Phew… so what a day. It started off with a cold shower and a blandly unsatisfying breakfast of a cheese sandwich, juice and tea. But whilst eating a man came up to me and introduced himself as Joaquin Alvarez… the Honorary British Consul in Arica! It was an unexpected surprise… I thought I was meeting him later in the day.
Sadly it was just a few minutes as he teaches English in the mornings. But one thing I have to remark upon is that he immediately expressed astonishment at how similar I looked, sounded and behaved like my father. He had been a friend of my father’s for years, not knowing of any family, and to see a similar, younger version standing in front of him. It was a shock to him.
Later, we met properly, and we talked. I’d brought him some union jacks and tea as a thank you for his help so far. I didn’t expect the help he was about to give.
First the formalities… he showed me the paperwork he had, and my father’s passport. This was the moment when I’d see what my father looked like recently. In the picture was a tired man looking older than his 60 years. But it was definitely him. I will take a picture and add it to this post later.
Joaquin then took me to the hospital to discuss the matter of the hospital fees. My father had been in the intensive care unit, and these had added up. The positions were argued as so:
From the perspective of the hospital, a fee would be necessary in order to secure my father’s body and to help pay their costs.
From the perspective of the consul, many Bolivians and other illegal immigrants die in the hospital and there is never any money to pay for their care.
From the perspective of the social worker, if I was rich enough, and cared enough, to travel halfway round the world then I could surely afford to pay the fees.
The discussion went on. As you may have seen in my earlier post, I had a particular position I planned on setting out. In the end, we came to an agreement… I would pay half, and there would be an unofficial agreement that should I have more money in the future I could make a donation to the hospital.
This seemed to satisfy everyone enough to make progress.
The next stage was finding an undertaker, and to choose the coffin. Now that was odd. I discovered a few cultural things:
Hearses here are white, and often just large American estate cars.
In the UK a basic coffin is a pine wood thing in what we consider to be a classic coffin shape. In Chile it’s the same shape as typical US coffins… but covered in fake fur. I’m still trying to work out how that’s cheaper than a layer of varnish, but it is.
There isn’t necessarily a church service… it’s just straight from hospital to cemetary.
Most funerals tend to take place within 24hrs of death. Over a month is extremely unusual.
Cremation is rare and therefore a very expensive option.
Once a coffin of suitable size for a six footer (people here are short) had been found we were off to the cemetary. I had to settle for a sort of beige fur, incidentally, so my father looks like he’s being interred in a poorly cut Bungle costume.
Chilean cemetery by rob-sinclair, flickr, cc-sa
And the cemetary was a real eye-opener. You can’t bury people when your town is built on rock. So instead, it’s simpler to build what look a little like mini concrete apartment blocks into which the coffins are inserted. See the picture above right. The cemetary is also surprisingly brightly coloured. In due course I will take pictures… it’s a fascinating difference in the way death is treated here.
And you know what amazed me most today? The effort put in by Joaquin, the consul. He spent six hours with me, going backwards and forwards between the hospital, banks and funeral parlours. He made a string of phone calls, and helped me way beyond the call of duty. Truly, a great man. I’m lucky, really.
I’ve started writing this post in Amsterdam airport…I’m on my way to Arica in Chile where I’ll be (hopefully) burying my father, Chris, who died on the 19th of July. I say hopefully not because this is something I’m looking forward to but because I face a number of legal and monetary issues with the hospital where he died.
So, the backstory….
Chris Coveney in 1986
My father was born in 1944in Liverpool. He had a childhood disrupted by his father’s death while he and his mother were travelling to join him in post-war Frankfurt. At the age of 4 (I believe – this needs checking) it seems that this had a somewhat traumatic effect on his life. Whether it would have worked out any differently if his father hadn’t died so young is hard to know. It seems he never really bonded with his rather quiet and gentle stepfather, John.
John was one of those people that sadly get little praise in life…he didn’t have a rapier wit, good looks or intense charm. His predecessor, it seems, did. But he did do his best to provide a stable and comfortable environment for my father and grandmother (I later lived with them at different times of my life.)
