Day 12 – Santiago de Cuba

After a long day on the road yesterday a good nights sleep was well in order, but my casa is not the place to provide one. In truth I am not sure many places in Cuba could as everyone seems to own a cockerel, a dog, a television that does not turn off and no-one has any windows.

This morning was particularly bad as we were awoken at just after 5am by a lunatic ringing an enormous cow bell and bellowing in Spanish. It became apparent that rather than just showing off his spoils after a big night on the rum he was selling vegetables and was happy to continue shouting as a queue was forming nicely around him. Had he been selling anything other than tomatoes and lettuce, say ear-plugs or an axe, I may have joined the queue.

After a couple of long dull days Santiago de Cuba revives my spirits, the city has nowhere near as many tourists as Havana and there does not seem to be as many touts, those that are around are much friendlier and I always liked to be smiled at when someone is trying to swindle me.

I visit the Moncada barracks where Fidel fired his first shots in anger, the plaza of the revolution which has a dramatic sculpture of General Maceo surrounded by enormous iron machetes and get into the swing of festivities in the evening when a street very close to where I am staying is taken over for a fiesta.

Day 11 – Camaguey to Santiago de Cuba

I reach the conclusion that when the author of my guide book described Camaguay as 'gritty and real' it was a euphemism for 'dilapidated and dull' either that or his last placement was Kabul.

I head for the bus station early to make sure of a ticket for the single bus that leaves town each day, it's not strictly true about being the only bus leaving, but as tourists are only allowed to travel with one company (on specially assigned tourist buses) it is the only one I am allowed to travel on.

The ticket seller is impressed by my early arrival and tells me she will sell me a ticket when the bus arrives, but only If there are any seats left on it, and she can't tell me if there will be. It is now I discover that I can book a ticket 24 hours in advance but not 4 hours in advance, I am not sure what the cut-off point is.

Having watched a bus for Cubans leave with six passengers on it, the tourist bus arrives and Ciara and I manage to secure the last two seats after bundling an old lady into the toilets.

Luckily, the telly is on the blink.

Day 10 – Trinidad to Camaguey

Camuguey is a very confusing city – the streets are deliberately laid out in a haphazard and misleading way. This was done as a foil for the pirates who regularly plundered the city, back in the day when plunder and pillage was one of the most lucrative professions available – before governments starting handing out dole money that is.

Much as I admired the cunning puzzle laid down by the city's founders, I couldn't help cursing them as I constantly found myself lost whilst trying not to look like a tourist, yet having to take out a map at every intersection. My efforts were further hampered by the genius who changed all the street names some years ago, so, whilst some streets show the new names, some still show the old names, some both and most nothing at all.

By some miracle I find the Cubator Travel office and am informed that the bus I need to take me to the north coast of the island left two hours ago, the next bus will be thundering through in six days and 22 hours, would I 'like a coffee while I wait?'

Aggravated that I will not get to the north, which is the best place for diving, I take in the delights of Camaguey which doesn't take very long to be honest and includes a statue of a man on a horse, an art gallery, a church (closed) and two bars.