After a great stay at Papo’s House, where we had many chats with the neighbors before we finally left, we headed out after a great breakfast. Wow, they really provide a selection for breakfast ; eggs, bread, juice, coffee, fresh fruit, toast and jam!
We’d enjoyed the shower and feeling clean, a welcome break from the sticky salt air during our time on the boat, but this wasn’t to last long. Despite the sea breeze and being early in the day, it was going to be a hot one.

West of industrial city of Matanza, and the turquoise blue water of the Caribbean sparkled. The natural ocean landscape, a stark contrast to the over-powering stench of the fuel refineries dotting the coastline on route to Havana.

Back in Cienfuegos, Paul had given us a GPS ref point for the, now derelict National Stadium, which was home to, what he said was the largest Che Guevara poster in the country.

Cuba, so far, has been full of surprises, one of which has been just how little traffic is actually on the roads, along with the incredibly courteous standard of driving. With the help of our Cuban GPS maps, downloaded from Openource.org we effortlessly found the stadium, pulled off Havana’s main ring road and parked up, before rolling our bikes into the main complex. However, how things change! The once derelict stadium is now undergoing a full renovation, with hundreds of gallons of paint being applied and the concrete foundations being re-enforced.

We managed to capture a dozen or so photos before being approached by a government official, who politely but firmly asked us to leave.

Ten minutes later and we’d negotiated the narrow streets of east Havana’s portside village and ridden to the ‘Christ the Redeemer’ monument that looks over old Havana. Parked up amongst half a dozen 1960’s Chevys and Fords, our bikes received more attention than the statue, as we headed on foot to the main lookout with our cameras. The views across the city were fantastic. Slowly but surely it was sinking in; we’re in Havana, we’re in Cuba!

With our Fuji cameras stowed back in the tank bags and a hundred questions answered about the bikes, we jumped back on board the BMW’s and prepared to head off. Tapping my GPS screen did nothing to alter the still black display. Ten minutes later and I’d managed to bring it back to life, after pulling the battery half a dozen times an forcing a full factory restore. Needless to say, riding into the labyrinth that is old Havana, we were glad of Lisa’s GPS.

We had been told by Paul that we were unable to use the tunnel from this side of the of the port into old Havana as we were on motorbikes. This was nothing to do with anything other than the fumes in the tunnel would probably make us pass out and so motorbikes were prevented from entering. We headed off into the industrial zone of Havana and around the south end of the city before entering Havana Veijo. The route had been surprisingly easy and the roads not bad at all, with much less traffic than we had expected.

The narrow pedestrian crammed streets of old Havana needed careful negotiation as we detoured around potholes, bicycle taxis, meandering tourists and locals, before finally pulling up at the curb side a few blocks south of the main municipal plaza.

“Oh my God! where have you ridden from? These bikes are incredible….welcome! ” blurted Angel enthusiastically. A quick roadside chat revealed Angel was a Mexican telecoms worker who had moved to Cuba some years earlier and was now the proud owner of the Artesian Gallery we’d parked opposite. “Wait, wait I have something for you” Angel shouted, returning moments later with 3 cold beers, which he thrust into my hands.

Still wearing her Touratech ‘power ranger’ suit, Lisa had already strolled off on foot to find the Casa particular that we were meeting our friends, Steve and Mary at, and that we knew was close-by.

As I sipped on the deliciously cold beer, Lisa returned, her face beaming having now found both the Casa Particular and 14 new friends who all wanted photos at the same time, with what they presumed was the yellow and grey astronaut that had just arrived in town. She said she had been stopped for photos as she looked so strange and had to explain that she did infact have a motorbike just around the corner. Upon her return, her parked F800 was now swarming with excited locals, all pointing fingers and politely asking permission before taking photos.

With our thanks given to Angel we rode one block down ‘Calle Amargura’ and took the right into ‘Calle Compostella’ and pulled up in front of The oddly named ‘EH Hostel’.