Yet it seems that my father inherited his father’s flaws (a taste for women, good times and risk taking) without some key strengths (a disciplined and intellectually rigorous upgringing in particular) that would have helped my father excel. He was certainly charming, good looking and intelligent.
Family Life
My father, to the best of my knowledge, had three children… myself first, David, in 1969, Miguel two years later, to his first wife Ruth, and Maria in 1981 to his second wife Ann.
It’s fair to say that neither marriage went well. To paraphrase my mother:
He was a drinker with a vicious temper and a long arm. He couldn’t understand the word no.
There are other things I’ve learned recently which I won’t share…but the picture was of a man who couldn’t take his responsibilities seriously and, when confronted, would lash out at anyone around.
The Consequences
I’m going to skip forward now to 1985… by this point my father had been divorced twice and no longer had custody of any of his children. He’d kept me close for years, but even I tired of his temper, his constantly failing relationships and the occassional humiliation of a beating. It’s a curious thing about being smacked around by your father…the physical pain is nothing. It’s the betrayal of trust that hurts and damages you. No parent should resort to violence when faced with the annoyances of raising a child. Nor, of course, should a child ever survey a trashed kitchen following violence between their parents. Ever. I could go into the reasons why violence breaks out in domestic settings, but that subject deserves better than I can give right here.
Since 1971 my father had been working his summers as a tour guide in Oostende, Belgium. This suited him fine…a steady stream of giddy girls on holiday, few responsibilities, and plenty of nights out left him, it seems, relatively contented.
South America
By this point my father, always a keen lover of all things Spanish, had started to spend his winters in South America where he could travel around enjoying himself whilst maximising the money he earned in his Belgian summers.
This was actually a fairly calm period… I lived with my grandmother and rarely saw him. Generally I did enjoy his company, but there was always a nervousness over when he might kick off but, in general, he seemed to have mellowed.
Unfortunately, in 1987, everything changed again. I was living with my grandmother and had done reasonably well in my A levels. I’d gained a job at ICI on a trainee developer program. For me, at least the future looked good. However, like all good things in my life there always seemed to be trouble waiting for me.
Loss
Just a couple of weeks into my new job, my grandmother was diagnosed with lung cancer. Her decline hadn’t been pleasant to experience and before she was diagnosed she’d been struggling with shoulder pain that left her crying until the doctor could come and give her a shot of painkillers. Eventually it became too much for both of us. She was booked into hospital in a few weeks time… but that was too far away. I learned then a painful but valuable lesson.
The doctor could do nothing to have her admitted more quickly. I visited the hospital. No, they could do nothing either…it was a non urgent case of painful arthritis. Yet it was all too much to bear…I was in tears when a male nurse took me to one side and explained something…
They’re letting you look after her. She’s dependent on you. You want to know how to get her into hospital quickly? Refuse. Just tell the doctor you’ve had too much and you’re moving out.
Basically, I was going to have to play poker with my granny. But I went straight from the hospital to the doctor’s surgery and insisted I saw him. Three hours later, an ambulance arrived.
The next day they discovered the pain was caused by secondary metastasis (I think that’s the correct term, I’m writing this on a plane). She had advanced lung cancer that had spread through her body. She had less than a week left.
There was a dull, hollow ache inside me. I wasn’t close to my mother since I’d not lived with her for 14 years and besides, her and her new family had moved to Spain two years earlier – something that at the time had left me less than impressed.
I had my friends, Linda and Peter especially who were wonderfully understanding. And that weekend, my father’s summer job finished and he was able to arrive.
So he signed over everything. It was down to me to deal with the estate. There wasn’t much there, to be honest, and a lot of debt.
My father had his tickets for South America booked a long time earlier…in this time air travel was still relatively expensive and inflexible. I later learned that airlines usually aren’t so bad in cases of bereavement. I think he could have changed flights.
But he didn’t and just a few days later he was gone. Two days after that I buried my grandmother.
