Waking up late I busied myself by packing in readiness to leave Trinidad tomorrow as well as shaving. With the morning slipping away and not knowing when he had returned to the casa, I woke Matt up at half past nine for breakfast then we set about trying to organise transport to Havana; something Matt was reluctant to do given how good a time he was having. We found the bus station thanks to a perky, English speaking tour operator but after much debate, decided on a taxi from our Casa at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon giving plenty of time to bid farewell at the beach. With no accommodation booked for Havana (the domineering lady from Holguin had ceased her phone-calls at Sancti Spiritus) we unsuccessfully tried to convince the tour operator to organise us some, pro-bono of course.
Before heading towards the beach we stopped off at the supermarket to grab our usual ration of water; on our way we spotted a western looking tourist group filming a school classroom through a window at arm's length, it certainly wasn't something I would have considered a tourist attraction and came across more as voyeuristic than genuinely interesting. Even before we had a chance to choose a taxi for our journey to the beach, Matt was greeted by one of the drivers who recognised him from the night before when he had tried to find his lady friend in Cassilda. Piling into the taxi, the driver first hurtled through the streets of Trinidad with little regard for anybody's safety, ourselves included, then took us the scenic route to the beach taking us through La Boca which looked pleasant enough for a ten house hamlet. In the distance we could see what looked like the dive boat which meant the dive hut was quiet and empty by the time we arrived.
The security guards were out in force today and it took precise timing to slip by them into the hotel swimming pool toilet, ordinarily reserved for guests only. After which I settled down with a book only to be outed twenty minutes later to which I responded by moving further down the beach, evidently they were either intensely bored today or they had changed their routes. Being ousted again a couple of hours later annoyed me enough to sit against the palm-tree leaf parasol in the sand, simply to spite the guards who were so precious about the abundant sun loungers. Matt meanwhile had gone with a small group on the afternoon dive at some far off location.
Breaking from reading I wandered down the beach more out of interest than anything else, almost cresting the peninsula but stopping when I felt the sun cooking my legs; this would be a short excursion I would regret for the rest of the holiday. Snapping a few photos I headed back and awaited the return of the dive boat which arrived with little fanfare and duly deposited a very unwell Matt. I headed back to the Casa at around half past five, followed an hour later by a still queasy Matt. After a brief snooze tea was ready which consisted of a dubious assortment of prawns as well as the usual garnishes of fruit and vegetables.
After food, Matt lurched around the room in the casa, still not 100% but intent on going to woo his lady friend in Cassilda, along the way he managed to convince Madeline, the English speaking tour operator who was the daughter of the casa owner, to phone a recommended place in Havana ahead of us travelling there tomorrow. It was only after he had left that Madeline came and informed me that the place she had phoned was full but there was another place she knew of that was available and she would give us the address the next day. Meanwhile, I understood just what sunburn was as my legs became hypersensitive to everything, including the fan which was the only item keeping the room cool. Slathering layer after layer of after-sun on them my legs would now be subject to all sorts of interesting ailments that would last over a week after I travelled back from Cuba.
With the taxi arriving in the afternoon, I had to decide whether to indulge in one last dive before departing, possibly erasing the memory of my mishaps on my last dive. While pondering this I managed to find a selection of English books in the casa that seemed to have been left there by guests or possibly gifted to the owner; the only one I thought possible to read in a single night was the novelization of "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels". While I hadn't seen the film, being able to churn through the book in a few hours was testament to its quality (or lack thereof), especially for someone who isn't a voracious reader such as myself.
Matt certainly seemed despondent leaving Trinidad and the hedonistic lifestyle but understood that it was probably necessary; I did mention the option of staying put while I went on to Havana which he declined after little thought. Truthfully I'm glad he did but tried not to make that overtly obvious. After a short spell Matt returned having no luck finding his girl having been fobbed off by her sister or somesuch, for the first time in a while he would be getting a full night's sleep.