Destination #26: King Salmon fishing in Alaska (Part 1)

Everything is big in the US and Alaska is no exception. It is huge - Alaska is larger than the three largest states in the US combined - but at the same time it appears that besides Sarah Palin almost nobody lives there (the population barely reaches 700,000). And now even Palin is moving away, this really is "The Last Frontier" as it says on the local license plates. But what a fantastic place it is. It takes "Into the Wild" to another level. King Salmon fishing, following into the footsteps of "The Deadliest Catch" and wrestling with bears, you name it, we'll do it. OK maybe not the bear part, but definitely all those other things.

Wednesday 4 May 2011 - Friday 13 May 2011

We kicked off our Alaskan adventure in the South Eastern part of the State, better know as "the Panhandle". We expected snow and Eskimos and got thousands of islands, green rain forests, floatplanes, snow capped mountains and a lot of sun. Basically a rougher version of NZ.

Ketchikan

We first hit Alaskan soil in Ketchikan, a small fishing town prone to a lot of rainfall which goes by the nickname "The First City" as it is the first place you encounter when you come up from "the lower 48" (Alaskans refer to the rest of the US as "the lower 48" simply because Alaska became the 49th State to join the USA in 1959 after it was bought from the Russians for a mere $7.2 million over a century earlier).

Ketchikan - population 8,200, which makes it the 5th largest town in Alaska! -  is the self-proclaimed "Canned Salmon Capital of the World" or as they say down there "We eat what we can and we can what we can't". OK, I admit that was slightly sleazy, but I read it in one of the travel guides and just couldn't resist dropping it in. Ketchikan's other two claims to fame are that it has the largest collection of totem poles in the world and that it tried to spend $400 million on the so-called "Bridge to Nowhere" (linking Ketchikan to neighbouring Gravina Island, home to just 50 people and an airport). The totem poles are still there, the bridge never got built (although Sarah Palin managed to keep the money Washington gave her for it, making herself pretty unpopular in downtown Ketchikan in the process).

The tourist season is relatively short in Alaska due to the harsh winter climate. It basically runs from mid-May to the end of September. As we got there just before the season started we weren't surprised to find that we were the only guests when we checked into the Black Bear Inn. And to be honest it was great to be there before the cruise ships arrived. We were pretty much the only tourists in town. We did our best to fit in, so we went to the "Blessing of the Fleet" by the local pastor, joined the locals for the charity Lumberjack Show (an experience) and I even went snorkeling after mixing up Fahrenheit and Celsius (I should have known better, water temperatures of 42 degrees in the middle of Alaska just sounded too good to be true, and unsurprisingly it was).

And then all of a sudden it was all over. After having had Ketchikan to ourselves for a couple of days, the first cruise ships of the season arrived. The population almost doubled instantly. Right then and there we decided that we will send the next person that really pisses us off on a Disney Adventure cruise. Seven days on a ship full of little obese five year olds with an unhealthy adoration of Mickey Mouse will break the toughest of men. Most people over the age of 14 will try to drink themselves into oblivion every night. No better way to cure a hangover than having breakfast sitting next to an adult male dressed in a fluffy Donald Duck outfit. Every morning that is. I bet you will try to kill yourself by the third day and that would be taking the easy way out. Well we found out that the good thing about cruise ships is that they only stay in town for around six hours. So by the afternoon we had Ketchikan to ourselves again.

A local fisherman by the name of Tony took us King Salmon fishing on his little boat named the "All Star". Tony - a real Alaskan, just wearing a t-shirt, while we were wearing four different layers, a woolen hat, gloves and a rain jacket - tried to teach us the art of King Salmon fishing. Well we tried very hard but we failed miserably. There is a fine line between fishing and just standing on a boat like an idiot and I think we crossed it. The score ended King Salmon 1 - RJ/Em's fishing skills 0. In our defense, it was very early in the season for King Salmon and Tony hadn't managed to catch one yet either. And it didn't help that a bald eagle took off with our bait at one stage. Tony took pity and fortunately we had more luck with bottom-fishing as we managed to pull in two very ugly looking rockfish.

