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.