Saving the best ´til last

As I rode from the airport into Havana, the city's unique character revealed itself oddity by oddity. Enormous American cars from the 1950's cruised along the quiet dual carriageway. Red or pink Cadillac convertibles carried tourists while battered Buicks taxied the locals who sat 4 across the old leather bench seats. There were classic Fiats, Alfas, Peugeots and Mercedes too. It was like a living, working motor museum.
A tall concrete tower pierced the pure blue sky. This was revolution square. Surrounding apartment blocks were adorned with giant, iron pictues of Che Guevara  and Fidel Castro.
Heading toward the city centre the broad boulevards were lined with a mix of old buildings in various states of picturesque delapidation. My guest house was down a side street. Cycle taxi drivers rested in the shade, street vendors sold strings of garlic and onions, old folk sat and chatted, front doors open to the cooling breeze and gaze of curious passers by. Havana is a melting pot of peoples, architecture, cars and music. The only incongruity are the tourists.
I was late leaving the city as I had to wait for my laundry. Riding in fresh, clean kit is a lovely luxury on a road trip like this. But it didn't stay clean for long. The sun climbed to the vertical, my bike seemed to cast no shadow. The heat built, white fluffy clouds grew grey then black. Rain pelted onto the hot tarmac and instantly vapourised, a cloud of mist rose a metre above the road, My top half was cooled by the rain, my legs were steamed in a sauna.
The next day was dry, I thought I would camp. I stopped to buy bread, but they wouldn´t sell it to me as it was only for Cubans. I went to a campsite, they wouldn´t let me camp as it was only for Cubans. I was so hungary and thirsty that I had to go back to a hotel, they let me in, but charged me $60. Now with little cash I went to the nearest big town to get more. But it was Saturday and the banks were shut and there was no cash machine. I gave what money I had to a guest house owner, he gave me a room and dinner.
I headed along the north coast. The bumpy road pumelled my bike and body, incessant headwind slapped my sweat soaked jersey against my raw skin. I have sores and rashes where, you don´t want to know. One day I rode too far and ate and drank too little. At the last town I stop and order pizza and ice cream but a sick feeling fills my stomach and creeps up my throat, my legs go weak, my hearing fades, my eyesight dwindles into tunnel vision. Quickly I grab some water and sit down. Five minutes later I am okay, but had come close to waking up in a Cuban hospital.
Each day I ride through lush farmland, meadows and woods. Farmers use long sythes to gather grass and then load it onto horse drawn wagons. Cowboys look cool in their stepsons and chaps. Most locals give me a wave, some farmers gave me mangoes and bananas, some beekeepers gave me a section of honeycomb ozing with sweet honey. At roadside stalls you can buy fruit jiuce for 10 p and pizza for 20 p.
The centuries old Spanish cities spread out from tree lined plazas. Long narrow streets are lined with terrecota tiled houses. I often stay in one of these old places, they have great character, are clean, and the owners are kind. They are the equivalent (but better and cheaper) to British bed and breakfasts. Breakfast here starts with a big platter of fresh fruit. As food is hard to get in the shops I do rely on getting fed at these excellent lodgings.
Today I rode along the south coast, back towards Havana. The wind was behind me, I scarely needed to pedal, my big new tyre makes a whining noise on the smooth road. It is like being on an electric bike. Land crabs sprinted across the road,  a local woman offered my some weird fruit that was almost all nut.
Cuban roads and weather have drained my body. Cuban colour has filled my soul, Cuban culture has fed my mind. It is a perfect place to end my journey.

Lots of old cars, buildings and old fashioned shops, its like going Back to the Future.

Communist block. Images of Che Guevara  and Fidel Castro  adorn many buildings

Horse and carrsiges are common in many Cuban cities

Fresh baked pizza costs 20 pence

If you look beyond the shiney car you see normal Cubans living their normal lives. For me, this is the most fascinating  part of travel.