The other aspects of my (too long) time in Santiago were rather less positive than the awesome music described in my previous post.

It’s a very loud and lary city with stifling heat. At times I had to force myself out the front door, bracing for the brain cooking 35+ temp and the hassle of people. Far too many ‘Amigo, amigo where are you from?’ assaults. This wasn’t helped by the fact that my amazingly well located accommodation with the million dollar view was right next to the biggest, poshest hotel in town. Street hustlers buzzing around it constantly in the hope of stinging someone. Oh and the biggest poshest hotel in town didn’t have any blackout problems, oh no. This, due to the plane taking off style enormogenerator roaring 24/7 right next to my accommodation. Even my ear plugs couldn’t counteract this permanent befuddlement. I mean, a day or two is handleable but try 10 days of it, I did.

Add on top, the near constant buzz of ridiculously loud motorbike engines flying up and down the streets beeping. I’m a motorbike fan obviously, but I’m not a fan of overly loud motorbikes at the best of times. These were not the best of times. Turns out the hundreds and hundreds of motorbikes are the city’s mass transit solution. Throw out a hand and one will stop, give you a ridiculously ineffective leather jockey’s cap, and roar you to wherever you want to go for less than a quid.

The historic cemetery was interesting though, made all the more so by the impeccably dressed and suitably indoctrinated tour guide. I managed to get her to crack a smile once or twice but had to maintain enough decorum and stay on the right side of acceptability. The highlight for me was some truly awesome bust work. I’m no bust expert but these looked the real deal to me. Due reverence was also paid to Fidel’s memorial – a big rock – and an impressive memorial for Jose Marti, the father of the nation.

The visit to the rum museum was underwhelming. The best aspect for me being a flushing toilet and a free tot of rum. Not necessarily in that order.

The Charlie and the Chocolate factory moment where the magic doors swing back to reveal the working factory in all its glory was not magic. More like the final moments of Tommy Cooper, sadly. The production line flying along with 15,000 bottles an hour (according to Rough Guide) turned our to be lots of perspex and lots of stationary (no, not envelopes).

Another day, I joined up with an interesting 75 year old Dutch adventurer (former international development economist/spook) from my accom-modation. He’d planned to cycle the length of Cuba, until his bike and all his other belongings got nicked in Havana. I grimaced at the eye watering taxi price (40 Euro each) for a terrifying near death drive up a mountain to get a good view. The driver seemed to think we were in a hurry… a hurry to die. Occasionally the car would understeer badly as he flung it around the hairpin bends with no barrier and 1000 foot sheer drops off the side. We are all going to die one day. Coming down was no better, the “brakes” sounded like metal on metal, or maybe Fred Flintstone just jamming his foot through the floor on the tyre.

Another highlight was two horned (not horny) goats headbutting each other in the middle of the road as we flew past at 60 just hoping that a beep of the horn would be enough for them not to total the car. There were laughs aplenty, as the old dude had a good dry sense of humour and after an initial blazing row about motorbikes v bicycles we got on well and it was great to get out of the city for a few hours.

So that was Santiago. I love it and I hate it.