Sitting in a casa paticulare in Havana Vieja. Booming hangover from the 900 mojitos we had last night. And a cigar, which Mylene smoked most of. I’m not a big cigar fan, but when in Cuba I suppose everyone has to have at least one. Or two. I’m sure we’ll smoke a few more before our 3 weeks is up. We paid 9CUC for the Romeo y Julieta cigar. And got a free lesson on how to hold it properly from a man sitting nearby who was appalled by our lack of knowledge on the etiquette of cigar smoking. Now we know.
Lazing around nursing our sad heads. Mylene is laughing reading her journal from when she was working. So frustrated then! Very happy to be doing what I am doing now. Which is admittedly, nothing at all.
There’s a lot of music in Havana. Everywhere. You can’t get away from it even when you just want it to be quiet. Please. Please be quiet. Please. Oh my God…
So we spent our New Years in a bar called La Bodeguita del Medio made famous by Ernest Hemingway and also our man Fidel. Many mojitos later and we found ourselves in a club with Roberto and Victor, our new friends from Oslo, via Mexico. There was dancing and some laughing involved and then a taxi ride in a 1950s era Pontiac, and all of a sudden the front desk was calling to say we were supposed to have checked out 20 minutes ago.
The bell boy took us to his friend’s house to stay, so that’s where we are now. Just prior we found a restaurant charging 3.50 for chicken and rice and a tukola, which is a sad excuse for a soda. Stick with the lemon flavour. And live music again which was ok at that stage. Cuban food is not fabulous. Neither is the cola, but the mojitos are great. Much better than you get outside Cuba. Fresh mint and very little sugar and only a tiny splash of soda water. So essentially, rum.
Favorite cat-call so far: “Hola! Charlie’s Angels! Come into my restaurant. Blue eyes, free drinks!”
Also, our back packs are REALLY heavy. Something has to be done about that.
Initial impressions of Cuba: people are pretty friendly. Men like to tell you you are beautiful, which really never gets old, everyone seems to be just hanging out on the street, they leave their front doors open, and they really like Michael Jackson. And Adele.
People like to ask where you’re from a lot. I never really know what to say. They look confused when I say American, skeptical when I say from Hong Kong, and if I say Irish they more often than not misunderstand and think I am from “Hollanda”, not Irlanda. Regardless, I think everyone here has a cousin or child living in the Miami area.
Four out of Seven 