Sleeping at an airport is often a test of stamina and endurance. Sleeping at Habana airport has certainly been enduring. On the positive side, its a large modern airport with enough throughput of flights and passengers to there not be any risk of being kicked out late at night and have to sleep on the street. On the negative side, there are no quiet corners in the airport terminal where hombres escoces y tacano (mean scotsmen) that dont want to pay for another nights accomodation in a Casa de Particular in central Habana can bed down for the night.
The quiet spot I thought I had recced out for a good nights sleep turned out to be the meeting point for airport employees to gather and smoke and gossip loudly. The second quiet spot I found turned out to be better, except for a steady stream of habaneros that walked past it remarking 'mirale extranjero' loud enough to wake me at regular intervals.
I've been at Jose Marti international airport for almost 17 hours now. Some of the airport staff have just started their second shift since I arrived yesterday, and recognise me with surprise as I trudge the path from my sleeping spot to the gents toilets every few hours, rucksack on my back.
I arrived in Cuba tired after a night of broken sleep at Gatwick airport two weeks ago, and I will leave Cuba tired after a night of broken sleep on the cold tiles of its capital's international airport. I've had no more than 10 of my normally allocated 40 winks of sleep overnight, and look forward to falling into the warm embrace of a Cancun hostal bed recently made up with soft silk sheets, softer duck down pillows and a lumpless, stainless mattress. A Swiss chocolate on the pillow will be a welcomed final touch. A half eaten taco or the remains of a recently smoked cigarillo will not.
