(Photos by VB)
Our attempt to go to the rum museum failed. Well, we got there – so that bit went to plan. But it was closed. So we have to drown our sorrows in the rum museum’s rum bar: Havana especials & daiquiris make for the best breakfast. We drank and danced and drank and sweated and drank and danced and sweated and drank and drank and drank and…
(Photos by VB)
(Photo by VB)
We Bubble-Car-ed it back and had lunch at one of the state-run restaurants – just to mix it up a bit and also because we were too drunk to realize the difference. The menu lied. It said it did more than just fish, rice and beans. It didn’t. That’s one thing to bear in mind. Don’t trust menus. If you pick five things you’d like to eat, there’s a chance you’ll get one of them… if luck’s on your side.
Oh and there are still no tampons in sight. There are incontinence pads though.
Our trip to Trinidad was… bracing. Our driving condensed a six hour drive into three. Donkeys, people and three Brits nearly perished as a result. But, thankfully, we arrived in one piece. The taxi was 30CUC each but it was like sitting in a tin can. No air con + thirty degree sun = m-e-l-t-i-n-g.
Listening to Santana, I found myself nodding my head at these lyrics; ‘It’s a hot one; like seven inches from the midday sun’.
We were close to comatosed when we arrived in Trinidad but managed to stay conscious for dinner at Giros. The waiter slobbered over Victoria and she was forced to wipe the sweat off his face with a napkin. Then they danced and he sweated a bit more. Dinner and a show!