What’s crazy is that in all this I even managed to redecorate the lounge in time for the funeral, thanks to my friend Linda. It was important that in death everyone saw the best in my grandmother…
Losing Trust in Everyone
Soon after the vultures were circling…I couldn’t take over the mortgage or I’d have to pay off all debts, and I couldn’t get a new mortgage at such a young age and such little credit history…especially on a shared ownership house like this.
You see, what happens with a debt secured on property is that you hand over all rights to the lender. If you fail to keep up repayments the lender can take possession. The lender will then sell it. If a profit happens to be made then that’s great for the lender. They keep the money.
In fact, some even have a policy of quick repossessions during a buoyant market.
In retrospect I believe I was badly advised. But lacking support just trying to hold down a job and simply live right was enough to occupy me. When I was evicted from the house I lost my faith in society, my parents (sorry Mum…but you later won it back, so that’s ok, trust me) and everyone except my friends.
The council couldn’t help – I was told a single male would be at the bottom of the waiting list for social housing.
I didn’t want my fathers’s help and, by the dubious measure of taking out a loan to pay the deposit on a tiny studio flat, I had a place to live. While this was happening my father was made redundant from his summer job and announced he was going to stay in South America.
Having discovered financial wizardry I even managed to buy myself a niceish car I couldn’t afford on credit. Life had been hard, but now, I felt, it was improving.
Two months later I received a letter from my father asking for help – he said he’d been robbed of all his money and needed the money I owed him (I think he believed there was money in his mother’s estate) and could I send £1500 as soon as possible.
I had about £30 in the bank.
The next six months were hell as I sent over dribs and drabs in response to his increasingly strident letters, but I remember one triumphant moment. I’d been caught at work calling the Chilean embassy. I was in trouble until the reasons were explained to a senior manager. He put me in touch with the right people and before I knew it the Foreign Office offered a loan to help repatriate my father.
I’d done it. He was going to be ok. I’d sent as much as possible to him, borrowing money, trying to sell what I could legitimately sell… but it amounted to no more than around £600 over the months.
I went out and bought a £15 phone card to give the good news.
Son… I thought you had a good job? I need the money why don’t you have any?!
I told him it was no problem… I could get him home! I explained the loan.
What use is that? I’d be in the same situation, but in England…it’s much cheaper to live here
He was angry. And I remembered all those times he’d been angry before. The card ran out cutting him off mid-sentence. It was over. I was never going to speak to him again. I realised he hadn’t been asking me for help…he’d been asking me for money, that’s all.
Since then I stopped responding to his letters. I’d been struggling with the flat so I sold up and moved into a room. We lost contact.
Update 29-08-2010: I was reading through his letters yesterday and realised that I’d found the solution of a loan for repatriation earlier than I thought I had. I’d simply brought it up again during that last phone call and he essentially repeated what I’d said. I also think I’d continued to send him money for a while, but remained mute.
In 2001 I managed to find out that he’d renewed his passport in Quito in 1997, but that was all I had. In 2006 I was invited to a wedding in Lima, Peru, and took that as an opportunity to try and find him. I got close…searching the town of Arica in the far north of Chile. But if he saw the notices he didn’t respond. If he’d even searched Google he’d have found me for years and years. I even put a page up about him which was good enough for my estranged sister to find me with this year. In the end I reached the conclusion that he no longer wanted to find me.
And then the knock on the door in the early morning. I don’t know why the police do it that way. The officer was perfect…knew exactly how to break the news. Quickly, succintly, followed by the detail. He’d died on the 19th of July in a hospital in Arica, Chile.
I’m going to wrap this up now…it’s an awfully long piece to type entirely by phone and my fingers are aching. Hopefully I’ll be able to post it up on arrival to Lima. More soon… my plan is to document this trip, my feelings and my need to find reconciliation wherever possible. Sharing helps.
The traveller on a budget faces the very real problem that airlines employ differential pricing depending on where you are. Here’s my example – the next post will explain whether I got the lower price or not!
The traveller on a budget faces the very real problem that airlines employ differential pricing depending on where you are.
Here’s the UK page for a one way flight, with the otherwise excellent LAN Airlines, from Lima to Tacna in Peru:
How much?!
