Wednesday 14 March – Havana to Cayo Coco.
Up at the crack of bloody dawn for an early flight to Cayo Coco. More Cuban bureaucracy the night before, when I tried to settle my bill so that I wouldn’t have to do it at 4:30 in the morning, but was told I couldn’t. So settle it now.
Incidentally - a word about Cuban wake-up calls. These either never arrived, arrived late or, in one case, arrived when we didn’t ask for it.
The flight was in an old prop ‘plane, built when air travel was a luxury, from an age of elegance, leather seats and lots and lots of legroom. It’s how flying used to be. ‘Exciting’ is one word used to describe it, which could, I guess, also be used to describe conditions over the English Channel during the Battle of Britain, but I’d rather not be a passenger in a ME109. One hour flight into the Cuban dawn. Fabulous.
Pitch up at the Melia and because it’s so early, rooms not yet ready, fair enough, we have breakfast, it’s all inclusive you know. Sit on the terrace and goggle at what I think is surely the busiest waiter I’ve ever seen, as he hurries along with coffee, plates, seeming to be in two places at once. Then I see him at two places at once. Twin brothers, working the terrace as waiters.
The first room they offer us has a view of the tennis courts. We explain that, by the sea side, we’d quite like to see the sea, rather than octogenarian Germans in speedos playing tennis. In addition, the room wasn’t ready – you know you’re in trouble when the bell boy opens the door then turns to you with a look of undisguised horror on his face and says ‘this is not good’. God knows what the last occupants were doing in there.
Back to reception. New room. It’s great. But we paid for a suite. Back to reception. Thomas Cook courier gets involved. Ten minutes later they do a deal – room for a couple of nights, then we get a superior suite on the lagoon for the rest of our stay! Yes please! Finally unpack.
The pool area has plenty of space and is full of the sound of sizzling tourists or the distinctive blue beach towels that everyone has left out to mark their sunbeds. For a mad moment I want to run along the poolside, tossing the towels into the water. Wander into the pool house to pick up my towels and discover a pretty fairly stocked library - I guess tourists leave their books rather than taking them back with them, freeing up the weight allowance for extra rum.
The sea is at the end of a boardwalk, postcard blue, crashing on a white beach.
Incidentally - a word about Cuban wake-up calls. These either never arrived, arrived late or, in one case, arrived when we didn’t ask for it.
The flight was in an old prop ‘plane, built when air travel was a luxury, from an age of elegance, leather seats and lots and lots of legroom. It’s how flying used to be. ‘Exciting’ is one word used to describe it, which could, I guess, also be used to describe conditions over the English Channel during the Battle of Britain, but I’d rather not be a passenger in a ME109. One hour flight into the Cuban dawn. Fabulous.Pitch up at the Melia and because it’s so early, rooms not yet ready, fair enough, we have breakfast, it’s all inclusive you know. Sit on the terrace and goggle at what I think is surely the busiest waiter I’ve ever seen, as he hurries along with coffee, plates, seeming to be in two places at once. Then I see him at two places at once. Twin brothers, working the terrace as waiters.
The first room they offer us has a view of the tennis courts. We explain that, by the sea side, we’d quite like to see the sea, rather than octogenarian Germans in speedos playing tennis. In addition, the room wasn’t ready – you know you’re in trouble when the bell boy opens the door then turns to you with a look of undisguised horror on his face and says ‘this is not good’. God knows what the last occupants were doing in there.
Back to reception. New room. It’s great. But we paid for a suite. Back to reception. Thomas Cook courier gets involved. Ten minutes later they do a deal – room for a couple of nights, then we get a superior suite on the lagoon for the rest of our stay! Yes please! Finally unpack.
The pool area has plenty of space and is full of the sound of sizzling tourists or the distinctive blue beach towels that everyone has left out to mark their sunbeds. For a mad moment I want to run along the poolside, tossing the towels into the water. Wander into the pool house to pick up my towels and discover a pretty fairly stocked library - I guess tourists leave their books rather than taking them back with them, freeing up the weight allowance for extra rum.
The sea is at the end of a boardwalk, postcard blue, crashing on a white beach.
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