a place of my own…

Travelling alone often does not mean being alone. There are lots of people to be met along the way and some of them travel with you for a little while, sharing costs, laughter, plates of food. There is a kind of safety in having company to quirk an eyebrow with, there is someone else to fight with taxi drivers and frown down at the mysteries of incomprehensible maps.

It is good to travel with people but sometimes it is also good to leave them behind.

Havana’s old darlings…

I am not a car person. I can just about tell a mini from a motorhome.

 

And yet, it is impossible not to fall in love with these old classics that cruise Havana’s streets

sun slump in Trinidad…

Trinidad is a little town in Sancti Spíritus province (central Cuba) that hums with life lived bright on quiet streets.

The cobbled streets, and the tour-bus clamour of the centre, stand stark against the bare blue sky.

mi casa…

I woke up convinced there was a ghost playing with the light switches. In fact it was just the guy next door going to the bathroom – we share the half wall that splits my room from his, and it seems we also share a light bulb.

In Cuba there are almost no hostels and few cheap hotels, so the best option for budget travellers are Casa Particulares – essentially family homes with a license to rent rooms to foreigners.

rum drunk sunshine…

I am drunk on warmth, the scent of my skin, on speaking with smiles more than words. I am drunk on a dash of derelict, the pastel shades of decadenace decayed, shabby chic, on revolutionary zeal on peeling posters.

I am drunk on sunshine, on green-blue seas that lick lap golden Caribbean sands. I am drunk on the rocking chair creaks that usher in the gathering dark on balcony windows and front steps; intoxicated with the musics that writhe sinuous through syrup-thick nights, the tapping feet, the pulse patter, the drumming fingers, hip swings, dog barks, cowboy hat mutter of ‘tsst, guapa, mi amiga’ that blend into the percussion of the city.

lightening the load…

I arrived in Cuba just a few hours late. My bag sadly did not. I had to smile at the irony of all the huffing and fussing I did over what to pack, only to find myself with not much more than the clothes I was stodd up in.

It was a good enough excuse to get stressed all over again, but my heart was quiet, calm, watching, waiting.

I´m still alive…

Just a quick line or two to assure you I am alive and in one piece – currently in Santiago de Cuba basking in the sunshine.