January 12, Cienfuegos

The shrimp last night was great. And a good thing, since I paid for it through the night—several times to the bathroom. Montezuma would have been pleased at the extent of his revenge!
In spite of this, I got some sleep and woke feeling like I wanted to be home. Nothing like an illness to make you want to be in your own surroundings. However, we are here, and can't complain about many things. First, our laundry was done, ironed and folded (we resisted, she insisted— honest). So that was a treat. A light breakfast was followed by a trip with Amed down the street to another casa, since we have to move tomorrow. It was also grand, including a spiral staircase (a bit rickety, but apparently okay) from the bedroom to the roof for a grand view of the city. Great, but she didn't speak English, and my Spanish is not as good as I had hoped it would be. So on that basis, we turned it down. Unfortunate, I have to keep working on the language.
We three then went down and he took us on a tour of the old harbour, with its Customs House, dock and park. And a walk around the old part of the town. Amed had some shopping to do then, and left us. We went and I waited for a time before getting onto the internet for a while to check my email. I hate to admit it, but I really miss good internet access. It is expensive and very slow here. So after this frustrating experience, we had to treat ourselves, and had a water and lemonade at the cafe by the Plaza. Then back home, via the Public Health Department to see when they were open so we could report our illness (there was no sign, so it is only a guess).
Inez and Amed had found a casa with someone who speaks pretty good English, so he took us down to see it. It is right beside the Main Library, has a lovely courtyard, and a good room and (necessary) a good bathroom. No access to the roof, but we'll cope. And she speaks English well enough to manage. So we will move tomorrow, and be there likely to the end of our stay. We were happy to have it settled.
Flushed with this success, we, and Amed, walked down El Bulevar, and turned, leaving Amed, towards the harbour. Passed a gigantic fig tree,

 then walked along the water, and the Malecón, to Punta Garda. Beautiful to walk beside the large bay, although I had to hurry a bit to get to a "baños". This I expected to find at the Hotel Jagua, a large state-run hotel with lots of tour groups staying at it. But of course, this is Cuba, so it was complicated. I asked at the front desk, and he told me to go out a door and turn left. Sure enough, there was a washroom there, but it was locked. But there was a bar-restaurant, so I figured it must have a washroom. They didn't, but directed me to another place from the first. There was a washroom, with the door open, but no toilet paper. Back to the bar to ask about this. I would have to phone the front desk and someone would come and put in paper. Hmmm. But a waiter took pity on me and gave me a paper napkin, so I was okay for that. Back to the bathroom, to discover that there was no seat on the toilet, no lock on the door, and no soap at the sink. You can't have everything in Cuba, so I did my best!
We stopped long enough to have an orange juice—not quite as good as Amed's which is the best I can remember tasting—and then started off back to the city. We were lucky to see the sunset over the bay,

 and we got home in time for Richard to get a picture from the roof. Supper was fish (serra—I think I misspelled it before), and was wonderful, as was our talk with Amed.
Tonight was to be our concert. Amed was coming with us, down to the Teatro Tomàs Terry. It was a good program: Bizet, Debussy, Vivaldi, Beethoven. And I wanted to see what being in this theatre was like. In short, and amazing and different experience. The ventilation is by opening windows, for instance. This means that it was quite warm. Many people were smart and brought fans to fan themselves. But it also meant that there was a bird in the theatre which swooped from time to time through the stage and into the audience. As well, we could hear the other bands playing Cuban music in the square (or at least their bass parts), as well as some yelling and talking outside. The audience was considerably younger than one I would expect in Canada, some parents having brought children as young as four or five. And they clapped after each movement, which caught the orchestra a bit off-guard. The conductor spoke to the audience in English (even though he was French), and there was a translator who put it into Spanish as he went.
The music was great, the setting was exciting, and the outside noise was a reminder that this music was meant for everyone. A wonderful evening.
Tomorrow we move house, so that should be interesting. But we will now be even closer to the main Plaza.
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Location:Casa Inez Maria