him??), I called it quits.

A couple of cheap cocktails later, we headed back to the hotel, bracing for another big day of sightseeing and cocktail-drinking tomorrow. 

Chichen Itzaaaaa (aka Chicken pizz)

A little leg goes a long way

Considering I didn't have the large night I expected after the gala dinner, I wasn't surprised that I woke feeling kinda fresh, ready to continue my 3 week adventure into Mexico and then Cuba. First things first, not the lost & found but the chill out area for my complimentary massage. Albeit, it was only a foot massage and the bean bags were not as comfy as they looked but - first world problems. Then the lost & found, where there was still no luck with my lost bag.

I girl I had met on the way into the gala dinner, also from SF, was also waiting in the lobby when I got there for the 5-day tour I'd signed up for with a bunch of other agents. We waited for ages, chatting to all the other agents wheeling their suitcases out to get their transfers back to the airport. Poor sods, many of them only flew in for the weekend and had to be back in their stores just 4 days after they flew over to Cancun. I am so blessed to be able to take this time off.

We were still waiting when most of the others had cleared off and the dust was setting in, wondering where the hell our guide and the rest of the group was. I asked a few random people, half hoping that they weren't in the group (they were old and looked boring), and then started worrying. I tried not to let the recent robbery get in my head, but not knowing what was going on was getting to me and I had to go through to the other hotel to check the lobby over there. I found everyone waiting, somehow they got the message and T and I hadn't, so I ran over to get her and our luggage. 

I met our tour guide, J, who didn't look as Mexican as I'd hoped, the tour company rep and another dozen agents from various parts of the company. There were a couple of people from New Zealand and England, the rest from Oz. Once I got chatting to the guide I learnt she'd lived in Central America for about a decade with her Caribbean husband and spoke not only fluent Spanish but English too. As it turned out, having a more Western perspective on the goings-on of Mexico wasn't such a bad thing.

We drove out of the Marriott driveway, down past Cocobongos, through the town and into the "real" Cancun. Our hotel, a far cry from the infinity pools of the J.W., was... how should I say it... cosy? Nestled in a side street next to what I later found out was a gay club and almost devoid of tourists, the location certainly gave us a our first taste of the real Mexico. We went for a quick orientation walk and then J took T and I to the local police station to report the theft of my bag and T's phone. T had a slightly different story - she got drunk the Friday night and asked a barman to "mind her phone". Needless to say, she never saw said barman again. Silly girls that we are.

The police station was another story completely. Although it wasn't that busy, the first policeman J spoke to was just so unimpressed with the fact that he may have to do some work that he almost sighed his answer in Spanish: "Get and get 2 photocopies of your paaaaaasspoooots..." We walked for ages trying to find somewhere open to copy on a Sunday, eventually having luck, and went back to settle in for the afternoon at the cop shop.

The second cop we got was actually younger and a little sweet, I soon found out he was first of many to be charmed by T's pretty brunette trusses and accidental (?) showing of leg from the bench behind me. No wonder he moved through my report so quickly. When the first cop saw how we were laughing and joking about, he stuck his head over the partition and starting making conversation. Too late, buddy. We waited longer than necessary for someone to witness the signing of the reports but finally we were out of there, just in time to meet the rest of the group for the first night meeting.

At the hotel restaurant, J ran us through the 5 days that were ahead of us, but most importantly gave us good perspective on what to expect from Mexico. The most memorable part was when she pointed out the differences in our cultures to that of Mexicans, especially education, and not to get frustrated when we saw them doing something in a way that didn't really make sense to the rest of us. That stayed with me and came back to me many times, many, many times... many times. 

After that was dinner at a restaurant near some kind of town market, alive and kicking in the summer school holidays with stalls and a bit of fun for the kids. T and I went walking after a meal of burritos, tacos and enchiladas (where J explained the life cycle of a tortilla and the various dishes involved in making it last beyond reproach), and were a little freaked out by the number of small children driving tiny cars around. Then I realised their parents were controlling them. For a second, I thought they were freakishly talented little critters. One cheeky stall-holder later ($10! For a tiny little pouch?? Got to be kidding), we headed back for a good night's rest at the cubby hole. 

