Holguin 1

I shared a room with J last night. There was no space at the casa where we arrived so the landlady called another lady who came over to walk us back to her casa. Hilda was a retired dentist. I opted for breakfast but J didn't, to save funds. The landlady gave her some coffee and I gave her a couple of slices of fruit from my breakfast.

We met the Australian girls at Holguin's central plaza. L's priority was to locate her missing boots and J volunteered to help her. I helped the Aussie J2 with arranging her air tickets to Havana (she had a shorter vacation than L), and exchanging travellers checks at a bank. She was one of those people with inconsistent signatures and this caused delay because her countersignature didn't resemble the original to the clerk. So she had to sign the lot again. Sometime during that morning, probably while J2 was waiting to be served at the airline office, or after lunch, I explored a couple of nearby plazas; they were all close to the centre. The intriguing totem poles above were outside an artists' centre. I also found construction workers using old cine film as measuring tape.

This was the inside of a state run cigar store. I noted some prices because I was planning to buy some as a gift for K, back in Heemstede. Cigars earn some foreign exchange for Cuba.

The cigars are stored in a room with controlled humidity to preserve freshness.

J2 and I had lunch at a bar/cafe called Rumbos. I had the plain meatless spaghetti, which was OK, considering. We were supposed to meet L and J in the plaza at 1200, but there was no sign of J. So I walked back to the casa to fetch her. L came part of the way to make a phone call at a call centre. I have difficulty reassembling the exact sequence of and rationale for events; it was that kind of confusing day. But it doesn't really matter.

In the evening, we met at the Restaurant 1720, a restored mansion which faces the plaza, to have dinner. Earlier that afternoon we had daiquiris there and it looked promising for dinner. And it proved to be good; I enjoyed my shrimps in garlic sauce. Portions were small but dainty. The waiter made some paper roses out of the red napkins for the girls. After dinner we emerged on the plaza, the girls lit up a couple of cigars that they had bought earlier and vamped for photos next to old cars.


When the sun went down a funk rock band started playing on the stage, and the plaza filled with townspeople. We stood in the night air and listened, nibbling on peso peanuts sold by itinerant vendors. A dissident started chatting to us. He said that the system was stuffed, an unsurprising statement. He also claimed that on Fidel Castro's passing there would be secession because regional commanders would take control of their respective areas. A bold but unverifiable claim.