 The
next morning I go straight to the ticket office slightly late and
wonder if I've missed Angel. I also begin to wonder if I'm ever going
to be able to leave the island. Thankfully he arrives and chides me
gently for being late. I give him the 12 dollars and my passport then
go back to the Casa to finish packing and say farewell.
En
route I buy some flowers for Maria and 40 cigarettes for Rey. Back
at the house Rey is the only one at home so I make my farewells
with him. We hug and promise to stay in touch. My taxi gets me back
to the terminal for 10am. Angel floats past me three of four times
but doesn't appear to see me. And just as my paranoia kicks in he
glides over and passes me the all important paperwork. I try to
shell him 5 dollars for his troubles but he declines the offer.
I find this amazing. By this stage it is fair to assume that we
are friends and I feel that I owe him something for his troubles-after
all without him I would be flying out at a much higher cost. He's
also acting a bit weird today so I don't bother questioning his
motives.
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Pete
Keane
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Meanwhile
on board everyone is settled in and we are on the move for 11.30
am. As soon as the safety lights go off I head upstairs and go on
deck. The view is stunning, a sea of deep aqua green and a gentle
blue sky marbled by the occasional fluffy cloud. I find a place
to sit on the floor and proceed to smoke a fist full of hand rolled
cigarettes. Normally smoking depresses me but today they taste great.
At the side of me is a man in handcuffs, on his way to a jail on
the mainland. He too is smoking and seems to be enjoying it.
Some
time later Angel appears and is in a very different frame of mind.
Perhaps he had his official head on at the port and is now able
to relax once out at sea. The journey is over in no time at all
and I disembark with the minimum of fuss. I say farewell to Angel
and find myself on the Havana bound bus. Dinner is a humble affair-
sausage and beans out of a tin. Outside the views are splendid again.
But in no time at all we are on the outskirts of Havana and soon
pulling up into tension central. My first job is to hit the ticket
office and buy my ticket for Cienfuegos-which leaves at 12.05 the
next day.
I have
arranged to stay with a lady called Barbera, a friend of Lazaro's.
On the way to her house I am able to re-visit the Plaza de Revolution
and photograph the famous Che Guevara mural. This sits on the side
of a government building. I check into the
Casa and before long am soundly asleep, dreaming about the next
leg of my journey.
The
views expressed on this page are those of the contributor and the
opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the BBC.
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