I know there is some old saying to do with the first half of your life you are looked after by your parents and the second half you your life you look after your parents. Well I’ve been looking after my mother my whole life especially on occasions when my father isn’t around and she goes into complete competency melt down. The first time my dad went on a business trip abroad, she managed (and don’t ask me how) to put her hand in the bottom of the lawn mower whilst it was still running. I can still see, and will forever have imprinted in to my brain the moment when she shoved her hand in a sink full of water which instantaneously turned a deep shade of red, a bit like in the movie ‘Jaws’. Duggan women aren’t of a strong stomached nature and on my mother passing out, my sister ran out of the room with the good intension of phoning a family friend from down the road for help, only to pass out on the way due to “sight of blood”. So you are left with nine year old Alice running between relations with wet towels and sugar water trying to revive both. Needless to say I was rewarded on my Dad’s return from Hong Kong with a big bag of Haribo for being ‘daddy’s brave little girl’ and my mother was never allowed to mow the lawn again.
So this gives you an idea of the mental status of Mrs Duggan when embarking on a journey in to the depths of the Caribbean with her least responsible daughter, without the only man in the world that can salvage any situation no mater how dire. I’d like to say I was sympathetic towards this but in honesty if I see weakness in some one I kinda play on it? “You’ve got the passports right?”, “Flight IS from Gatwick not Heathrow right?” etc.. Cruel really, but highly amusing. Anyhow the joke was on me on arriving at Gatwick at 4.30am to find that our 07.55am flight to Havana with Cubana airways was not anywhere to be seen on the board, and after half an hour frantic running around to discover that the plane on which we were meant to be flying on (that was meant to arrive in the UK at 6.20am from Havana) had not even left Cuba yet. Another half an hour later it was revealed that the plane was faulty and another plane was being shipped in from Madrid and due to leave at 2.30pm. Marvellous. Anybody got any great suggestions how to spend 9 hours in Gatwick airport departures? No me either. Reading maybe – well I cleverly packed all my nice easy going books in my main luggage and was carrying only Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls, trying to embrace the whole Cuba thing, which is not the easiest read to pass time, believe me. So giving in I bought a puzzler, plugged my ipod in and watched the weird and wonderful existence of the airport departure lounge inhabitant (and it is no wonder they make so many tv shows about them!)
Well the plane didn’t go at 2.30, it went at 4.30 and you’d think maybe after the hell my now extended family of Cubana airways victims had been through, we would be treated like movie stars, pampered with drinks and nibbles, checked on at ever available moment. Well you would think wrong and must be alerted to the fact that the communist regime demands Cubans all work, for more or less the same wage, and are in no danger of losing there jobs…..so where is the incentive to do their job well, especially when surrounded by hundreds of high maintenance tourists?! Anyways the plane had no entertainment, seating was a free for all, the staff were rude to the point of disbelief, there was a fucking annoying group of school kids among which were two blossoming lovers sat in front of me who snogged for the WHOLE 11 hour journey, and, as I had banished any hope of a vegetarian meal, no food. Gosh I sound like my grandma moaning. Still I console myself in the fact that the money spent on the flights went in to the Cuban economy and the not the pocket of that cunt Branson.
Anyways with plenty of time on my hand I though it was about time I tackled the lonely planets guide “A brief history of Cuba”. And so the obsession began…..
Hands up, I knew very little about the Cuban culture/history before I went (“They’re communists, right?”) and generally have no interest in learning about history of places. A few years back I spent a month travelling in Japan with two of my bestest friends, one who was living out there for a few years. We had a great time, however both being History(ish) students I can imagine my “You’ve seen one temple you’ve seen them all, lets go do Karaoke again” mentality grated a bit. I figured I would be the same in Cuba… “yes yes very nice now lets go dance salsa and drink rum!” Unfortunately, I don’t know if I’m getting older and this is what happens, but I’m absolutely fascinated by the whole shebang.