And now, the price if you go the Peruvian version of the site:
Over £100 cheaper!
Same flight, same class, same airplane.
Now, I know your average Brit makes considerably more money than your average Peruvian, but here’s the thing – if a McDonalds in Lima had two price boards up and the European one had prices three times as high you can imagine how that would make the average customer feel. I have actually seen this, where an English menu and a Spanish menu had different prices (and why it’s worth learning the local lingo at least a bit) but over 3x is bonkers.
Now, let’s see if I can book through the Peruvian version of the site. If they block me I’ll just have to call a Peruvian travel agency. Simple!
It also makes me wonder – had I been flying Lima to Liverpool and back, rather than the other way around, how much less would KLM have been charging? It almost makes me think of Adobe.
Quick Follow Up:
If you click through, you get the following message on the Peruvian site:
In other words, don’t even think about it! The price is available only to Peruvian residents. The cheapest price otherwise is a good $80 higher. Still a lot cheaper than the Brit price, however.
I suppose I could try another airline, but I once had a flight on a plane that was condemned soon after following safety ‘incidents’ when I flew on a Peruvian budget carrier, so I’m not wild about shopping around too much just yet.
A smidge under five years ago I created my first blog post as I started preparations for travel to South America. Today I’m preparing to travel to more or less the same destinations…but for sadder reasons.
Two weeks ago my father died. A week ago a police officer knocked on my door to tell me the news that the man I hadn’t seen in twenty three years died in Arica, Chile.
So that’s that… I will travel to South America in a few weeks in order to carry out a funeral and try and piece together my father’s life story. Tonight I booked the flights.
Given that I’m selling my motorbike at the moment as well, you may well wonder if I’ve had some kind of financial crisis of my own.
But thankfully, no. I just don’t need such a large and fast car any more. When I was doing a lot of sprinting I needed something capable of towing a car trailer comfortably and reliably. But I also wanted something I could enjoy driving as my daily transport.
City Commuting Doesn’t Suit Big Cars
And that’s what happened, basically – for the past 18mths or so I’ve driven 12 miles to Liverpool city centre, and 12 miles back – congested roads, with a lot of stop-start action. In the end I bought a Golf TDI which makes much more sense for that kind of driving. Although I’m tempted to keep the Saab, which I will if I can’t get the right price, I know that in reality it’ll get far too little use in the coming year or two. The sensible decision, then, is to sell it.
So, here goes…
Specification
This is a 2004 (04 plate) 9-5 Aero HOT Estate with 250bhp. The full specification items worth listing are as follows:
Bi-Xenon headlights, headlight washers, factory alloy wheels, factory CD/Radio, Nokia Bluetooth Hands-Free (works with most phones), electric windows all round, electric mirrors, heated mirrors, split climate control, dual-colour leather seats, leather steering wheel, lots of airbags (5* NCAP Rating), ABS, Electronic Stability Program, new Vredestein Giugiaro front tyres and lots of life on the identical rears, detachable tow bar, FSH (main dealer or specialist only), two owners (first owner the dealership as it’s an ex-demo car), 58,000 miles, 10 months MOT, Tax until 10/09.
The car is in a gorgeous Capuccino Black. In other words, most of the time the car looks black or very dark grey, but when the sun shines on it you realise that there’s a pearlescent bronze finish. The photos below really capture this, which took some effort as it’s not easy to show in pictures – normally it just looks black.
Damage Worth Noting
I’m nothing if not thorough and feel it’s worth noting everything even if it’s minor so that you’re not disappointed if you travel – the car has a couple of tiny dings from the careless door opening of others. It has a small ding that’s almost but not quite invisible under the nearside rearmost window with a matching scrape on the bumper – that was a van in Paris that did it, and no, he didn’t leave details. But I’d say very few people can spot these marks – I’ve taken close-ups, however, to try and show marks. Also, one of the alloys has a barely visible kerb scrape on it. Picture shown. There’s a few minor and normal stone chips that could do with being dealt with by chipsaway or similar, but one left a tiny ding on the bonnet. Another tiny ding was caused by the biggest hailstorm I’ve ever seen, over in Italy. I expected worse….
