The Glorified Gypsy
The travel writings of a vagabundo
We were 30 minutes out of Matanzas still when I regretted travelling with the Norwegians. They were especially grumpy sitting in the back seat of the battered Lada. Their sweaty legs rubbing against each other surely only made them hotter and more irritable. I know it did me. I began wondering about Martin and Kristian - wondering if they were coping ok now they were fending once again for themselves.
Read MoreFidel Castro lifts both arms to the sky to enjoy the pleasing morning zephyr fanning him dry and doesn’t flinch when the towel loosens and drops to the floor. It was nothing they hadn’t seen before, thinks Fidel, as he waves to Raúl who is scurrying across the courtyard with a straight razor in his hand. At peace with the world, Fidel then folds the Cuban-flag Adidas tracksuit which he’d let to dry on the balcony and returns to the bedroom.
Read MoreIt was past midnight when we left Alejandro’s paladar. Casa de la Musica had just shut for the night and people – tourists and locals – were walking home en masse. The way it works, the Cuban hustlers – mostly men – were not allowed to mix with the tourists on the steps of the venue. Instead, they waited at the bottom, held back by the local police. But once Casa de la Musica closed, there weren’t enough police to keep all the hustlers in check.
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