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.
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.
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