Pitbull made me do it

The definition of hard work I believe was fairly well articulated the morning after the rainbow domination of Cancun Beach. Forced to be on the waiting buses by 7:30am the next morning, there were about 4,000 reasons to quit drinking forever - and any who denied the fact were still drunk and began their hangover in the early stages of the conference during the same day. I survived by curling into the foetal position across to seats. Others weren't so lucky - for most of the journey, the smell of fresh vomit wafted past me and held me just barely to my own vomit-free sanity for the 45-minute journey.

They fed us well before the conference - we walked into a huge convention hall, the scene of the forthcoming gala dinner, and there were mariachi bands, piles of breakfast burritos (I shuddered at the meat option while others gorged themselves on it... just too early) and a donkey called Pancho wearing a sombrero. I felt sorry for that donkey and refused to get a photo with him. Although now it would much better illustrate the total humiliation the situation created.

The conference was entertaining, much more so than I expected, and was quite a quick wake-up call. Once in, we rushed to our assigned areas per group, jumped up on our chairs and started dancing to the soundtrack that would become a staple diet (alongside alcohol and burritos) for the entire weekend. I found myself even singing to the words - nay, LONGING for them - for songs that I'd never before moved a hip to. But now, in a room of overtired, hungover yet totally excited people, it was impossible not to wave that little SF flag as high over my head as possible until it broke.

One of the funniest moments in the conference had to be the poor girl that fell asleep - and there were a few - who got singled out and brought up on stage to sit in humiliation. The fact she was in deep sleep sitting up only 6 seats away from the CEO didn't make her case any weaker. I wonder if she still works in the travel industry. Maybe she tests mattresses.

The conference was really a big "go-and-get-em" for the company, with regular sponsor bits thrown in. And blatantly. Hey, we're not stupid, we know this multi-million dollar event doesn't have its fair share of support. I guess it was smart to create a Mexican soap series take-off as the way to give sponsors their 5 mins of airtime. Hard to explain but it worked... in a way.

The guest speaker was another source of speculation for the crowd (this company loves a good build-up) and when it was revealed to be USA Olympian Michael Phelps, there was a pleasing reaction from the crowd. Considering many in said crowd were female, I can only guess why. He was good, although with no basis of comparison, I guess I can't judged too harshly. He appeared with his trainer and was interviewed in a Q&A style with an MC, something unusual I think for this conference. Rumour has it he was a last-minute ring-in so no wonder he didn't have a speech prepared. He'd obviously been briefed though, and it was good to hear from the horse's mouth how one becomes so friggin successful. It is hard when people ask you what you secret is, like there's just one sentence to make it all make sense.

There was some dancing and poi/staff twirling from a local act which I found mesmerising (of course). Then the conference was over. Oh wait, we found out next year's location: Macau. Pretty exotic I thought, although I have realised that you could probably hold a Global in a convention centre in the middle of the desert and, as long as you have the right trimmings, everyone would still have a ball. But the thrill of desire does drive people to earn it.

We piled back onto the buses and, with the help of venue staff acting as temporary traffics wardens to get the dozen or so vehicles back onto the main road, headed back to the hotels. I thought we had another session in the hotel but thankfully the timetable was wrong and I could just SIESTA for a couple of hours. Oh, sweet siesta. I had hit a wall.

Then it was party time. I put on my party frock, black with gold as instructed, and packed my bag with things I thought I'd need for the night out (not really thinking at that point that we'd no doubt go back to the hotel to regroup before heading out anywhere else - a fatal error, I was to find out later). Eyelashes barely holding on the humidity, I strutted out in my sparkly black heels and headed into the niche meeting room to see my little black n gold buddies.

Everyone looked divine, as expected, and excitement was high. After some pre-drinks and the obligatory photo sessions, we piled back onto the buses and filed back to the cold, dank convention centre - only this time it was really heaving. To the left, the overprepared UK section waving a huge blue, red and white flag and backed by their own marching band, to the right a long bar with scantily clad Mexican dancers, to all sides people talking, dancing, screaming, jumping, looking for friends - it was a hive of energy.

Then the doors opened to the main room and we made a mad dash to claim a set of tables together so we could remain together for the rest of the evening. My form of mad dash in said shoes was little more than a confident stride (think Beyonce in Sweet Dreams filmclip). No one wants the night to start with a twisted ankle.

We got a good possie not far from the stage and I ended up with a mish-mash of people, as I'd come to Global as an individual and had not other peeps from my store to sit with. All good, I was just happy to be there! The awards were hosted by some good-looking American chap and featured some pretty awesome tribal-esque dancing mid-way, I think it was a point to the Incan side of Mexican history of some kind. But also a chance for people with fit bodies to wear little clothing, which I also appreciated.

