After a hellish three weeks of Mojitos, Pina Coladas, lobsters, outrageous cigars and 30 degree heat, I decide to treat myself to a bit of luxury and book into the luxurious Nacional Hotel following in the exalted footsteps of Brando, Flynn, Sinatra, Churchill and Hemingway amongst others.
I cruise into the ornate lobby dressed in my customary backpacker attire – scruffy shorts, scruffy shirt (I have given most of my clothes away) and scruffy bag clinking noisily with cheap bottles of rum.
After inquiring what rooms were available the receptionist haughtily stated 'The rooms are 170CUC' as she looked down her nose at us. Handily, this proofed to be the perfect angle for CIara to thrust her Platinum Mastercard up the snotty cow's nose. Having removed the card she launched her charm offensive in a last ditch attempt to get a tip from us – the fool!
The room, whilst a little past it's best – not helped by the blind that I managed to pull down – had spectacular views of the ocean, promenade and lush gardens. I made full use of the swimming pool and only ventured from the hotel grounds to stock up on supplies of champagne, peanuts and more cigars (weirdly you could smoke in the rooms and lobby but not the halls). At eight times the price of most of the other places we have been staying it was a little extravagant and I certainly felt a bit guilty when asked for money on the streets 'Leave it out, I am not staying at The Natio… oh, here you are'.
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