Get in Touch – Price to be around £6200
If you’re interested, you can contact me through the contact form on this site, or simply call me, during office hours or in the evening on 0151 709 7977.
If you’re wondering whether someone with the word ‘mental’ in his website address and a history of motorsport will have taken care of his car… well, in racing if you don’t take care of your car you often end up with an accident at some point. Or losing. I apply the same philosophy to my road cars – look after them and they look after you.
Enjoy the gallery – simply click on a thumbnail to get the big version, and you can then move between images by clicking on the arrows that come up.
And a Deep Zoom Seadragon view of the under-bonnet area
And now, PhotoSynth
Yes, I may have been playing – I’d be interested to know what you think of this use of technology…
As part one of my campaign to introduce the concept of actually thinking to UK media, pundits and government, I’m covering the nasty little idea of automatic speed limiters being introduced to cars – so that people can, basically, stop thinking about the speed they drive at. That’ll work…
This subject has been rolling along for some years now. Basically the technology now exists to be able to instruct a car what speed it should travel at.
Now, if you’re a control freak, this is like a gift from heaven. If you’re a control freak in power (yes, that includes you Jacqui Smith) then it’s even more wonderful, because it hands you a whole ton of power.
Like everything, of course, it’s not all bad. There are plenty of good reasons for speed limiting cars, trucks and even fire engines. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good idea.
How The Pro Speed Limiters Present Their Argument
Slow, yet also lethal - public domain image with thanks to Wikipedia
There are currently a lot of fears in society, especially Western society. We’re scared of global warming, the economy, terrorism, and dying in a fiery ball of fire when some chav in a misguidedly tuned Vauxhall Nova comes careering head-on towards you as a result of massive overconfidence and a lack of skill. Throw those arguments into the air and you have some pretty strong arguments as to why we should introduce speed limiters.
Here’s a quick list of their key points:
Safety – you’ll hear this a lot. And it’s true. Go slower and if all else is equal safety will go up.
Economy – by being forced to go slower, you’ll drive more economically and be able to save the world from Global Warming at the same time.
Reduced need for thirsty, fast cars – true to a degree because what’s the point in a big V8 if you hit speed-limited wall at 70mph?
Reduced load on drivers – no need to think about speed, or worry about speed cameras.
It’s optional, there’s no need to fit a speed limiter if you don’t want it.
If you do have it, there’s an override button for those rare occasions you may need to go faster than strictly legal.
If only a minority of cars have this limiter, the effect will be to slow down others without it.
Lot’s of people are killed or injured daily, and anyone arguing against speed controls must be in favour of those deaths.
The arguments are mostly presented by different types of organisation. You have the emotionally irritating Brake, and the more calm but government funded (don’t forget this fact, they may sound independent but they aren’t) Motoring Forum, the UK Commission for Integrated Transport, and various other safety campaigners.
I can’t find a quote from Jacqui Smith on this subject, but I’m sure she’ll be along soon.
And The Argument Against
Well there has to be some rational argument against this, but unfortunately we’ve only got Safe Speed getting all the media attention on the other side. Holy Fucking Shit. I mean, really. Have you seen them? You wouldn’t trust these people to decorate your house, so why would you trust them with setting the agenda on speed limits and motoring policy?
Instead, why not get a psychologist who’s studied driving onto your show? Or, at a stretch, someone from the Institute of Advanced Motorists? But no, instead you get to listen to a muppet from Brake arguing with a muppet from Safe Speed. I suppose there’s only so many pundits to go round and the radio and TV stations pick the easiest ones they can find.
Sheesh.
But here we go – this is other people’s arguments, don’t forget. Mine come later.
It’ll encourage zombie behaviour, which is almost certainly true – in the US where freeways were once limited to the mind-numbingly dull speed of 55mph, you get to see a lot of this.
It’s a symptom of control-freakery – yep, almost certainly.
Speed doesn’t kill, it’s inattentive driving, which kind of cycles back to the first point.