The next day we tried our luck with some King Crab fishing on the "Aleutian Ballad", a crab boat which featured in the TV show "The Deadliest Catch" for two seasons. The boat is run by some former Bering Sea crabbers, who found out that they could make much more money showing some crab fishing tricks to tourist than risking their lives in the waters surrounding Dutch Harbour. This is what real men look like and they managed to pull up some crab pots with King Crab in it as well. Still in awe, we downloaded about 26 episodes of "The Deadliest Catch" as soon as we got back to our B&B.

A visit to Ketchikan wouldn't have been complete without a boat trip through Misty Fiords, a massive nature reserve full of humpback whales, seals and dolphins. We even spotted our first bears in a place called Herring Cove.

An integral part of our travels has been eating and we wouldn't want you to miss out on Ketchikan's culinary highlights. The best burgers in town were courtesy of a place called Burger Queen. Without a doubt, they also have the best slogan in town: "Burger bitch just didn't sound right". We also found a shack at Knudson Cove Marina called the Dockside Galley which had the best halibut burger we ever tasted.

We spent our last day in Ketchikan shopping for totem poles. We ran into master carver Nathan Jackson who, in between placing prank calls, showed us some of his work. We have decided that totem poles are totally awesome and I so want one for my birthday now (they are only $4,000 a foot after all...).

Petersburg

As they don't really do roads in South East Alaska, you need to take a floatplane or a ferry if you want to get around. We took the Alaska Marine Highway ferry for the 10-hour journey from Ketchikan to Petersburg. It was amazing. Not only is the trip through the "Inside Passage" filled with scenic highlights, taking the ferry is also the best way to spot humpback whales. Although we went for the soft option and took a cabin (grandly called a "Stateroom"), you have some people literally pitching a tent on deck. The ferry has to twist and turn through the 46 turns of the "Wrangell Narrows" before reaching Petersburg. The "Wrangell Narrows" is a 35km long channel that is only 90 meter wide and 6 meters deep in certain places. The locals like to call it "Pinball Alley".

Petersburg is a sleepy fishermen town of around 3,000 souls with a strange fascination of anything remotely Norwegian. As Petersburg is not on the route of the cruise ships we were once again the only tourists in town. It was great.

We checked into the Waterfront B&B, run by two sixty year olds called Sammy and LeeRoy. Especially LeeRoy was a real character - a sort of human version of a bear but then with suspenders - and not only did he make a killer breakfast, he also had some great war stories up his sleeve. Most of these stories ended with LeeRoy's standard line "Well, he got the message". One of LeeRoy's party tricks was feeding the eagles by throwing leftover salmon in the air, while bald eagles would circle above our heads and dive down at dazzling speeds to catch their snacks.

Petersburg is a real contender for the "Best Small Town of The List of 28 Award" and we once again tried our best to mix with the locals. We were soon regulars at the Javahus - the only coffee place in town, run by the fittest girl in town - and the newspaper agent even put a copy of the local "Ketchikan Daily News" aside for us every day. In the sunny afternoons we would just sit on the dock of the bay, watching the floatplanes fly by.

We also managed to get a taste of the "Little Norway Festival", an annual festival to celebrate Petersburg's Viking heritage. First we went to the fashion show at Lee's Clothing Inc, which was hilarious as it basically consisted of two girls sitting in the window for five hours chatting to each other while wearing $450 woolen Norwegian sweaters. In the evening we went to a "Viking Dinner" at Kito's Kave (no it's not a typo). Let's say it was an experience. The dinner consisted of a massive turkey leg with some corn and potatoes. And to make it a real "Viking Dinner" nobody was allowed to use cutlery, forcing everyone to eat with their hands. Apparently last year the local Valkyries provided shots from their busty bosoms, but Health and Safety got air of it and put a stop to the whole thing. I was gutted.

