Note, Cuban keyboards are tricky in that none of the signs are where they are indicated, so please forgive any spelling errors.

La Habana, Cuba

The London to Madrid flight was delayed and I thought I could forget about seeing my luggage on the same flight as me, but luckily, hmm, the flight to La Habana, as the Cubans call it, was two hours late as well.

The flight was full of boisterous Spanish people, who even after eight hours flight still burst out in tirades at the top of their lungs. I had switched seats, twice, so people who knew each other could sit together, and of course I had drawn the short straw, I had about the worst seat on the plane.

In La Habana, the immigration official looked sternly at me, then at my passport, then back again, but there was no questioning whatsoever. I took a taxi to the meeting place and imagine my surprise when the first language I hear is Dutch.

The Dutch girl, who was there on a Spanish course as well, helped me out, which was a good thing as it was all a bit vague. The second taxi driver first wanted to drop me off at just any hotel, and I had to explain to him that there were people waiting for me, and that yes, he needed to go to the address that the man had given him, not just any hotel.

Reception at the guesthouse was very warm, luckily, because I was starting to feel a bit worn down. Ivon, the woman of the house, is very friendly and tried to help me to feel comfortable. Her husband is nice as well, but I have trouble understanding his Spanish.

After a long day, I could finally go to bed and get some sleep.