It’s the thin end of a wedge which will end with all cars having compulsory speed limiters.
It probably won’t affect KSI (Kills and Serious Injuries) rates in the positive manner the pro side would like to see.
Slowing down can cause more accidents.
Thankfully, spokefolk from the RAC, AA and the likes are occassionally wheeled out to discuss such issues and they tend to be a bit more rational and thought out. But they’ve become rather dysfunctional resellers of insurance and recovery services these days, rather than the clubs and associations that they originally started out as. Consequently they have to toe a fine line between keeping customers (many of whom are the unthinking fools I worry about) and not upsetting the government (filled with the misguidedly thinking fools I also worry about) into adding more restrictions to both their customers and their businesses. So they tend towards making statements rather than take the risk of getting involved on radio or TV.
Of course, avoiding radio or TV is a sensible move for many. I’ve listened to myself on Radio and I’m clearly a rambling buffoon who doesn’t know when to shut up and who talks over others. Heaven knows what would happen if I found myself on TV. Of course, it’s not totally bad to be a buffoon – look how well Boris Johnson’s done out of it.
The best argument against this, so far, comes from the easy to respect Derek Charters, from the Motor Industry Research Association, who believes limiting speed automatically could cause accidents.
“The last thing you need is one car to be overtaking and then pull back in, in front of the cars in front, because that braking event will then cause everybody to start to slow down, which will then compress the traffic, which then causes an incident.”
The Dave’s Attempt to Think on this Subject
Oh Jesus, do we need the government controlling us just a bit more?
Would government controlled GPS units eventually be used to track our cars’ every movement?
A world full of cars doing identical speeds is so horrifically soporific that I suspect we’d be having massive pile-ups in no time.
The unthinking are the worst people to get this technology – they’ll just turn into motoring zombies.
Going faster is fun. Sometimes it’s good to be able to have a bit of fun, you know, even if it does make the world ever so slightly less safe.
All speeds are dangerous – being crushed to death by a 2mph Audi Q7 isn’t much fun either – stop people from realising how dangerous cars are and boom! more dead people.
It’ll probably mean the end of the fantastic Top Gear show.
It’ll make moving to South America far more appealing.
The key arguments for or against this idea are really just noise. The question we should be asking is at what point should drivers give up responsibility for the movements of their cars? Lane sensing technology has matured enough that you could conceivably place your Honda at the beginning of the M6 and drive all the way to Scotland without touching the wheel, brakes or throttle again, coming to a stop when the traffic in front does so, and accelerating to a set speed when it’s possible to do so. I remain to be convinced that all this is a good idea, but at least it’s entirely within the control of the driver – he can choose what is and is not switched on, and where.
GPS technology is constantly improving, as are sensors. It’s only a matter of time before we can simply climb into our cars, shout “take me to work, autocar!” and climb into the back for a nap. Sounds like a wonderful idea to me and I wouldn’t care what speed the car travelled at so long as it woke me up on arrival and neatly parked itself while I go for a pee.
Partial implementation, on a wide scale, of speed limiters or even smart cruise control could be lethal. Each car would end up driving at ever so slightly different speeds. Overtaking moves could be measured in miles, and it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t have a speed limiter – you’d be stuck behind those with them fitted. And those who choose to have them fitted would be sitting in a smug pool of self-superiority, knowing they’re driving at the maximum safe speed. They’d be wrong, of course. 70mph is safe when it’s clear and dry. It’s safe even when it’s wet. But in a deluge it’s lethal. But having given up the act of thinking about speed they would just keep their foot mashed down on the carpet. Until they eventually plough into the back of the car in front that they couldn’t see.
And that’s why this topic has made it into the Campaign for Thinking. Full automation is a good thing, it means you can go and think about something else. But a world full of drivers who believe thinking about speed is only for the government… God preserve us!