• EH Hostel
• Calle Compsoteal 453
• Entre Teniente Rey (Brasil) y Amargura. Casco Historico.
• Tel: 535 5356787 mob: 78603288
• This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Inside the three-roomed Casa was a delight, with white washed halls and tall ceilinged bedrooms. Anna, the only member of staff on duty poured us two of the strongest Cuba Libre’s (Rum and Coke) we’ve ever sipped on and welcomed us to Havana as we dropped our bags and gear into our chosen room.

We had just managed to get ourselves settled when Steve and Mary arrived. They were surprised to see us as we had thought (and told them) that we would probably arrive the day after they did. However, due to the Stahlratte leaving a day early and travelling much faster we were there to welcome them.

We had been chatting about the best place to leave the bikes and after a few conversations with locals, who all told us to not leave them on the street I moved the bikes to secure parking 5 blocks away. At $20 CUC for 4 nights for both bikes and with them tucked away, we felt happy they would be safe and well looked after.

We were now ready to enjoy Havana!

Some places have such an air of legend about them, so much so, that when you finally arrive, your entire experience feels surreal. Havana is one of those places.

It’s not often that I get excited about getting up before sunrise but, hey, this is Havana baby, and the idea of walking the historic back streets of old Havana was an exciting prospect for a photographer.

Both Lisa and I were up and quietly tiptoeing down the stairs from the 2nd floor hallway to the front door by 5:30am. I’d triple-checked last night that the batteries of our Fujifilm X-T2’s were fully charged and with a bag full of lenses we were now ready to go. To be honest, neither of us has had any real opportunity to shoot over the last few months. That was about to change.

The heat and humidity was already building as we stepped outside and heard the click of the heavy door behind us. A few steps away, we turned right and into Amargura street, which would lead us all the way down to the Plaza de San Francisco and the dockside.

Stopping, I lifted my camera and peered through the view finder trying to take it all in, but I couldn’t. I wanted to find a shot and snap the lens shutter, but couldn’t. There was simply too much opportunity, too many scenes and too much texture and delicious possibility. It was slowly sinking in…we’re actually here, in Havana!

The soft light from the rising sun filled each dirty junction as it caught the warm dust filled air in the streets.

Down by the port, the docks were already buzzing with a scattering of early bird tourists fresh off the goliath cruise ship that had docked last night, like a floating city. We’d seen it yesterday from our view point above the city by the Christ The Redeemer statue. Up close now and it looks as vast as it does utterly incongruous to it’s situation. The sleek polished lines of the ship, contrasting utterly with the decayed and grunge filled city that it’s now docked in.

Looking at the worn and un-repaired state of the dock, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Havana was tied to the ship and not the other way around.

Past a dozen “Viva Fidel’ signs, Lisa stopped as I finally got my act together, dialed in what I thought were the right settings and started shooting. The multi-coloured ‘Che Guevara’ graffiti made the perfect backdrop. Yeah, it was time to get my photographic mojo working again.

Around the Plaza de San Francisco a dozen “4-wheeled candy coloured Cubana icons”, had pulled up along the curbside, each hoping to lure business from the milling tourists. Hand polished 1950’s chromed bumpers framed each of the lovingly restored cars. Based on what I’d picked up over the last day or so, I was battling to get my head around the scale and investment that it must have taken to get these cars into this kind of incredible condition.

The average Cuban earns $20 per months and parts for, well, anything, are rarer that hobby-horse shit. The stores that you and I take for granted, don’t exist. I’d spoken with Angel yesterday while sipping on the cold beer that he’d thrust into my hand, and he’d explained the process of replacing a part on a vehicle.

The basic gist of the process involved finding one of the very few part importers and placing the order, by paying upfront of it. You then keep your fingers crossed that someone in the US hears, “through the grapevine” that the part is needed. They, in turn, buy it and then ship it to Russia, where it, in turn, get’s shipped or smuggled into Cuba. Once in Cuba, you then hope that the part is eventually delivered to the shop, where you originally placed the order. It’s an investment and a gamble every time you place an order.

