With the viking part of my tour complete, it was time to head back towards Montreal and the flight to Cuba.
This was a simple case of retracing my steps – through Gros Morne to Channel Aux Basques, the ferry back to North Sydney, and the long drive to Saint John in New Brunswick.
From here, however, my journey took a slightly different track. I was nearing the renewal date for my prepaid phone, and despite managing to use my Australian credit card once to purchase monthly packs, the Metro PCS app stubbornly refused to allow me do so a second time, requiring a US zip code to validate my card’s authenticity (a hallmark of most US automated systems).
Trying to pay over the phone or the web had the same problem.
Add to this the fact that I was getting repeated warnings about not using my phone primarily in the US (cf Canada) and it was obvious that I would need to pop back into the US to pay my bill in person at a MetroPCS store, simultaneously registering back on the US network and thus solving both problems.
Unfortunately the nearest store was in Portland, ME. That’s Maine not Oregon!
So I diverged from my well travelled path in Canada and headed to the US border.
Border patrol were a little difficult – it took about 30 mins to re-enter the US as they had to issue new paperwork against my multi entry visa, and they did want to give Charlotte a proper once over, but soon enough I was rollicking through the lush green countryside of Maine.
Jumping back to the US had advantages (much cheaper petrol) and disadvantages (back to imperial measurements for speed and distance), but eventually I reached my destination and re-connected my phone.
I was starting to feel time pressure – my flight from Montreal left in 2 days, so Charlotte and I pushed on north towards Montreal, finally arriving there the day before my flight.
The last few days had been hard driving, but with Cuba looming as the prize, well worth it. Now all I had to do was find a cheap spot to leave Charlotte for 2 weeks, catch my flight and see the sunny shores of Havana.
Not surprisingly many of the hotels near the airport offer discount parking, coupled with free shuttle services. I managed to find Charlotte a home at one of them, for the bargain price of around $100 for 2 weeks, which was half the price of the cheapest long term airport stay, and after a final night staying up and watching movies it was the 5 am shuttle to the airport for me.
At the bargain price I’d managed to get hold of, my flight was not direct – I had a layover in Mexico City. Strangely enough, rather than just allowing you to transfer behind the scenes, they force you to formally pass through customs into Mexico proper, before then checking back out for your connecting flight.
I’d only packed a carry on bag so it was relatively straight forward, and it technically gives me another country on the travelled to list, but it is a odd thing to do. Unfortunately my layover was not long enough to get out and go to Mexico City so I was stuck in the airport, eating, drinking and just wandering around until my second leg was ready.
By the time I arrived in Havana, it was nearly midnight. However I had the great fortune of having made contact, through my good mate Gareth, with Alistair Riddell, director of Cuban Pioneer tours, who run independent travel groups to Cuba.
Alistair had organised my home stay (Casa Particulares), smoothed my way through customs with VIP treatment, met me at the airport and had a cab waiting to take me to my casa, where he introduced me to my host and made sure I was comfortably checked in.
He then took me for an orientating wander around the local area, sharing a beer until we called it quits near 2 am.
Absolutely brilliant by a guy who did all of this on the strength of a shared friendship with Gaz, who I had met 10 years ago on the Trans Mongolian railway on my first world travel tour, and with whom I’d ventured to North Korea on his inaugural visit.
Alistair has been coming to Cuba on and off for the last 10 years, has been living there with his Cuban girlfriend for at least the last 3 to 5 years, and has even written or contributed heavily to nearly all of the wikipedia pages relating to Cuba. What he doesn’t know about Cuba isn’t worth knowing, and over the next fortnight he was invaluable in showing off this wonderful country, and helping to organise arrangements for me when my 10 words of spanish failed me and my google translate app wasn’t working.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
My Casa was in Vedado, directly opposite the Hotel Capri, and just down the road from the famous Hotel Nacional de Cuba.
The walk along the Malecon to Old Havana is about 8 kms, or a goodish hour or so. Depending on how much you negotiate, a taxi fare can be as much as 20 Cuban dollars, or as little as under 1 if you walk away from the hotel area and catch a taxi for local Cubans. This is due to the dual currency system in Cuba, where foreigners and tourists predominantly pay in CUC (where 1 USD = 1 CUC) and locals are paid in and use CUP (where 1 USD = 25 CUP). Given that the average Cuban salary is around 500 CUP/20 CUC per MONTH, taxi fares for just a few CUP can be found if you venture a block or two away from the tourist areas.
That first morning in Havana was all that you would expect – fantastic old cars, hot steamy weather, crazy traffic and lots of attractive Cubans going abut their business.
I strolled along the Malecon, made my way into the heart of old Havana, and took my time wandering the streets, checking out the tourist traps such as the home of the daiquiri, and Ernest Hemingway’s favourite haunt, El Floridita. I also stopped to watch kids playing soccer and baseball in local parks, see locals fishing for lunch or dinner from the Malecon seawall, and generally getting adjusted to Island time.
That night Alistair agreed to take me out to meet some of the local x-pat community at one of the private restaurants (Paladares) where I had one of the better steaks of my life sitting on the front porch of what can only be described as a beautiful Victorian style home.
From there we went clubbing at a few local bars where we met up with Alistair’s girlfriend and downed cocktails until the wee hours of the morning.
Originally I was scheduled to spend only 3 nights in Havana, but ultimately extended my stay for another 2 nights. Over that first week I:
- drank the best coffee I have ever tasted, prepared fresh for me every morning by my lovely host;
- managed to lose my key to the casa on the very first day, thus having to wake my host up in the wee hours of the morning;
- played tennis at an upmarket hotel with a couple of Alistair’s mates and their tennis pro, in which I embarrassed my self after not picking up a racket in over a year, and which left me physically shattered due to the 30 degree heat and my complete lack of exercise in the last year;
- Spent the best part of a day on the hop on hop off tourist bus to visit all the main landmarks;
- went for a half day private tour in a car organised by Alistair to see some of the lesser known Havana sights, including a bush bashing exercise in the middle of nowhere to visit the remains of bunkers where it is possible some missiles were kept during the Cuban missile crisis,
- wondered at the enigmatic and eclectic
- drank cuba libres, daiquiris and every other sort of local beverage;
- listened to and danced to fine Cuban beats;
- managed to change money, buy wifi access cards, hail a local cuban taxi (paying in CUP) all with my nonexistent spanish and without being ripped off, and
- make a whole bucnh fo fine new friends
The only thing I didn’t do was smoke a fine Cuban cigar, which to be honest just ain’t my thang.
After 5 nights it was time to head out of Havana to Trinidad, where I would celebrate my 50th birthday in some style.Casa Fuster
