Topsy-turvy welcome to Cuba starting with plane leaving Panama at least half an hour late, although in the scheme of things that is not a big deal. We have also "lost" an hour even though Cuba seems like it is straight north of Panama, but it is slightly east so that must account for it. Luggage took absolutely ages to arrive, sniffer dog trawling through what had come through; still, it DID arrive.
Transfer from airport to hotel did not occur as planned so we took a taxi but girl at Cubanacan tour desk went beyond the call of duty and was incredibly helpful and showed us where the exchange office was (where on her advice we exchanged a small amount of euros only as she said the exchange was better elsewhere; only euros, GB pounds and $CAD changeable in Cuba - if you exchange $US, you get hammered an additional 10%), waited and then helped us with getting a taxi. One needs to determine the price before taking the journey; there are no meters.
Topsy-turvy welcome continuing: at the hotel, which is quite splendid on the surface: massive structure, massive swimming pools (looks like an acre of them), our room is large, pleasant but a bit chipped.
Hotel exchange desk had a Horrid Little Man who closed it 3 minutes early; despite 3 of us being in the queue, he wouldn't budge. To top it off, he followed me to reception quite obviously to state his case against ours but I said to the woman there that he had in fact shut the office early and that we needed money; the hotel is about 10 kms out of the city making any further money exchange nigh impossible if one doesn't have the pesos to catch a taxi there. Not exactly a good welcome to Cuba I said to the lady at reception and she exercised the kind of customer service that turns these situations around and that the HLM simply didn't understand, and she exchanged money for us.
So off we went into the sunset (literally) with a nice mellow yellow sky silhouetting the lovers and exercisers along the walkway lining the coastal road into the Old Town (known as the Malecón). Taxis at the hotel wanted 15 Cuban convertible pesos (these are the ones for tourists - different from the ones the locals use: yes, there are 2 currencies!) and are equivalent to $US, so we walked down the block where we got a taxi for 10 CUCs.
We were aiming for the two favourite watering holes of Ernest Hemingway that Regis (Kathryn's partner) had alerted us too and, indeed, we had daiquiris at La Floridita right in the centre of the Old Town; the bar was crowded and a band was playing. Immediately our topsy-turvy start to Cuba was washed away as we enjoyed an authentic Cuban experience and we were almost tipsy-turvy after 2 daiquiris each (including a strawberry one!). The bar tender looked like a Cuban version of George Clooney and was making daiquiris non-stop pouring bottles of spirits with great gusto into a blender and a touch of showmanship that would put Liberace to shame and had them lined up a dozen at a time along the bar. Hemingway's bar stool has a velvet rope to keep the crowds at bay and a statue of the writer stands nearby.
We then made tracks for another of Hemingway's favourite haunts: this time La Bodeguita del Medio, about 7 blocks away. We need more money as our hotel could only help us out with a limited sum and I had seen a large hotel as we came through the centre of the Old Town. The city buildings were lit up with lights and the architecture is beautiful. An absolutely breathtakingly beautiful city (at least by night) although dark and a bit scary as we moved away from the central José Martí square and the big hotels to get to our Hemingway spot. One hotel said they couldn't change money as we were not guests but the lady at the exchange desk decided to help us out anyway after a couple of minutes of face gymnastics that involved much wrinkling of brows and lips (hers).
That's what I mean by topsy-turvy: the moments that looked like being difficult kept turning out into good outcomes.
My Friend was decidedly Not Happy proceeding along dark streets populated with people he thought were going to "jump" him any moment, but he got massaged to our destination La Bodeguita which had a bustling bar but a quieter restaurant behind. The walls were lined with photos and signatures from people I can only hazard were/are famous but their names meant nothing to me - probably Latinos? - and graffiti saluting Hemingway and Cuba (but I couldn't tell because I couldn't understand it).
The food was great! I had ropa vieja which is shredded beef and a Cuban favourite; it was delicious, served with arroz (rice) which had black beans and bay leaves mixed in it (known variously as congri, arroz mori or by the more amusing name of Moros y Cristianos symbolising Muslim Moors and Christian Spain) and was yummy plus a glass of (probably Chilean) vino tinto. Finished off with delicious coconut icecream. The waiter gave me a copy of the table mat to take home.
We walked out of the Old Town. My Friend, now fortified by food, didn't seem so challenged by the neighbourhood with its interesting characters and touts pressing us to take a taxi; mind you, the squalor was unbelievable: one walked past people's houses which had stairs falling apart, single rooms with just one light globe, people squatting on the doorstep right on the street with barely room for passersby, and opposite a smart hotel we had earlier passed a guy on our way to the restaurant fixing some water problem and he was still at it, now sucking at the hose to get water, when we returned.
We picked up a taxi out by the Malecón: one of the many Chevys around. It was an absolute hoot. The big Cuban and his missus drove us back to the hotel, leather seats, no seat belts of course (they barely exist in Central and South America) and surround-sound being the sights and sounds of Havana. They were both tickled pink when I said "usted tenga un excellente automobile". And they let us take a photo!
Sad day! I lost my little furry purse that I keep all the loose change in - at the first Hemingway bar. The money was no loss: I only had the local equivalent of 20 cents in it but it has been my trusty travelling companion for many years; it had been nick-named The Mollusc because it looked like one and had great sentimental value for me so I am sad to lose it. Boo Hoo. Obviously there are worse losses, but I'll miss my little travel buddy.
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