After the dinner there was a "Dueling Pianos" show, which basically means that there are two piano players who will play any song the crowd wants to hear as long as some dollar bills come their way. After a healthy quantity of Alaskan Ambers the crowd got with the Viking theme and got pretty rowdy. Their favourite tune was "Dick in a box". Don't ask. When we left around midnight, the two middle-aged women at our table were still busy planning their next bear hunt. Just another night in Petersburg, AK.

Next blog: Destination #26: Alaska: Into the Wild at Denali Park (Part 2)

Destination #25: Going for a check-up with the Portuguese Doctors (Porto, Portugal)

Wednesday 27 April 2011 - Sunday 1 May 2011

'There ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them' - Mark Twain 

Well the last time we saw Nuno, Isabel and Emilia - or the Portuguese Doctors as we like to call them, even though they are actually pharmacists - we were queuing for visas at a dusty border post in the northern regions of Bolivia. We had just spent a couple of weeks roughing it through South America together, and their drugs - the ones you get in a pharmacy, not the ones you import from Colombia - helped us to survive the whole ordeal. Besides, you really get to know each other if you are all squeezed into a jeep for 12 hours frantically trying to escape angry Bolivian miners. Fast forward a couple of months and here we are, thousands of miles away from La Paz, in the Portuguese city of Porto for a small reunion.

We started off our Porto trip in style by having lunch at the impressive Casa de Musica building with one of the richest people in the whole of Portugal (pre-bail-out that is): the Chairman of financial group BPI. Ok, it was far from a match made in heaven as he was wearing a suit and I was wearing shorts. Also I don't think he got my name and I may have forgotten to shave that morning (and a couple of mornings before that). We didn't really talk much either, actually not at all, and conversation wasn't helped much by the fact that he was sitting two tables away from us and barely acknowledged our presence. Nevertheless I did feel we really connected. Not sure it was a mutual feeling. Actually pretty sure it wasn't. In the meantime Nuno, Isabel, Em and I had a great time (and lunch for that matter) without him.

The Portuguese Doctors pulled out all the stops in the evening and took us to their "secret port place" to enjoy some "Portotonics" (a blasphemy for real Portuguese drinkers) while overlooking the Douro river. Given that both us and the Lonely Planet now know about the place, we feel less bad about spilling the beans. If you ever make it to Porto, make sure you don't miss out on Solar do Vinho do Porto. It is a hidden gem. Well maybe not that well hidden by the time you get there.

And now for some real magic. Nuno - a lifelong Benfica fan - had sold his soul to the Devil and somehow managed to secure tickets for us to go and see the FC Porto - Villareal game in the semi-finals of the Europa League. Going to a FC Porto game is like going to a Harry Potter movie. They play in the Dragon stadium, have a bunch of players who go by exotic names such as the Hulk and the Falcon and their supporters call themselves SuperDragons. To finish things off in style, their Spanish opponents on the night call themselves the "Yellow Submarines". Only thing missing was Harry Potter himself and those broomstick thingies he flies around on. Together with 45,000 ecstatic football fans we witnessed FC Porto slaughter Villareal 5-1. "Cinco torpedos no submarino" it screamed from the front page of one of the Portuguese dailies the next day.

After all that excitement we finished off the night with a Francesinha at Capa Negra II (it is called Capa Negra II but apparently there never was a Capa Negra I, so much for logic). A Francesinha (literal translation "Little Frenchie") is as much as a baked sausage and beef sandwich covered in melted cheese with two eggs on top (sunny side up). Pretty much a heart attack on a plate. But damn it was good.

As true tourists we of course had to spend a day in the Douro valley, taking the boat down to Regua in the morning and the train back up to Porto in the afternoon. The train journey through the Douro valley is a truly epic journey, passing blue and white tiled train stations in quaint villages going by traditional Portuguese names such as Mosteiro, Vila Mea and Caide. While we were at it, we also squeezed in a visit to some Port cellars. For some bizarre reason unclear to us, most of the Port producers have been bought up by a Spanish bank. That makes as much sense as HSBC buying Carlsberg and Heineken. Exactly, none whatsoever.