I’d asked Angel how long it would take, to order and receive something as basic as a set of spark plugs. He suggested 4-8 months was about average. From the re-upholstered seat and the white walled tyres to the fresh paint and gleaming chrome, every one of these cars was a work of art and the culmination of a 30-year, multi-generational restoration. Bloody impressive!

Hey, what better way to see Havana than in an original 1950’s convertible, as it rumbles around Havana’s cobble-stone streets. Lisa and I toyed with the idea but politely declined the offers as we grabbed a few photos and headed into the Plaza for a much-needed coffee.

Here’s a ‘head-up’ top-tip, the coffee in Cuba is easily some of the best we’ve had anywhere in the world. Delicious, dark, strong and wonderfully smooth. It’s heaven in a cup.

Old Havana will make your eyes hurt. There’s simply so much texture and contrast everywhere you look. Walking in the shadows, to avoid the now scorching sun, we spent the next few hours, meandering the narrow streets. The crumbling facades of the, once grand, buildings make’s it almost impossible to tell which structures are derelict and which ones aren’t.

Along the decaying streets, painted mural’s of faded revolution, blur with the newer signs of recently allowed capitalism. Signs for cigar shops, café’s and radio repair shops, dangle above doorways.

Peeled paint and crumbling concrete, as far down the streets I can see, expose the rusting steel skeleton of every building. Ornate steel black painted balustrades, crack and peel under the daily onslaught of salty air and baking sun. The once grand Romanesque entrances to theaters, banks, and homes of the landed gentry, are now, black with filth, diesel fumes, and garbage.

Walking and photographing is a tricky business when you’re being buzzed by bicycle taxis every two seconds. I’d spoken with Rafael, the proud owner of a recently painted bicycle taxi this morning and asked if his work was hard. I’d been surprised by his answer.

“This is my best job ever,” he blurted in perfect English. He explained that he’d been a teacher for 23-years and earned just $15 a month. Today, with the business he picks up from the tourists and cruise ships, he’s delighted to earn the same amount in a day. My pre-supposed pity, for his tough day job, vanished immediately, replaced with a new perspective and sense of admiration for Rafael’s determination and attitude.

With the day in full swing, we walked the afternoon with Steve and Mary, our US based friends. Steve had waited 30-years to get here and was seemingly in his element as we ducked into another café for the mandatory mojito.

“Is it what you expected?” I’d asked Steve, curious to hear if the reality of being here in Havana was living up to his long awaited expectations.

“It’s different! I wasn’t expecting Havana to be this run-down.” His answer caught me off-guard. What I’d seen from yesterday’s ride into the capital and this mornings walk, had been exactly what I’d expected.

“But there is so much life and energy everywhere” Steve continued.

He was right of course! One of the wonderful sides of Cuba we’d already seen, was just how resilient and welcoming Cuban’s really are. It was easy to arrive and to expect to see or even feel a degree of poorly hidden disdain for us and the other flocking capitalist tourists. Perhaps I’d supposed there was going to be an edgy feeling of envy or distrust from some. But NO!

As the afternoon turned to evening, the four of us had walked ourselves weary and moved to the snazzier side of Old Havana to get a close-up peak of the Capitolio Nacional (Capital Building). The capotolis is easily Cuba’s most grandiose structure and took 5,000 workers over 3-years to finish and was modeled on the Pantheon in Paris. Once the home of the Cuban Congress, at the moment it's being restored and will be the future home of Cuba’s National Assembly. Not bad for a building financed almost entirely from Cuba’s, once strong, sugar economy.

With Lisa, Steve and Mary enjoying drinks and resting their feet, I pulled out the X-T2 determined to photograph the Capitolio in a slightly different light. I didn’t want the shot to be the usual stark and dramatic silhouette that I’d seen so many times in the tourist brochures for Havana. As night fell and the lights of the cars, bike, and carriages came on, I began to slowly click the shutter release button of my camera. I hope you enjoy the results.

I’m sitting here and wondering what I’ve learnt today? Here’s what I just came up with.

In spite of, or even perhaps because of, the decay and dilapidation of Cuba’s infrastructure and certainly its capital, Cuban’s are incredibly welcoming, proud and so full of life and Latin energy that, you can’t but feel drawn in and charmed.

Havana is a mish-mash of old plazas in decay or mid-renovation and it’s hard to go more than 20 feet without hearing that cool Cuban sway of unmistakable music and rhythm, made famous by musicians like the Buena Vista Social Club. Cuban music has a distinct rhythm that sounds like pure “cool” and forces even the most “two-left-footed” amongst us to want to rhumba.

Tonight we’re heading out to one of Havana’s best-known restaurants La Bodeguita del Medio. I’ll let you know what it was like tomorrow.

What an awesome day!

The last few days have been a blur of photography, delicious tiny cups of sweet dark coffee, toe-tapping Cuban music and great food.

We’ve been up early each day, with the camera lenses clicking from the moment we step outside onto the streets. I love that fact that Lisa’s snap happy again.

Lisa’s taken more photos and had more fun with her Fuji X-T2, than she’s taken and had in years. The reality is just that she found the Nikon D90 and lens just to big and unwieldy, so much so that she was simply taking fewer and fewer images. To see here want to take photos again is awesome. Thank you FUJIFILM!

We thought that an early morning would enable us to get some great photos – and we were right! Up early and out the hostel doors by 5:45am we began to take photos the second we were out of the door!

Every which way we looked there was a photo opportunity. The morning light sneaking its way into the dark and unusually quiet streets, made for some great shots. But by 9am we were ready to head back and grab breakfast with Steve and Mary at the casa.

Our morning ceremony here is as delicious as the breakfast. Sat up on the roof in the shade of a wooden and tin awning, we can watch Havana come to life, as the hostel staff busy themselves with runs up and down the stairs carrying our breakfast and laying it out perfectly on the long table. Today’s offerings are freshly cooked eggs, toast, cereal and mounds of fresh sliced fruit and two carafes of rich, dark delicious coffee.

Back on the streets, our walk down to Plaza Vieja was a slow one. A pause in front of the Museo del Chocolate (chocolate museum) on Calle Amargura , turned into a stop as we briefly discussed the merits of eating chocolate in the cool comfort of an air-conditioned cafe. It was already 90° in the shade and as humid as hell, so none of us needed much convincing. Two seconds later and we were inside, sat at a small round marble table and being served tall glasses of chilled chocolate drink. I’d flicked through the chocolate menu before being told that nothing was available. A brief chat in my bad but enthusiastic Spanish had revealed that hurricane Mathew, that had hit back in 2016 had decimated the coca crops and had left a countrywide shortage, hence no chocolate. The sweet cold chocolate drink was going to have to do.

Meandering is an art form; to slow and it kills my back and to fast and, well, your just…walking. Old Havana demands some “meandering”. The streets were busy with a milling mix of locals and photo happy tourist, each sporting an expensive looking camera with lenses that clearly most had no idea how to use. Hey, I’m just saying!

Past a dozen renovated building the Plaza Vieja (Old Square) opens up with a blast of eye searing light that bounces off the newly laid and renovated plaza paving slabs. The patchwork of architecture feels odds, but somehow still works. There is so much history here that it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. I have to wonder what this square has seen since its creation back in 1559. The western designer labels shops that now frame the square seem to trivialize a space that has witnesses Cuban life in all it’s variety from government announcements and public fiestas to publicly held trials and executions. We need more time here to really soak up that Havana offers. From half a dozen café’s local bands beat out a variety of distinctive Cuban rhythm’s. Havana really is the beating heart of Cuba.

The bags and panniers slammed into my thighs and crashed into the walls as I bumped and wobbled my down the narrow stairway to the front door of the hostel. I’d already collected the bikes from the car park 6 blocks away and navigated my back without hassle, to park them up outside.

It was 8am and loading the bikes was already drawing a crowd of excited but polite onlookers, with each person asking permission before a photo was taken. In the hot and humid street, we were both sweat sodden and leaking into our MX boots, before the riding day had even started. With our farewells said to the hostel and a heading entered into the GPS’s we clicked into gear and headed down the street, before taking the right at the end of the block.

I have to say Havana has to be one of the easiest capital cities that we’ve ever ridden out of! It was a breeze.

From the hostel we easily blended with the light traffic and within minutes we were cruising west along the malecon (city walkway) and skirting the new side of Havana, complete with it’s skyscrapers and new asphalt. To our right the Atlantic ocean crashed against the northern rocky shoreline sending plumes of salty spray into the air. Watching Lisa glide around the Cuban street as waves crash to my right sent a shiver of excitement through me.

It’s still only now sinking in, that we’re really here, on our bikes. As we passed the embassies on the west of the city I recognized that even there I feel the rhythm and energy that lives in Havana. We’re sad to be leaving but still, there is so much of Cuba that we want to experience.

Our first stop for fuel was frustrating. Sat on the bike, I’d asked if the gas station has premium fuel, “Si, seguro” (yes, of course) came the answer.

Having waited in line for twenty minutes and finally having maneuvered our bikes to the pump labelled “premium”, we asked for fuel, only to be refused service. To make matters worse a sleek new Mercedes Benz filled up with Premium whilst I questioned the attendant as to why I couldn’t buy any. I never did get a straight answer or at at least one that I understood. My guess is that the premium fuel is limited and they reserved it for their VIP (busy and embassy staff) clients. I’d asked if I could buy premium fuel at other stations and been told “yes”. We ended up putting ten litres of regular (87-octane) fuel in both bikes and headed off.

West of the city and the A4 Autopista Este-Oesta (main national highway) feels like a ghost road, with barely a truck or car in sight. It felt more like riding down a runway with bends. 25 miles outside of Havana and we swung right and into the smaller roads, that quickly lead us into the mountains and past the small village of Cabanas and onto Bahia Honda.

This morning was a blur of endless twist and bends, rolling green jungle vistas and clip-clopping horse drawn buggies with waiving families as we pass. The bikes feel fast and agile as we pass with ease the slow moving traffic. To our north and down below the oceans glistens in the distance.

For the most part the road was in better condition that I’d expected, mind you I still had Paul's words of warning ringing in my ears, about potholes big enough to swallow my bike. By mid-day the sun was scorching and we were making slower progress than we’d hoped for simply because of the winding route. It didn’t matter, we were here to ride and so far, the riding has been wonderful.

Small brightly painted concrete homes, dot the insanely green countryside. Through the small villages we had to be careful as the road turns into a minefield of potholes, worn and damaged from years of use and neglect.

The farther west we rode the more dramatic the terrain became. Past the town of Las Pozas, the landscape looks more like Thailand with huge loaf rock formations lifting from the flat valley floor. Dark green waterways sit between more mountains and all the while we’re working just to keep our eyes on the road, as the conditions worsens and those bike eating potholes increase in number.

Back aboard the Stahlratte, Paul had given me a GPS coordinate that I’d simply labelled “Stunning Road Into Town”. Paul had described it as one of the most scenically stunning rides on Cuba, we were about to find out. With GPS marker reached we swung south from the road and onto the imaginatively named 241, which weaves it way deeper and deeper into the jungle clad mountains.

Stopped by the roadside Lisa had pulled out her battered copy of Lonely Planet and flicked through the pages hoping to find somewhere to stay tonight. Casa Daniela, seemed like a good bet within walking distance of Vinales and with parking.

We’d planned to spend just a night in Vinales but after cruising through the main buzzing main street, with it’s cafes cool hangouts, we may have to rethink. Besides the riding here looks wonderful, and I love the idea of pulling off the panniers and bags and going for a play in the mountains.

Parked up at Casa Danniela, we handed over our passport, signed the mandatory visitor book and paid our $25 for the room. With two double beds and a large bathroom, we couldn’t have asked for more.

As evening set in, we changed into shorts and t-shirts, walked into town and found a small restaurant, without a tourist in sight. The first two beers didn’t even touch the sides and the Ropa Vieja (Translation: Old cloths, Cuba’s National dish) was delicious. I’ll write more tomorrow, but I’m signing off as I’m knackered and Lisa’s already asleep beside me. Talk tomorrow.