Day 23 – Return to Havana

Aside from buzz on the street about a new bread shop opening, it was an uneventful morning. We piled into the van for a pretty silent few hours to Havana. Barbara normally played a DVD or talked, but we knew about Havana so it was silence. Hector gunned us through to a refuelling stop. That was another thing. Fuel supply was unreliable. Sometimes petrol stations were out of supply so Hector had to be very careful about when and how he fuelled up. I think sometimes we stopped more to ensure we would actually get there. I remember another time by the Bay of Pigs where we must have been running really low because we pulled into every petrol station on the way.

We checked back into the same guesthouse from the start of the trip. I was so looking forward to that palatial room again. Wrong. I had to carry my cumbersome rucksack and Bach of treasures up to the very top floor to a much smaller monk’s cell. This would be my accommodation for two nights. Oh well. I wouldn’t be here for long. Immediately, I locked my passport in the safety deposit box and couldn’t retrieve it. Better too safe than too sorry. I would sort it later.

Barbara and Hector were waiting for anybody looking to join them for lunch. We’d skipped lunch on our dash through to the capital and I was starving. Only I took them up on their offer. We went to a cool hipster looking place around the corner where we waited ages for our meal. It was nearly an hour and a half by the time we’d eaten and paid. Barbara warmed us about Cuban time and service standards on day one but this was bad – there was only five people in the café including us and five staff standing around. The chicken was delicious. But I never cope well with lunch finishing at 3.30. What inbetween meal hell is this???

Time for exploration. I didn’t have much time. Our group’s final farewell dinner was tonight. The plan was to meet at 6. I had originally planned to see a museum but tardy service put the brakes on that plan. So adventurous waterfront rambles it was.

I walked along the waterfront, seeing what I could see. I spotted the Havana Club museum with its last tour closing just as I passed by. I briefly poked my head in the shop – all high end cigars and multi packs of rum. Felt dirty and wrong having held onto that 4 buck bottle for 5 days. The only 4 bucks in the Havana Club shop would be your change.

The HockTales Express pulled into the back of the St Francis cathedral which had a lovely garden and a strange mosaic pool. Did the priests all sit in a jacuzzi and plan services? Brother Benedict, pass me the holy Coca Cola of Antioch while I organise this week’s schedule for confession and chemical dousing of the pool. The was a tiny statue of a nun, a cat, pretty plants. A nice place to hang out.

I kept walking around to see the Havana sign in the distance and then crossed into the Plaza de Armas where the Palace of the Governor was just closing. I found out the opening times. I still had time the day after tomorrow just before my flight.

I continued my walk down a similar route to the one Barbara took us on originally. I pulled my Havana map out of my pocket. Left was one famous bar, right another. Couldn’t really go wrong. I thought I went left but I actually went right. Whatever. I found the home of the mojito, La Bodeguita Del Medio.

I am over mojitos. Bad mojitos are sugary, syrupy, weak and pointless. I drank my fair share of them throughout Cuba with the others to be sociable until I could do it no more and turned to rum. I now largely blank Ron blanco. But the iconic nature of this place is evident from the crowds spilling out on the street with their drinks and the band in your ears before you even get there! Something was happening. There was a definite vibe!

I pushed my way in. The bar is a tiny little place with a wooden interior and a wall of rum. A jolly five piece band of oldsters plays on the corner. This is not the place to chat with the barman about your day. He’s flat out splashing Havana Club blanco into 10 or so glasses in front of him, then mashing the rum and mint leaves with the minimal soda water with a small baseball bat. I think he would be horrified if anybody ordered anything else. Although other bottles suggest you can. But the mojito is THE THING. You don’t even ask for it. Just money out and he slings you one. Equally speedy is the girl next to him filling glasses with dishwashing liquid. (Finally, I had figured who was buying all that washing up liquid from the mercado!)

I looked up to see a beaten up old wooden sign hanging over the bar. Handscrawled –  ‘My mojito at La Bodeguita. My daiquiri at La Floridita’ – Ernest Hemingway. Cuba’s most famous retiree. I understood the fame.

It was standing room only, but I could turn to watch the band of oldsters with my mojito which redeemed my faith in the drink. Strong and delicious! Old Ernie was right! Actually, it was the exception that proved the rule that most are crap. I tried to video them and the singer came right up, pressing his nose against my iPhone!!!! They loved a laugh! They asked me where I was from, then burst into a spontaneous rendition of Skippy! I will never forget that!!! How did Sonny’s bowl haircut and old Skip penetrate darkest Cuba in the 70s??? That’s a mystery for the ages. I chucked a tip in the hat before begrudgingly heading on my way.

I had to hit the ATM before dinner and make it back in time to get changed. Time was marching on. The light was starting to fade. The Havana streets start to look very similar in the dark. I wanted to get home ASAP. Note foreshadowing …

Hector and his faithful minibus took us via the undersea underpass to the other side of the island where an enormous Jesus statue points to the main city of Havana. Batista’s wife erected it back in the early 50s just because Cuba didn’t have anything like it. (Didn’t have any literacy programs either but a giant Jesus was totally required.) The views of the harbour and the city at night were stunning from the foot of Jesus. Che Guevara’s house was also on this side of the island, as was the military fort I planned to visit the next day. We piled back on the bus for dinner.

We enjoyed our final meal at a restaurant with free ranging poultry, causing me to remain on edge the whole time. I was pretty close to jumping on the table at one point. I ordered the most classic Cuban dish on the menu – ropa vieja (shredded beef) and went all out this time, Havana Club Anos 7. The big guns of rum. Well, the fancy one I could afford. It was a nice meal. Afterwards, Hector ordered an espresso and split it with me! (It went as far as you could imagine.) No hablo English but I showed him a lot of my photos from Mexico and he loved them. He really was the best bus driver ever. For the rest of this big trip, we tend to have a different guy each day who sits in the bus. Hector was with us the entire time, he ate with us, he was funny and friendly. I miss him. There have really been some crap bus drivers since.

Yvonne, Kim, Barbara and I then went to the famous Buena Vista Social Club. The building is absolutely amazing. Constructed in the 1940s, there are big swooping blue arches and columns and only an open sailcloth for a roof. Tickets are about $30 which include three drinks (one had to be a mojito – I felt dirty). The performers were focussed on a stage with backing singers and dancers quite far from our table but they walked around the audience with a microphone, so we got a good view. For oldsters in their 70s, their voices were amazing!!! God knows what they were singing but it was fantastic! Some of the women had outstanding lungs on them! Wow! There were younger performers too – I guess this was Buena Vista succession planning. The salsa dancers with motorised hips came around too. At one point, Yvonne and I were dragged up to dance by the stage and we went for a laugh. It was all great fun! The performance lasted two hours but we went home after about an hour and a half because we were pretty knackered by then.

Back to the old Havana guesthouse it was.

Stay tuned for my final day in Havana where I cruise the streets in a red 1955 Chevy Convertible and make a horrifying discovery…