Emilia and Paulo had us all over for a seafood bonanza in Gaia where we also tasted the local delicacy percebes for the first time in our lives. Percebes is a particularly ugly shellfish native to Portugal, with a scaly shell that resembles a recently hatched dinosaur. You eat it by twisting the little tentacles and sucking out the inner tube. Yep doesn't that sound nice? It gets better. All this is accompanied with plenty of juices splashing all over the place when you break of the tentacles. Despite it all sounding like some Guantanamo Bay torture technique, it was actually quite tasty.

We said goodbye to Porto with some late night drinks at Porto Palacio, Porto's own version of Tokyo's Park Hyatt.

We thoroughly enjoyed Porto and special thanks is due to the Portuguese Doctors. Nuno, Isabel and Emilia, we had a fantastic time. We can't wait until our next check-up.

Next destination: #26: Chasing the deadliest catch in Alaska

Destination #24: Romantic weekends away for dummies (Cardiff, Wales)

Easter Weekend of 23/24 April 2011

An integral part of our List of 28 was supposed to be a visit to a fitness bootcamp in Devon run by a bunch of ex-SAS commandos (also referred to as the "Fat Camp" by some of our more evil-minded friends). After a year of wining and dining we felt we would benefit from lugging tree trunks for a couple of days. 

Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how you look at it - we found out that our designated bootcamp recently went belly up as a result of the recession. Subsequently all the SAS guys had moved on to pastures new (that would be Libya in this case). This meant that we had to go on the hunt for an equally sporting-like destination to replace the Devon bootcamp. And what better place to go to than Wales for some sports? Ok, watching some sports if we are honest, but hey, we were always better at the couch potato version of sports than the real thing. As a replacement for the "Fat Camp", we opted to go to Wales for a "romantic" weekend away to see QPR play Cardiff City in the second tier of English Football. QPR, leading the Championship, would be promoted to the Premiership in case of a win against third-placed Cardiff City. We surely didn't want to miss out on QPR's return to the top flight after an absence of 15 years.

Eternally underperforming, owned by Formula 1 supremos Flavio Briatore and Bernie Ecclestone and financed by the billionaire Mittal steel family, QPR is not only one of the richest teams in England but it was also one of the founding teams of the Premier League in 1992. But in typical QPR fashion, they got relegated after a couple of seasons and have never been back since. Until now that is. 6 points ahead of second placed Norwich City and 8 points ahead of third placed Cardiff City with 4 games to go would mean that a win in Wales would secure promotion to the Premier League. Easy does it.

An early train from London Paddington on Easter Saturday got us to Cardiff at around 11:00 in the morning, where we were welcomed by riot police wearing full combat gear. But only in Wales will riot police guide you to the nearest pub - in this case The Great Western, and believe me there was nothing great about it - then cordon it off and not let anyone out until everybody has had a couple of pints. Makes the random beatings later on probably a bit easier.

As it was a complete sell-out, the only tickets we had managed to obtain were with the home fans. Em was lucky and she was seated next to a teenage girl. I was slightly less fortunate and sat next to a big bold beefed-up version of one of those guys you sometimes see pumping iron in your local gym. They do have some strange customs in Wales and "doing the Ayatollah" at the start of the game is one of them. Not sure if they have realised that Iran is not the most popular country in the world? The slapping of heads was interrupted by the introduction of Cardiff City's guest of honour. Not sure how they pick these guys, but this guy must have been in the Guinness Book of World Records for the longest name in human history: His Royal Highness Sultan Haji Ahmad Shah Ibni Sultan Abu Bakar Riayatuddin Al-Muadzam Shah of Pahang. Seriously. For what it is worth, this guy is apparently the Chairman of the Malaysian Football Association.