The awards went through and it was amazing to see the achievements of some people - just when I was happy with my year-end result! Whoa. A definite highlight was when my area stormed the stage to collect "our award", only to find another area had been awarded it... from what I've heard since, it was some kind of rule glitch that we hadn't been previously informed about. Although I'd yet to hear the final word... Regardless, dancing on that stage was pretty phenomenal. Maybe we'll legitimately make it next year and give South Africa back their plaque. Probably not.

Then the last surprise of the night... and who will it be?? Collectively we rushed to the band area where it was revealed... Pitbull! Pitbull? Alrighty then, let's make the most of this. So we danced. And danced. And danced. I grabbed a hot gay guy to be all stupid with, actually I even found a hot Mexican guy somewhere along the way but ran away as soon as he started groping me, wondering later how the hell he managed to get into a closed event (something I should have entertained a little stronger at the time).

The bathroom called and so I headed out to have a quick break, only to find the tables cleared up and my bag nowhere to be seen. No matter, I'm sure it's been handed in. No, no bag here... Another girl, a bit more distressed than me, was also looking. She was heading to Cuba the next day so was a little more desperate for her things. I was just sure they'd turn up somewhere.

I asked around as much as I could, no luck. So I headed onto the bus as it started to rain and everyone was getting cranky to get a seat, and had some fun in the back with some random guys - laughing fun, I know that sounds more dodgy than intended. The other girl sat sullenly staring out the window. "We'll find the bags, don't stress," I told her naively.

I never saw my bag, my phone, my cute little vintage clutch or my makeshift wallet again. I blame Pitfull.

The rainbow tidal wave descends on Cancun Beach

Firstly, major apologies for the tardiness in this blogging situation... As many of you know, I was robbed on the Saturday night of the Global function and that kinda put a halt on my interaction with the worldwide web. A welcome change, yes, but a little annoying that I now have to backtrack almost 3 weeks worth of brilliant memory.

Let's start with where I left off... About to head to the famed Global Friday night party. While not officially Global as not the awards dinner etc, it is for many the big event looked forward to and after last year's surprise guest was revealed to be Fatboy Slim, there was just a bit of anticipation about what this year would bring.

We put our matching rainbow ponchos on and headed to the hotel lobby bar to gather and enter en force to the large pool area to host the party. The place was buzzing. Another over-priced drink later and we were on our way. Watch out, SF is coming. Off to the next door hotel and we were greeted with hundreds of people, even thousands, already milling about and, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down to a sea of rainbow, smiling waiters with trays of free drinks in hand and a thumping beat from the DJ booth to the right. Oh, and that clear blue sea to the left. Still clear. And still blue.

Absorbing like sponges into the atmosphere, the SF crew almost toppled the waiters in their rush for free drinks and I, with K and S, headed for a free photo in the Etihad photo area. Funny times. I think I ate K's boob a bit.

So the party raged on. I found myself in the pool with half swimmers/half underwear on, with my SF peeps A and P, in the earlier hours of the party before the pool turned its putrid murky colour. I think we started something. Oh, who am I kidding, the others just needed some liquid courage.

I ran into people I knew from other brands, not everyone I'd hoped but some people I didn't expect so it was a mixed bag of glee. The hour neared for the special guest and we barged our way to the front to hear... bam bam bam....... who is it? My CEO came up, poncho-clad also, to announce the DJ but dramatically allowed the artist's music/face to do the talking. Except that I had no idea who he was and didn't recognise the music. After asking someone who looked gay and into the whole dance music scene (blatant stereotypical judgement that paid off), I was told it was Roger Sanchez. Cool. Cooler in the early noughties, when he actually had some big hits, but still not too bad.

The night reached fever pitch when I found myself having various drink fights with my colleagues - nay, fellow party animals - and was absolutely soaked with alcohol, pool water and sweat. A party cocktail to end all cocktails.

Then it was 1am and it was over.

I met a couple of the girls from work and arranged to meet them downstairs for more partying elsewhere in Cancun. Got dressed and primed to head out and waited in the foyer. And waited. And waited. Entertained myself with some funny Irish guys, but didn't go partying with them as I had to wait for my mates. And wait I did. Until I grew tired and just went to bed. Such is the life of a party animal.