So as I say all I knew was they were communists and that recently some dude called Castro had stepped down. I was concerned that this may cause mayhem and riots but was assured by work colleagues that caribbeaners(?!) are far to busy drinking rum and smoking cigars to get all worked up about stuff, and as long as the yanks stayed away there was unlikely to be any civil unrest (and I would hope that the yanks had f*cked up enough countries in the last few years to stay away, at least until I had got a sun tan).
Reading the guide helped set the scene for me so I jotted down a little summary of events as I saw them:
-Native Cubans all lived happily
-Natives of another Caribbean island arrive, kill all the native Cubans and live happily
-Spanish turn up and fuck things up – killing loads and using the rest for slaves
-400 years later Jose Marti leads a revolution to get freed from the Spaniards and the USA step in last minute and steal the glory
-USA REALLY fuck things up
-A group of rude boys (inc. Castro and Che Guavara) plot to over throw the Americans and some dick Batista, and trampled them freeing Cuban residents giving them the ‘ideal’ existence
-To piss of the US, Russia keep Cuba alive by buying lots of sugar and cigars
- Russia (or I should say the USSR) fucks up (greedy bastards) and Cuba gets screwed over and people are starving
- They start letting in lots of snappy happy tourists (such as myself) to take all their money so they can eat again.
So you can see why I gave up history at the 1st available moment!
Anyways back to the long gruelling flight…..we eventually got off that blasted craft about 1am Cuban time (5am English) due to a rather extended drop off in Holguin, and rushed through visa check and baggage which took us in to arrivals about 2am….
So first thought is will our transfer be there seeing we were meant to arrive at 4pm? On first inspection no, but after half an hour panic we deduced that our company we booked with has two names – how fucking stupid of us! So we taxied off in to Havana praying our hotel had 24hr reception. Unfortunately I didn’t get to see much of the city on the drive as planned being 3am but at least we were on our way. Getting closer to the hotel I started getting a nauseous feeling which is far too familiar with me now being in a city at night, stemming from a nasty incident in Barcelona a few years back (and yes the story gets more elaborate each time it is told – they had knives you know, did I say knives? I meant guns). So I wasn’t all best pleased when I found out our taxi couldn’t drive down the street our hotel was on and intended to leave us at the end of it. A few pesos (I’ll explain money later) encouraged him to wait while mother dear (entirely unfazed by this) ran up the road to check it was open. Halle-fucking-lujah it was. Almost kissing the cab driver I popped on my backpack and headed up the road to the lovely “Beltran de Santa Cruz” Hotel.
So being greeted with a smile by the receptionist he then blurts out “There is a bit of a problem with your room, the plumbing has broken and we have had to relocate you to another hotel, it is only just 5 minutes round the corner across the square”
What point would you snap? Honestly? I snapped here. “Look buddy, We’ve been up for 30 hours, 13 of these spend in fucking Gatwick airport, 13 on a fucking aeroplane fresh out of Bedrock and the rest in transit between these places, we haven’t eaten, we haven’t changed out underwear, we haven’t cleaned our teeth, and we smell like dead fucking rats and you are trying to tell me that you are going to make 2 poor helpless women lug there baggage across a city unknown to them at 4am in the morning to go to a hotel because you have a fucking plumbing problem?”
At least that is what was being said in my head…what I actually said, in a very weak and feeble whine “Please will you come with us, I’m scared”. And bless his cottons he did.
Eventually my head touched a pillow at 5.30am Cuba time (9.30am English) after dealing with the final disaster of the night that on opening my rucksack I found my suncream had exploded all over my stuff. A perfect start to a holiday wouldn’t you agree? Things could only get better.
I guess maybe I should actually tell you something about my trip instead of my script from “Holidays from hell”.
This was my first and most definitely not last trip to the Caribbean. I think I was about 8 when I bought “100% reggae” and decided that I would spend my honeymoon in Jamaica, so I hope I will again reach these shores, given I can find someone who will marry me. Plus there are so many other places to visit, St Lucia, Barbados, Antigua, Bahamas etc etc…Lets hope this future husband is rich! Cuba, however seems to have
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