Now, could the government get on with thinking about things they could help us with? Infrastructure, international security, the economy, tax… that kind of stuff? The big, hard problems that they have the power to do something about? 3,000 people a year die on the roads. 60,000 people a year die from murders in South Africa. And providing assistance to unstable or impoverished countries could save the lives of millions. Unfortunately it’s hard to get elected on the promise of saving the lives of AIDS stricken Tanzanians, but you could save or dramatically improve the lives of more than 3,000 of them with the millions spent on speed limiter studies. Yes, I know it’s a straw man argument, but a little sense of perspective on the point of all this would be useful.
Maps have always fascinated me – I can stand staring at them for hours. Or at least, minutes. Whether it’s a small map of the area, or something covering the whole globe. There’s a few in particular that stand out as interesting, partly for their political background, and others for their technical approach. The first two, the Peters Projection, and the Mercator Equal-Area Projection, are attempts to illustrate the real area of the world’s land masses, and the last one is Google Earth, which provides a dynamic way to view the planet, including the facility to zoom into locations with satellite and aerial imagery.
Gall Peters Projection
The Gall-Peters Projection (often known just as the Peters Projection) of the map of the world, also known as a cylindrical projection, is one that’s become popular with many socially aware groups. Mainly because it helps to reassert that the world’s poorer countries take up rather more of our land mass than many people realise.
Although the distortions are a little odd, especially east-west as you near the poles, the map does help to provide a truer picture of the size of many countries than most flat projections.
Mercator Real-Area Map
The better real area map, at least for taking measurements from, is the sinusoidal projection (shown below), but that’s harder to look at. In reality, no projection of a globe onto a flat surface can be perfect.
Google Earth
Now Google is a big commercial company – powerful on the internet, and sometimes not that wonderful, but generally they’ve so far been a force for good. And one of my absolute favourites of theirs is the Google Earth application. I’ve spent many a happy hour zooming into countries and cities, checking out locations, and enjoying the ability to see some of the world’s sights from my computer. It’s an incredible application and I can recommend it to anyone. You can download it from http://earth.google.com/ and it works great on most reasonable computers.
Alternatively a globe makes a great piece of interior decor and doesn’t break when the internet goes down….
Credits: Peters-Projection care of NASA/Wikipedia and is in the public domain and can be used by anyone. Sinusoidal Projection care of Wikipedia and is a creative commons licensed image. Please visit the Wikipedia site for more information.
Transport anywhere in what can be considered a third world country is quite a challenge to anyone used to online booking of easyJet flights. But… if you’ve arrived with Western wealth then it’s never going to be all that bad either. I mean for sure, your chances of arriving on time are little better than taking a train in the UK, but neither are you going to be sharing your personal space with a chicken and three donkeys in the back of a truck.
Not unless you’re especially keen on travelling on extreme lean budgets – which if you are, you won’t be in Cuba anyway. Travelling on a tight budget in this country is surprisingly tough thanks to the split economy. If you’re staying long enough and have a good command of Spanish you can buy and use Cuban Pesos as opposed to the tourist money – the Cuban Convertible Peso (or CUC for short) – but you’ll find that unless you can prove you’re Cuban you won’t necessarily get the low prices that locals might enjoy. You’ll also not be allowed in many trucks, taxis and buses where carrying foreigners is illegal.
It makes sense – if rich tourists are going to turn up, you want them to help your economy along. If they go round spending thruppence-ha’penny a day they’re doing bugger all to help. And you don’t want poor tourists anyway – they smell bad, make the place look untidy, and bang on about getting to be one with the locals. Which usually involves trying to find out what drugs they’ll sell them, and then taking them. Fair enough, really – but Castro needs money coming into his country more than anything else. So you’re going to end up spending the equivalent of about 1USD for every ten kilometres travelled – several times what you’ll spend in Peru for example.
Buses
For tourists, the best buses are provided by Viazul. They run a range of routes:
Habana – Santiago de Cuba
Trinidad – Santiago de Cuba
Habana – Viñales
Habana – Holguín
Habana – Trinidad
Habana – Varadero
Santiago de Cuba – Baracoa
Varadero – Trinidad
Varadero – Santiago de Cuba
There are plenty of intermediate stops too – check out their website for more information, prices and times.
