As we were warned that our credit cards would not work because they relied on an American bank, we had to pay for everything with cash. This required another lengthy queuing process to get into a small cambio on the outside of the airport building. Now we had to change our money into local CUC pesos, a special currency that must be used by foreigners, but not by locals. I was in despair until a fellow passenger came across wheeling my bag, saying that it was the last one out of the chute! After about an hour, the carousel stopped. We waited and waited, observing enormous balls of tightly wrapped suitcases being ejected out of the chute, sometimes bouncing off the circling carousel in a dangerous fashion. Once through, the group’s luggage was soon delivered on the one large carousel all except mine. There were long lines of tired and grumpy people to get through customs and immigration.

It was not the most promising experience to arrive in Havana’s international airport at midnight. The idea was to escape from the wild bacchanal of Trinidad’s carnival in early February. So when the opportunity arose to join a small tour group from Trinidad, we quickly signed up. I already knew many people who had visited our largest Caribbean island and all reported loving the experience. “We should go to Cuba while it’s unspoiled” said my friend, meaning that once the communist country became open to Americans then there was a fear that it would swiftly become over-commercialised and crowded with tourists. “My heart is in Havana (ay) Havana” goes the song and I can surely understand the sentiment!

The dark heart of old havana