When the game finally started, QPR managed to fall behind within 6 minutes. To be fair it was a screamer of a goal from Cardiff's striker Bothroyd. Yes, I admit that I clapped modestly although reluctantly, but only because iron-man next to me was giving me the evil eye. We did however refuse to join in when the locals started singing  "1-0 to the sheepshaggers" on moral grounds.

Fortunately QPR's talisman striker Adel Taarabt equalised shortly after that. Not wanting to risk the scorn off the locals, we barely moved. With half time quickly approaching and with most of the people around us already thinking about which pie to have during the break, Cardiff scored again. This time it was Bellamy, a convicted troublemaker, who in between beating the crap out of people when drunk, earns £90k a week to kick a ball. And that is exactly what he did. QPR went into half time 2-1 down to the "sheepshaggers".

The 2nd half wasn't as eventful as the 1st with the exception of the fact that good old Taarabt managed to equalise in the 71st minute. It stayed 2-2 and when the final whistle went, QPR was not promoted quite yet, but still well on track. If all would go well, they could clinch promotion at home against Hull on Easter Monday. Having supported QPR for a while and having learned to deal with the disappointments that come with that, we had taken precautions and had got some tickets for the Hull game as well.

Those nice people in riot gear got us and the other QPR fans in some buses to get us out of town and onto a train to London as soon as possible. This time we didn't stop by the pub. When it took a little while to get the bus moving, everyone started singing "Cardiff is a shithole, we want to go home" (1). Once our police escort arrived, the bus driver duly obliged and got us the hell out of there. As a final tribute, he did take the touristy route through Cardiff's finest neighbourhoods.

Epilogue

In typical QPR fashion, they again failed to clinch promotion on Easter Monday after being held at home by Hull. QPR finally won the Championship and secured promotion to the Premiership following a 2-0 victory over Watford at Vicarage Road on 30 April 2011. By the looks of it, this could be the shortest reign as champions in the history of mankind, as QPR could be docked 15 points in the next couple of days if found guilty of basically breaching all the rules in the Football Association (FA) rulebook. Most of the charges center around the illegal ownership of the Argentine midfielder Faurlin, but allegedly QPR also managed to lie to the FA, forge some documents and bring the game into disrepute while they were at it. Flavio and Bernie are likely to appeal but it doesn't look good. Cardiff may be a shithole, but we will probably be back next year.

Next stop: Destination #25: Sipping Port with the Portuguese Doctors (Porto, Portugal)

Note (1): Ben and Sarah, please ignore this part, we absolutely loved your city. Honestly.

Destination #23: Chilling out in the Icehotel in Jukkasjärvi (Lapland)

Wednesday 6 April 2011 - Monday 11 April 2011

Nothing really prepares you for the Icehotel. Not only is it well hidden in the most northern regions of Swedish Lapland – a sweet 200km north of the Arctic Circle for that matter – it is also completely made out of snow and ice. The name probably gave it away.

So after a good 14 hours of travel on SAS planes full of screaming Scandi babies, with a refuel in a town with one of the cutest names in at least our recent memory (Lulea), we finally arrived in Kiruna, which is as close as you can get to Jukkasjärvi. But then the real adventure started.

Every year the Icehotel is built up from scratch, opening its doors in November and melting away again around May. The hotel has around 60 rooms, with every room looking pretty much like an igloo. Although the outside temperature can drop to as low as minus 42 degree Celsius during the darkest of winter months, the average room temperature stays pretty constant at a chilly minus 5 degrees Celsius. Fortunately, we got our timing spot-on and we didn’t have to suffer temperatures much lower than minus 7 degrees Celsius. 

Having found the necessary Dutch courage in the Icebar, we made our way over to our “Iceroom” for the first night. Sleeping on a big block of ice, with a mattress and some reindeer skin, while wearing long johns, a fleece and a woolen hat is an experience to say the least. Was it cold? Ehmm yep. Did we sleep well? Actually, like babies. One piece of advice, don't go to the toilet in the middle of the night. Em found this one out the hard way.

Some warm pomegranate juice, a hot sauna and a big Scandi breakfast got us back to humanity again in the morning. To complete the defrosting process we spent the next couple of nights in the warmer (non-ice) chalet rooms.