Viazul’s coaches tend to leave on time, are reasonably clean (but on a bad day the toilet might smell worse than Swampy) and generally comfortable. Take warm clothes though because given air conditioning Cubans will run it at maximum.
Trains
The information we had was not to bother.
So we didn’t. Which means I can’t really do any more than pass that information on. Apparently they’ve improved a bit, with some new rolling stock from France, but it’s still an unreliable and slow way to travel.
Planes
Again, we didn’t use any, but there are planes connecting some of the major centres, and prices don’t seem to be too bad.
Cars and Taxis
Car hire isn’t cheap, but if you want to get to some out of the way places it can be a great way to travel as the roads are largely empty. You can also pick up plenty of hitch-hikers. The smell might be bad when you discover they’re carrying an enormous fish they just caught. But otherwise it can be an interesting way to meet locals. Obviously, the usual caveats apply – if a guy is standing there foaming at the mouth, holding a large machete, and dressed in bloody rags then it might be best to drive on.
It’s not all perfect though – some roads simply disappear into dirt-tracks with no notice, there are bridges that they clearly lost enthusiasm for part-way through (blame the fall of communist Russia for that one), and pot holes that will swallow your car whole.
And if you drive at night you’ll be able to play chicken with unlit cars, horses, and, erm, chickens.
Taxis should be relatively affordable, and most are metered. If they’re not, they probably aren’t allowed to take foreigners on board and will be taking a risk carrying you – especially in more heavily policed areas and they may ask for payment in advance of any risky places, or will drop you off before checkpoints at which point you’ll have to walk past and possibly find someone else to carry you. Almost anyone will act as a taxi in Cuba, so be careful, and check prices in advance of getting in. Most drivers are chatty and interested in you, and some of the classic cars in use are beautiful – though they won’t sound it as they often run on old Japanese diesel engines rather than big tasty V8s.
Trucks
I mean… just don’t. If you could afford to fly to Cuba you can afford not to take chances with your life and health. Having said that, it’s about the only way to get to some places if you can’t afford a hire-car or taxi and don’t feel like hitching.
Queues are managed by men in yellow outfits, known as ‘Amarillos’. They will make sure you go to the right place, but may not allow foreigners on board. A tip may work wonders….
Local buses
You’ll need Pesos, not CUCs, and a strong backside.
Summary
Overall, Cuban public transport is limited and can be quite pricey for tourists, but stick to the main routes and you’ll be fine on relatively good metalled roads. Only if you visit more remote locations will you find the need to get inventive.
If you fly with First Choice on their Cuba West Traveller scheme they give you your first night’s accomodation free. The idea, we think, is that in Cuba you can’t just turn up as a typical itinerant and expect to wander about. Of course, that’s exactly what you can do… You just need to give an address of a hotel. It seems that any random hotel name will work as there are no checks.
But even better is, after a bumpy ten hour flight, to discover that this hotel is a five star all inclusive affair. Nothing beats the realisation when you arrive at the bar that they don’t want your money. Everything is included. A few hours later, drunk and happy, we decided to stay an extra night while we planned the rest of our trip.
And now, in a couple of hours, we have to find our bus to Havana. It may be tropical here, but we’re taking warm clothes as we’ve discovered that when a Cuban gets air conditioning there is only one setting… 16C. After all, if you have air-con you may as well make the most of it. You enter your hotel room to an icy draught. Cars are super-chilled, and basically you find that your UK clothing is just fine and dandy.
Liverpool has one of those small airports that’s done rather well over the past decade. A rise in air travel has been good for many airports, yet Liverpool’s Speke airport (now known as Liverpool John Lennon Airport) has done especially well.
Why? Because first of all they worked well with easyJet – with a combination of popular holiday and business routes with low prices the combination proved irresistable. As a frequent traveller myself I was delighted to get away from the obtuse pricing of British Airways (cheap returns were OK, it was the lack of flexibility and cost of singles that grated) and the extra costs of travelling to Manchester Airport.
Anyway, I was travelling through this airport again on Thursday evening and spotted this picture which summed the airport up nicely – named after a famous Beatle, and popular with a wide range of traveller:
