Cuba

1989 -- This was one weird country. It appeared that the locals were totally fixated on American goods. So much so … we saw a baby dressed in rags, and the father was proud because the stuff was American. I mean, really! They could at least clothe the babe in local stuff of better quality! Who cares if it was American or not? No-one could tell it was from the US, being worn by the child.

We had someone who gave us a pile of money, asking that Phil or ma go to the duty free goods store and buy stuff for them … cigars and shirts. They did, and afterwards had a man follow us all the way home. They were frightened and this communicated itself to us, for I remember being frightened and wanting to walk faster. Upon arriving at the dock where the yacht was stationed, the man approached us. He was some kind of official and wanted to be certain that the stuff we bought was for our use, not anyone local. Of course Phil and ma reassured him that they were, etc etc.

There was a ship opposite us, and I had a shower on it once. There were showers ashore, but they were men only, and the one time I went in there was with Phil, and a worse pigsty I have never seen. Needless to say, I was never taken in there again.

There were huge queues to buy anything, and most of the shelves in supermarkets were empty. Phil and ma would stand in line for ages, and by default, so would Damien and I. One good thing about Cuba: fish paste. Mmmmm. Lovely stuff—we bought tins and tins of the stuff. We had it for ages, and were sad when they ran out. Another … prawn frittery thingmys that one fried. We had them for quite a while too. Those were the only things that the locals didn't snap up in a hurry.