A visit to Lapland would not be complete without spotting the Northern Lights (tick) and of course some dog sledding. The dog sledding was quite an experience. Basically you have 12 dogs, or six pairs of two, in which the two paired guys seem to hate each other with a vengeance. To make things worse, these Alaskan huskies all fart like troopers, making sure you can make more than an educated guess of what they just had for breakfast. And just to complete the picture, these guys even manage to take a dump while running at speeds of around 20km/h. Think of it as "squat-shitting", quite impressive although slightly unfortunate if they have diarrhea and you happen to sit a bit too close to the action for your own liking. Amazingly each of these dogs apparently burns up to 11,000 calories a day, not bad if you take into account that a Tour de France cyclist burns around 5,000 calories during a Tour day. And at 25kg these dogs are only a fraction of the weight. Impressive stuff.

After three nights in the Icehotel we couldn't resist but hitting the Swedish capital on our way back home. The blog wouldn't be complete without some wining and dining recommendations, although to be fair, special thanks is due to the Swedish House Mafia (aka Andy and Jess) for pointing us in the right direction. So for sleeping and a killer breakfast, stay at the Lydmar Hotel, for some fishy lunch drop by Sturehof and for a nice dinner either opt for Backfickan Djuret (meat) or B.A.R. (fish). The only thing we missed out on was Operakallaren Bakfickan, which, according to legend, has the best meatballs in town.

So far so good, 23 destinations down the line and now only 5 to go. Stick with us, we are almost there.

Next stop: Destination #24: Seeing QPR being crowned Champions in Cardiff (Wales)

Destination #22: Skiing for dummies in Saas-Fee (Switzerland)

Friday 25 February 2011 - Saturday 5 March 2011

Having spent less than 20 hours in London after our return from mojito-drenched Havana, we exchanged shorts and shirts for ski jackets and woolen socks and boarded our flight to Switzerland.

There is a first time for everything and after sky-diving in Queenstown, bungee jumping with AJ Hacket and surviving La Paz's Death Road, skiing was inevitably next. Em is an experienced skier, but I on the other hand, have happily survived the last 34 odd years by staying well clear of the ski slopes.

So off we went, from London to Geneva, via Neuchatel to Saas-Fee with Em's aunt and uncle and her two little cousins Mimi and Rachel in tow.

A nice chap from Portsmouth called Chris was my ski teacher. All I can say is that it was a humbling experience. We started off on the "nursery slope" with the "other" three-year olds. It is the sort of place where you don't really fit in if you don't have a Mickey Mouse cap. On my slalom skis (a practical joke from the rental guy) and wearing ski boots previously worn by Darth Vader, I made my way down the slightest of slopes in an agonisingly slow fashion. At the same time a dozen three and four-year olds speeded me by flashing their Mickey Mouse ears in my face. Em quickly abandoned me once it became clear that I would never be able to qualify for the Winter Olympics and she got herself a more advanced ski teacher.

Getting off a ski lift mid-way a slope is definitely one of the most stressful things I have done this year. I guess there is no better way to really wake up in the morning than tumbling out of a ski lift taking the unsuspecting guy behind you with you.

So after a couple of days of lessons with Chris, the cheeky cookie monsters Mimi (9) and Rachel (11) convinced me that it was time to go up to the top (at 3,200m) and ski all the way down. It is those little things in life that make you later realise that someone doesn't like you (or in this case, is after you Wii). It took me over half an hour to come down one of those red slopes (which apparently should have been labeled a black slope), having crashed down twice in the process. It took Rachel and Mimi less than half a minute. And then there was still a long way to go after that. All I can say is that I survived. Just.

We had a fabulous time though, with beautiful weather, great powder snow and fabulous company. Thanks is due to the cheeky monkeys Rachel and Mimi, who not only happen to be fantastic skiers but also are pretty decent Wii players, the only houseman we know who divides his time between shorting the market and shopping, Albert, and the snowboard Queen Sofie who made sure we didn't miss out on the apres-ski. I think I can get into that skiing stuff, but next time I want one of those Mickey Mouse hats.

Next Destination: #23: The Ice Hotel in Lapland (Sweden)

Destination #21: Fidel’s Havana (Cuba)

Wednesday 10 February 2011 – Wednesday 24 February 2011

Havana

Havana is a city where time stood still. The place is plastered with beautiful art-deco buildings but it seems that the last time anyone bothered to do them up was in the 1950s. All buildings seem to be in desperate need of a lick of paint and a pair of new windows (or just windows full stop). And it is not just one building, basically each and every one of them seems to be crumbling with time. But once you add a bit of sun, a bunch of colourful classic American cars, some Cohibas and a couple of mojitos, you actually have a fantastic city. You can see why they used to call Havana the Paris of Latin America. We loved it. 

Cuba is all about three guys: Fidel Castro, Che Guevara and Ernest Hemingway. The Old City of Havana was clearly Hemingway’s domain. Every bar he once stumbled out of, serves his favourite drink, the daiquiri. His local bar was El Floridita, despite the fact that it is nowadays packed with tourists, they still manage to make a killer raspberry daiquiri. We also spent a couple of nights in Hotel Ambos Mundos, where Hemingway famously wrote "For Whom The Bell Tolls" after his drinking sessions.

In between sipping mojitos on the Plaza Vieja we managed to pick up some cigars at the Partagas cigar factory, one of Havana’s oldest cigar factories. They even throw in a tour where you can watch the 400+ workers roll Montecristos and Cohibas (with most of them trying to sell you some of their just finished products at bargain prices when the tour guide is looking the other way).

Also on our list was the Museo de la Revolución, the former Presidential palace, still riddled with bullet holes from a botched assassination attempt on US-backed Cuban President Batista in 1957. It is clear they are not too fond of Americans here as the remains of a shot down US spy plane is displayed outside, next to the 18m “Granma” yacht in which Fidel made the trip from Mexico to Cuba to kick-start the revolution in 1956.

Despite the fact we had a reservation, Hotel Nacional lived up to its reputation and basically told us to go and sleep with the fishes. Hotel Nacional’s claim to fame is that it hosted the largest ever get together of the North American mob in 1946. Organised by nobody else than Lucky Luciano with entertainment provided by a certain Frank Sinatra.

We were also in for an unpleasant surprise at the Gran Teatro de La Habana after having queued for over an hour and a half to see a performance of the infamous Ballet Nacional de Cuba. By the time we arrived at the ticket booth, all the tickets designated for foreigners were sold out – that would be all 25 of them - and the remaining tickets were for Cuban nationals only. We tried to go down the “investment banking route” and throw some money at it, but they didn’t want any of it. Communism clearly works here.

We finished our first visit to Havana with lunch at Edificio Bacardi, the über-kitch former headquarters of the rum manufacturer, whose founding family was unglamorously kicked off the island after the Cuban revolution. As a consequence, no Bacardi rum has been sold on the island for the last 50 years.

Varadero

After a couple of days in Havana, we jumped on a Viazul bus to Varadero. The contrast couldn’t have been greater. Vardero is basically Cuba’s version of hell. Over fifty all-you-can-eat beach resorts, predominantly populated by Canada and Russia’s finest.

We checked in at the Paradisus Princessa del Mar Resort & Spa, which boosts the only Japanese restaurant in the world that doesn’t have any chopsticks (the Japanese chef was called “Juan Carlos” which should have been an indication of what was to come). To be fair it wasn’t all that bad and we did what we came for: soaking up some sun. We also ran into a nice couple from Gothenburg who happened to own one of the largest spring manufacturers in Sweden, aptly called Gotsprings. You just can’t make these things up.

Santa Clara

We got another Viazul bus to drop us off in Santa Clara, this time in the middle of the night. Given a serious lack of hotels outside Havana, we made a reservation at a casa particular, a widespread concept in Cuba where locals rent out their 2^nd bedroom to tourists. Unfortunately for us, the owner of the casa that was supposed to pick us up – a bloke called Angel, who looked a lot like Fat James’ Kiwi mate Cameron but then with more hair - was fast asleep by the time we arrived and to make matters worse, his casa was fully booked. But not to worry, at 2 am he woke up his cousin who also had a room for rent and we made that our base for the next two days.

If the Old City of Havana is all about Hemingway, Santa Clara is all about Che Guevara. And he wasn’t even from there (he was born in Argentina). After fighting alongside Fidel and a short stint as the Alan Greenspan of Cuba (Fidel appointed him as Central Bank Governor after the revolution), Che moved to Bolivia to start another revolution. Unfortunately for him a Bolivian fire squad got the best of him in 1967. Initially secretly buried near an airstrip in the middle of bloody nowhere, his remains were re-discovered in 1997 and were returned to Cuba to be reburied at Santa Clara’s main landmark, the Monumento Ernesto Che Guevara.

We also splashed out on some cinema tickets – £1 each – to watch Tony Scott’s movie “Unstoppable” being played from a DVD player on a giant screen in Santa Clara’s only cinema. What can we say? It definitely was an experience.

Cienfuegos

When we stepped off our bus in Cienfuegos an over-excited messenger was waiting for us at the gate holding a sign with our names on it. He guided us to our next casa particular – a neighbour of a friend of a cousin, or something like that, well you get the drift – on his bike. 

Cienfuegos is situated at a bay and labeled a “French-flavoured city” by our Lonely Planet, whatever that may mean. We spent our afternoons playing cribbage in the sun on a terrace on the main square, while desperately trying to avoid a dodgy Belgian guy with a ponytail called Ronny who was looking to chat about anything to anyone.

Trinidad

Trinidad is probably the most eye-catching city we visited on our Cuban roadtrip. It is a colourful former Spanish colonial settlement, which seemingly never moved on from the 1850s. 

We stayed with a lovely family in another casa particular, again organised by the owners of the previous casa we stayed at in Cienfuegos (although this time there was no messenger on a bike waiting for us when we got off the bus). There was not that much to do in Trinidad besides having a stroll around, sip mojitos and listen to some music (everyone seems to be related to some bloke who was part of the Buena Vista Social Club), but that suited us just fine.

Havana

A long bus journey brought us back to Havana for our last couple of days in the Caribbean. This time we opted to stay in Hotel Saratoga, Havana’s one and only boutique hotel. The rooftop pool and bar with a view over El Capitolio itself was worth the stay.

Before making our way to the airport we squeezed in a visit to the Changa Mederos stadium for some baseball. We witnessed the most bizarre baseball game ever when Los Metropolitanos were held 9-9 by Santiago de Cuba at the end of the 9^th inning but then went on to win it 15-14 in the 10^th inning. Due to the confusing currency situation – there are two currencies in circulation in Cuba, one for foreigners, called Cuban Convertibles, and one for locals, called Cuban Pesos, in theory of equal value, but in reality the Convertibles are worth 25x as much as the Pesos – we made a popcorn seller’s day when we paid him 1 Convertible for a bag of popcorn for which the going rate was 1 Peso. He smiled all the way to the bank.

Cuba is a bit of a cultural gem in the Caribbean and probably the last chance to see communism at work. The place is safe, the weather is fantastic, the local population is super-friendly and the mojitos are dead cheap. And to make things even better, there are almost no Americans around (American citizens can be fined up to $250,000 for traveling to Cuba without permission). Only really bad thing about Cuba is the food. It is all about carbs and not the most tasteful. Rice, with beans, potatoes and some chicken seems to be the national dish. But the best thing about Cuba must be Havana. Havana has just such a chilled-out atmosphere that it is hard not to fall in love with the place. It is probably our favourite city so far.

Next stop: Destination #22: Skiing for dummies in Saas-Fee (Switzerland)