 I woke with the birds, get myself packed and off for seven thirty. The journey down to Santiago is uneventful other than meeting a very strange looking German, who reminds me of the archetypal scientist you get in bad films. Its dark when we hit Santiago and the bus station is busy. As we get off the bus, we are marauded by the usual suspects of taxi drivers and casa proprietors. Standing patiently at the back of the melee is a very attractive middle aged lady. She winks at me and calls me over. "Hola Pedro, Soy Isabella." Seems my previous landlady had pre-arranged my next apartment for me. I wasnt going to argue. We take a taxi across town and arrive in a quiet street. We go into a spacious colonial style house and take coffee. After the paperwork is completed, I flop into bed and sleep off the days excess of miles. The following day I begin with a walk into the city. Boy, its hot. the place is pretty intense, just like Havana - "Amigo this, Amigo that," when all I want is to be left in peace.  | Anyone up for a dance? |
I head out of the centre and find myself in front of a lovely building, a maternity hospital that looks like something out of a Hollywood film. I take shelter from the sun under a tree and consult the travel book. The nearest beach is at a place called Ciudamar. There is a bus service to it so I find the bus stop and wait. I get chatting to a young man called Jonathon. He tells me his mother and father left for Florida some years ago and he intends to join them there. He is hoping to get work as a translator. Forty minutes later and still no bus. I go back into the city and do a bit of food shopping. The crowds and jinteros are getting on my nerves by this point and I need my space. Back at the apartment I head for the rooftop garden and do some yoga. Peace is mine again and I spend the next couple of hours reading. By 9pm Im restless and go in search of a music club. Opposite the Bacardi museum I find a joint thats positively jumping and go in. This place is bereft of tourists and has an authentic feel to it. The band are playing hard African rhythms and one man dominates the dance floor. Presumably local, hes small and sports a pair of large white sunglasses that would look stupid on anyone else. He dances crouched over with an almost tribal energy about him, turning occasionally to acknowledge the crowds appreciation. I leave about midnight and man in white sunglasses is still going strong. I like the city at this hour, all the  traffic has subsided and you are left in peace. I take a leisurely stroll back to the apartment and call it a day.
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