CYCLE TOURING CUBA

CUBA

 527 Kilometres – 29 Days

29 October – 26 November 2014

Photos

29 October - Montego Bay, Jamaica – Havana, Cuba - By plane

My obvious next destination from Jamaica was Cuba, barely 400 kilometres north of Jamaica. The most economical flight to Havana, Cuba, nevertheless went via Panama, a relatively long 2,000-kilometre detour.

The taxi ride to Montego Bay airport couldn't have been more than five kilometres. Mercifully, the airport had a wrapping service as I doubted whether my homemade bike box, held together with duct tape, would last.

Right from the start, Cuba was a different cup of tea. The first thing noticed was the abundance of space on the plane, quite a rarity in this day and age. One could even spread out to enjoy a little snooze before descending into Cuba. Approaching Cuba, a highly unusual sunset greeted us and one could see well-organised farmlands below (I guess they were tobacco fields).

Clearing customs and immigration was exceptionally easy. Afterwards, I excitedly hailed a taxi to Hostal Peregrino, situated in an old building in Centro Havana. You can imagine my surprise when I rang the doorbell and a key, tied to a string, was lowered from the window above. This marked the start of a remarkable visit to fascinating Cuba. Unfortunately, the hotel didn't receive my email, and all rooms were fully booked; luckily, their neighbour still had space. It, in fact, turned out more convenient with the bike. The family was highly welcoming but, regrettably, only spoke limited English and me even less Spanish. The place was comfortable with a fan, air-con, private bathroom and even a little bar fridge.

Most confusing was the Cuban money. Cuba had two currencies: CUC (1 CUC = 1 US$) and pesos (Moneda Nacional MN) (1 CUC = 25 pesos). The accommodation and taxi fare were quoted in CUC and I guessed it standard practice to quote tourists in CUC.

 

30 - 31 October - Havana

Following a breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs, I set out, camera in hand, to explore Havana, referred to as "La Habana". As always, nothing was as envisaged, and not all the media reports are accurate.

The 50-year-old American trade embargo was still in place, but that didn't mean Cuba didn't trade with other countries. Havana had a fair number of new vehicles; the taxi from the airport was a brand-new Toyota van. Virtually all cars, however, date back to the 1960s. Of course, not all buildings were old and falling apart either. Still, the old ones were far more photogenic, and one, consequently, got the idea that the entire country was falling apart.

Investigating the old part was best done on foot as the old quarters were blessed with an ensemble of old pre-communist era buildings. The best part of the day was spent admiring these old buildings and exploring the narrow lanes.

I would have been foolish not to drive along the Malecon sea drive in an old convertible, and thought the only thing missing was a bottle of rum.

The next day was spent much the same, only in a different part where gracious old buildings, several already restored, lined the streets. My walkabout took me past colourful cigar-chewing ladies, horse carts and bicycle taxis (not only for the use of tourists). I passed the most realistic human statue ever encountered; made even more surprising by his placement next to an identical statue. Only donating money in his collection box made him move.

Giggling, I made my way along narrow lanes, where front doors led directly onto pavements and where salsa music emanated from about every doorway. Music, dance and art were everywhere in Havana, and practically everyone could play an instrument.

The waterfront made a perfect spot to snap a few pics and grab a bite to eat at sunset. With such an abundance to see, one could easily spend a few days in Havana. I was however keen to get going and planned to return to Havana for a few days before flying out.

 

1 November - Havana – Bahia Honda - 132 km

The section between Havana and Bahia Honda made less exciting cycling. Still, I was delighted to be back on my trusted old iron horse (or iron camel). The mild headwind encountered made the going slow but kept me cool at the same time.

Though the map indicated the road as an "Autopista", the surface was in poor condition and the going slow. The best part of the day was spent cycling past farmlands where farmers still used oxen to plough the land, and the horse and cart remained in daily use. The aroma from a roadside "panaderia" lured me in, and freshly baked rolls made a good snack while snaking along narrow country lanes. A wave of gratitude and joy washed over me for the opportunity to cycle in this fascinating country.

In Bahia Honda, a "hospedaje" owned by Beysi and her family was a real treat. They fed me copious amounts of food, and in broken Spanish, I tried communicating, letting them know where I was from and where I was going - not that I knew exactly where that was.

 

2 - 3 November - Bahia Honda – Vinales - 85 km

After a healthy breakfast of fruit juice, fruit, coffee, egg, and bread, I left my generous family. The bumpy route continued along a minor path, filled with cigar-chewing Cubans on horse carts or ox wagons. As the previous day, the going was slow as the route slowly led uphill along the Vinales valley. The valley was fertile, and my path, hence, littered with fruit stalls where offers, not only of papaya juice but also pineapples, were received, none of which were refused. It felt like I'd a constant smile as my path took me past tobacco plantations and vast limestone karsts until, eventually, reaching Vinales.

Vinales was touristy with literally hundreds of places advertising rooms to let and almost the same number of restaurants, quite a feat for such a small settlement. People came to Vinales to explore nearby Vinales National Park and the valley that has been declared a UNESCO site. A 100 million years ago underground rivers ate away at the limestone bedrock, creating vast caverns. Eventually, the roof collapsed, leaving only the eroded walls we see today.

Finding accommodation was effortless, and the one located was a large and comfortable abode. The establishment had a restaurant that served delicious vegetable soup (and, of course, a "Cristal", the Cuban beer). Plans were on staying in Vinales the following day. Therefore, it was late before falling asleep to a salsa beat in the far-off distance.

The next morning was spent investigating a nearby cave and a tobacco farm where some of Cuba's finest cigars were still hand-rolled. The cave was interesting and said an ancient indigenous dwelling. After a short walk, I came to an underground river where motorboats took one the rest of the way.

By evening, I located an  internet café and uploaded a few pics before falling too far behind. The internet was expensive but far worse was the long queue waiting to use the only seven machines in town. By the time my turn came, I’d scarcely started and was told they were closing.

More frustrating than the long queue at the internet was the hissing sound from the touts. They had a habit of hissing like snakes when wanting your attention, quite annoying, but this was Cuba where things worked differently.

 

4 November - Vinales – San Cristobal - 110 km

Departing my comfortable abode, I followed my nose in an easterly direction, unsure where the road led. The area wasn't especially picturesque and I pushed onwards until reaching San Cristobal. A headwind prevailed all day and hence a relief to reach the tiny village of San Cristobal. Whether the town would offer accommodation was doubtful but, sure enough, it did. The abode had a mirror on the ceiling and I surmised it might not have been intended for a single person.

Still, the family was typical Cuban with trinkets displayed in the cabinet, and photos in old frames hanging askew on the wall. The Cubans had the same family values as the South Americans. Family members and friends were thus constantly popping in, resulting in an endless flow of comings and goings. San Cristobal was a pleasant rural area, nearly like a big farm, where there always seemed a cock crowing and a dog barking in the distance.

 

5 November - San Christobal – San Antonio de los Banos - 85 km

Records showed 24% of the population was of mixed race, 65% White, 10% Black and 1% Asian. Of course, one could easily question these figures as I barely ever saw “White” people in Cuba. Still, then again, race is very much a social construct. If you ask me, the old model for classifying people goes back to the 18th century and is slightly outdated. The so-called “White” people were, obviously, of Spanish descent and many French immigrants who came to Cuba in the early part of the 19th century. Even so, it remained surprising to see blond-haired women in these tiny villages who looked kind of out of place. Maybe I’d been in Jamaica too long.

The way to San Antonio headed past small communities where people went about their daily business. People seemed continuously busy fixing things, and the word “resolver” was easily the most used word in Cuba. These settlements had numerous hole-in-the-wall type shops selling bread rolls, juice or pizzas, all at a few pesos.

The plan was to head to Batabane where one could get a ferry to the nearby Isla de la Juventud. The diving was particularly good off the west coast of the island, but halfway through the day I learned getting a ferry ticket in Batabane could be challenging as tickets were generally sold in Havana as a bus-and-boat combo.

At Guira de Melena, a change of plans made me head the 13 kilometres north to San Antonio instead. San Antonio had a few interesting things to see. Still, I missed the town and landed at a hotel along the highway outside of town. This wasn’t a major disaster and I stayed put. Upon returning to my place, the restaurant served good food and discovered the only English TV channel showed the American election. What a circus! The Cubans must have thanked their lucky stars; they didn’t have to deal with such a spectacle – it could have been precisely why authorities broadcasted it.

 

6 November - San Antonio de los Banos – Nueva Paz - 90 km app

The days were slowly getting a rhythm of their own as I biked up and down hills, through the countryside past tiny settlements, all (seemingly) identical with horse carts, hole-in-the-wall pastry shops, the odd peso pizza joint and “refrescos” stand, where one could fill your bottle with juice at a mere three pesos.

Towards the end of the day, and reaching Nueva Paz, the map didn’t show another village apart from tiny Nueva Paz. To the villagers’ surprise, a foreigner cycled into their little town enquiring about a casa. More surprised than the villagers, I discovered the village amid a festival. I wasn’t sure what the celebration was about, but I assumed the event was important as the only two places with rooms to rent were full.

A hospitable family invited me in, and as can be expected, my stay turned out quite a novelty. Casa particulars or homestays catered to travellers and generally consisted of separate quarters with an en-suite bathroom – all extremely luxurious compared to typical family life in Cuba. Staying in a Cuban home was totally different. Firstly, someone had to give up their bed, and there wasn’t a great deal of privacy as the bedroom had two entrances. One was blocked off with a curtain and led to the dining room. The other one led to the lounge/kitchen area and was fitted with a rickety concertina door. The bathroom consisted of a bucket shower, which I didn’t mind. Toilet paper was far too luxurious, and good ol’ newspaper did the trick. A meal, large enough to feed an army, was prepared and encouraged by the family, I ate far too much. Embarrassingly, I was fed first, and the family only ate afterwards. I hoped it wasn’t their only food.

The family consisted of a mum, dad, grandmother (whom they took care of) and a dwarf daughter. This is only mentioned as it came as a surprise to spot at least three dwarfs in Jamaica (considered excessive for such a small island). The family was super kind, and I regretted not being fluent in Spanish, but at least I could tell them where I was from and showed them the map of my cycle route. They were stunned one could do such a distance on a bicycle (at times, I am equally stunned).

The daughter’s room became mine. Fortunately, the room had a regular bed; only the mirror was tricky. She later offered me the use of her soap, powder and other cosmetics - too sweet. She was immensely proud of having these items. In Cuba, any cosmetic items, including soap and creams, was valuable, and beggars typically asked for soap and lotions instead of money.

 

7-8 November - Nueva Paz – Playa Larga - 100 app km

The way to Playa Larga was along a highway, and the road surface was significantly better, making effortless cycling. Not a great deal was happening, except a few restaurants which made a welcome distraction. Eventually, I stuck the iPod in my ears and turned off to Playa Larga.

Larga was one of the two beaches invaded by the US in April 1961. One could see monuments and signboards keeping memories of the revolution alive. Playa Larga had a bunch of casa particulars lining the shore and, as a result, not challenging to find a bed. The casa chosen provided food, and thus not necessary to move one step; all I had to do was sit on the veranda and watch the bay.

The following morning was laundry day after which I took off searching for a shop selling hair stuff as I lost my comb. Losing things became my superpower, and I was particularly good at it. Instead of a comb, a diving shop was spotted and I was just in time to join them for two dives. Teaming up with two very pleasant and experienced divers, we happily plunged into the crystal-clear waters of the Bay of Pigs. It turned out two beautiful dives, and I was incredibly pleased with the opportunity. The dive was an easy shore entry. About 30 metres offshore was a massive drop-off that reportedly bottomed out at a depth of 300 metres. I didn’t check! Visibility was crystal clear, which made peering over the edge, into the abyss immensely exciting. Fantastic stuff, all at CUC25.

The Bay of Pigs (known as “the Bay of Pigs fiasco”) had a fascinating history. The Bay was where mighty America tried to invade tiny Cuba in 1961. One thousand four hundred CIA-trained men, financed by a US$13 million military budget, landed in Playa Giron intending to wipe out the Cuban Air Force. Castro had been forewarned and had moved his Air Force the previous week. To make matters worse, the Cubans sunk the two US supply ships leaving 1,400 men stranded on the beach. The US government didn’t rescue the poor stranded soldiers: 114 were killed. Later the remaining soldiers were captured and traded at US53$ million worth of food and medicine. A genuine David and Goliath tale, if you ask me.

 

9 November - Playa Larga – Playa Giron - 34 km

At my casa, I met two cyclists who’d come from Cienfuegos. They informed me of a considerably shorter coastal route between Cienfuegos and Playa Larga but, in the process, they picked up 15 punctures between them. I, there and then, decided to take the roundabout way (approx. 130 kilometres). Not being in any hurry, a slow cycle led along the coast to Playa Giron where an “all-inclusive” resort at CUC42 made comfortable digs. Albeit more costly than the CUC20 casas, the price included—three meals and all drinks, from beer to cocktails.

The resort was a strange place, about the size of a small village, right upon the beach but neglected. Only a few bungalows were occupied, the lawn was knee-high, and scarcely anything appeared in working order. The food was delicious and consisted of a buffet lunch, dinner, and breakfast; the problem is one could only eat until one had enough. However, the two genuinely nice cocktails made up for the lack of other facilities.

 

10 November - Playa Giron – Cienfuegos - 70 km

Signboards indicated 94 kilometres to Cienfuegos. The going was effortless as the majority of the day was spent biking along a low-lying and swampy area where the road was in good condition. Now and again, one had to give way to herds of cows or cycle on the opposite side of the road as half the way was used to dry rice or wheat. My odometer wasn’t working but I guessed I travelled about 40 kilometres until reaching a new highway, which indicated Cienfuegos was only 30 kilometres further. I’m always happy about a shortcut and arrived in Cienfuegos earlier than anticipated.

A good few people lured one to their casa particular, and it was a pleasure to give them my business. The prices were all identical, and the accommodation almost similar. The lady where I bunked down seemed pleased she had a guest and went out of her way to put the bike away and made things as pleasurable as possible.

An evening stroll along the waterfront and around the central plaza revealed hives of activities. In the process, I met Jenn and Jeff from Canada (travelling by bicycle). They mentioned they saw me in Vinales. I’m impressed by people who can identify one off the bike without the disguise of a cap and shades. How incredibly observant of them.

 

11-12 November - Cienfuegos – Trinidad - 80 km

I woke to the clip-clop of horse’s hooves, had a hearty breakfast and hopped on the bike to Trinidad, Cuba’s best-preserved colonial town. At first, the route was slightly hilly, but levelled out on reaching the coast, and it became a pleasant ride past scenic beaches and bays.

One meets the most likeable people during one's travels, and this day was no different. I stopped to chat with a lovely couple from Switzerland (if I remember correctly).

Trinidad (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) was swarming with tourists and tour buses. The narrow cobblestoned streets could hardly accommodate all the busses, bicycle taxis and horse carts. Hundreds of casa particulars lined the streets. Soon, I was nestled in a roomy house with a great veranda leading to an enclosed backyard.

A quick shower and I were strolling, camera in hand, together with countless other tourists down the narrow lanes of this 500-year-old Spanish colonial settlement.

In the morning, I emerged to the hustle and bustle of people peddling wares from bicycles in the street outside. In a sing-song way, they announced whatever they had to sell. I hurried to the window and smiled at the scene of brightly coloured buildings, cobblestone streets and old men selling bread from bicycles calling “El pan, el pan!” This was Cuba at its absolute best.

 

13 - 14 November - Trinidad – Sancti Spiritus - 70 km

My path followed the Valle de Los Ingenios, where sugar was grown in the earlier years. Today, one can still see a few of that brutal era's old sugar mills, slave quarters, and manor houses. Unfortunately, the Manaca Iznaga with its 44-metre-high tower, used for watching the slaves, had too many tour busses to my liking, and I didn’t climb to the top; I only took a few pics and departed in a hurry. Nevertheless, albeit several attractions were scattered about, I kept going due to my first experience.

Sancti Spiritus, the oldest European settlement in Cuba, turned out a hidden gem. Smaller than Trinidad, and less visited, the village had several lovely, old buildings from the colonial era. However, as the town had fewer buildings than Trinidad, almost all were renovated and strolling the charming centre was a pleasure.

I came down with a stomach bug during the night and spent nearly the entire night hanging over the toilet bowl. When daylight broke, I was weak and tired and stayed in bed. As the day progressed, I slowly recovered and by lunchtime could face a cup of tea and a plate of fruit. Luckily, Hostal Paraiso was comfortable and the owners accommodating.

 

15 November - Sancti Spiritus – Ciego de Avila - 76 km

Feeling considerably better, although weak (seeing I only had a plate of fruit the previous day), I loaded my mobile home to cycle the short distance to Ciego de Avila. The ride came with a mild headwind, but I caught the slipstream of a horse cart, and we slowly headed toward Ciega de Avila. By the time I stopped to fill up with water, I assumed I’d lost them but soon caught up. There was a considerable amount of laughing and waving, and I’d a distinct feeling they waited.

Ciego de Avila was a tiny place with a few old historical buildings. Unfortunately, a hotel in dire need of TLC was home that night, and even without hot water in the shower, one couldn’t beat the price.

While meandering the streets in the cooler night air, I passed a theatre filled to the brim. The coolest thing was theatregoers still made use of horse-and-cart taxis to and from the theatre. How cool is that?

Still not feeling 100% but having to eat something, I purchased a five-peso pizza, which, as indicated by the price, wasn’t large (US$1 – 25 pesos).

 

16 November - Ciego de Avila – Moron - 40 km

Even though tired, I loaded up and cycled north to Moron, a small town en route to Cayo Coco. I’d no intention of going to Cayo Coco as it was understood the city was packed with all-inclusive resorts. Unfortunately, the weather came in and started raining, which turned out not the typical 30-minute storm. As a result, I arrived in Moron sopping wet but mercifully uncovered a surprisingly large amount of casa particulars.

The Maron was a typical Cuban town. The main road was lined with old colonial buildings, a central plaza, and a few hole-in-the-wall eateries. Yet, surprisingly the town had a grand-looking railway station built in 1923, complete with horse carriages waiting to cart passengers to and from the station; one could have sworn it was 1923. A walk along the candy-coloured colonnade pavement, with music coming from open doorways, was typical Cuban. Old bicycles were leaning haphazardly against walls, and a good few pay-phones were still mounted upon the walls. It felt as if caught in a time warp and I loved every single moment of it.

By evening, villagers placed chairs outside doorways and watched the world go by while chatting with neighbours. What a social bunch the Cubans were. Street vendors magically appeared selling cake and popcorn – one can’t fault a country where cake is considered street food.

 

17 November - Moron – San Jose del Largo - 60 km app

I turned my bike in the direction of Havana, and while a good few days remained on my visa, the time had come to move in the direction of the capital. I read that San Jose had a spa and searched for these magical baths.

The mild tailwind made pleasurable cycling and an early arrival at San Jose del Largo. The spa was slightly dilapidated as the majority of these types of places were. Still, I spent a good hour in the bath, which consisted of a huge undercover one. The pool was right over the spring's eye and had a sandy bottom where one could see the water bubbling up from a tiny volcano.

Afterwards, I met two cyclists from Canada. They had been travelling a year and planned on cycling at least one more. We had a meal together and shared a bottle of wine, compliments of my hosts.

 

18 November - San Jose del Largo – Remedios - 70 km

Mercifully, I’d rid myself of the stomach bug and the day became effortless riding to Remedios. Remedios was one of the first villages founded by the Spanish way back in 1513 and I bedded down at a place right next to the central plaza. There wasn’t much to do in this tiny village besides discovering old buildings scattered around the square.

I’d much time on my hands and, therefore, spent it using the internet before having a bite to eat. Doing the laundry was a mistake as it started raining during the night and nothing was quite dry by morning.

 

19 November - Remedios – Quemado de Guines - 110 km app

Packing my still damp laundry, I headed south. The intention was to go to Santa Martha, but I couldn’t face another touristy town and turned off and cycled along the coast. I half regretted the decision when the rain came; rain which continued the rest of the day. It rained so hard that water couldn’t drain fast enough, and my path soon turned into a mini river. With no reason or place to stop, I proceeded until reaching an area with accommodation. People pointed me to a “hotel” but it had no rooms, only a restaurant, even though it was called a hotel.

In bucketing rain, and sloshing through ankle-deep water, accommodation was located. Still, with digs rented by the hour, I’d to wait until the occupants were done. In the meantime, a restaurant made a good spot to while away the time; besides that, I was starving. Upon my return, the room was available, and I could hang out my wet clothes and change into something dry.

 

20 November - Quemado de Guines – Hotel Elguea and spa - 60 km

As my abode was an hourly joint, no breakfast was included. Still, I was given coffee and a few bananas before getting underway. It rained the entire way, and on reaching the turnoff to a hot spring, turning in was a no-brainer and I headed the eight kilometres down the path, where I arrived soaked to the bone.

The government-run hotels were huge but usually without anyone in sight. Goats roaming the garden looked up in surprise at someone disturbing the peace.

The bedroom was huge and comfortable, and I couldn’t complain. However, the thermal baths were in a separate building and quite hot (approx. 50°C). Hungry and with the restaurant prices reasonable, I first had lunch before entering the baths. The soak was short as the water was far too hot.

Later I repacked my panniers and with little else to do had a beer or two ahead of supper. This time a few more people were in the dining room as workers from the electrical company who worked in the area stayed at the hotel. Even though the restaurant had a menu, they only had one choice, similar to lunch: only chicken instead of beef, everything else was identical.

According to legend, a slave who had contracted a severe skin disease was banished by his owner to what is known as Banos de Elguea. Later, the man returned cured entirely, and a bathhouse was built on the spot.

 

21 November - Hotel Elguea and spa – Varadero - 110 km

Though it rained throughout the night, by morning the weather had cleared. The route was flooded, but a tailwind made pleasurable riding. The touristy beach town of Varadero was situated along a narrow peninsula along Cuba’s north coast and littered with hotels and casa particulars.

Sadly, the weather never cleared, and thus no enjoying Varadero’s famous 20-kilometre-long beach. So instead, I went in search of food, and returning, rain made me rush back before becoming completely soaked. Varadero was only 140 kilometres from Havana, and I was hoping the weather would be kind to me the next day.

 

22 November - Valadero – Playa Hermosa - 120 km

To my dismay, I emerged, not to the tip-tip of raindrops upon the roof, but rain streaming down, more resembling a tap left open. Loading up was with more care than usual, making sure all my stuff would make it through yet one more rainy day. Thank goodness, the rain had eased when I reached the corner shop to have a cup of coffee and the (by then) ever-familiar toasted cheese sandwich.

A tailwind made riding a pleasure, and I caught up to two cyclists from the Netherlands holidaying in Cuba. This was only their second day of riding, and they were taking it easy. We chatted as we pedalled along and, as they were heading to Playas del Este, I followed suit. Then, in the dying moments of the day, it started spitting, and I was happy to call it a day.

Villa Playa Hermosa wasn’t much of a villa but was cheap at CUC13 per person. My room had no hot water, and the TV didn’t work. The place was popular with people from Habana; the music was going ten to a dozen and guests were already far into the rum by the time I arrived.

 

23-25 November - Playa Hermosa – Havana - 25 km

The ride into Havana was short, and, mercifully, it didn’t rain. On arrival at my casa I discovered them fully booked. I considered this a misunderstanding as I booked a room before heading out. The misunderstanding was cleared up when I showed them the booking. All’s well that ends well. I’d two days in Havana to repack my panniers and bike for the long and roundabout flight to Africa, where I intended to spend time with my ageing mum before continuing my quest.

My visit to Cuba was fascinating and it was interesting to talk with Cubans as they were a highly educated nation. In fact, Cuba had about nine physicians per 1,000 people, whereas Africa only had approximately 0.2 doctors per 1,000, a substantial difference. Albeit economically poor, I thought they were culturally rich as theatres were well supported and it appeared everyone could play an instrument.

 

26 November - Havana, Cuba – Montego Bay, Jamaica - By Plane

There surely couldn’t be anything more inconvenient than a 5.30 a.m. flight which usually meant a wakeup call of around 2.30 a.m. When flying with the bike, I preferred getting to the airport early, allowing enough time to have the bike wrapped and pay the bike fee, generally at an obscure office stuck away at the far side of the airport.

My casa owner assured me he arranged a taxi van to the airport. At 2.45 a.m. I tiptoed downstairs and was relieved to find the taxi already there.

Alas, the taxi turned out not a van but an old Mazda hatchback. One could only laugh at the bizarreness of it all as the bicycle was half hanging out the back. I giggled uncontrollably all the way to the airport. The shockless old Mazda splattered, hiccupped and farted black fumes as we bounced over potholes in the airport direction. I feared the bike could slide right out of its (by now) sad-looking box. Not only was the box made from two boxes stuck together in Jamaica and held together with an abundance of duct tape, but it was by then, terribly out of shape and hardly capable of holding a bicycle. Fortunately, we arrived on time and with the bike still in the box.

While the airport had a wrapping service, it took convincing the operator wrapping a bike box could be done. Eventually, the whole shebang was booked in. With everything done, I could relax ahead of my long flight to South Africa. The plan was to visit Cape Town for a month or so before heading to the Arabian Peninsula to cycle a few of the countries on that exceedingly dry peninsula. With this came to an end my cycle ride through the Americas. A journey which took me from Ushuaia in southern Argentina to Seattle, USA and across the country to Boston, with the islands of Jamaica and Cuba thrown in for good measure.