Right, Cuba.
Day 0, Skies Over Paris
After quite some time of rather hectic packing and stressful wandering (I was convinced I had forgotten something important. I knew I had everything I *needed*, such as passport and such, but there were a few other items which would have been nice to have), the bus finally pulled up and we got on, bidding a sweet farewell to Skiringssal and whatever it was we had neglected to pack.
The bus ride was rather unremarkable, mostly due to the fact that I slept for a good deal of it. Apparently some people found this to be the perfect opportunity for a photoshoot, particularly after they had done some... Well, posing.
We got to the airport and started getting our tickets to check in. Everything was going just peachy, with the large and unwieldy group breezing through security checks and what-have-you (well, not everyone made it through just fine. The teacher ended up getting stopped and searched. He was the only one in our class who set off the metal detectors), when we got to the "limbo" area between the boarding gates and the security checks. There was one last check before the gates area, and that was just a simple "wave your passport at the guard" deal, but we were not allowed to come back through that check and there was something on our side that was somewhat appealing. Namely, a few machines were we could draw money from our accounts in the form of Euros (to be converted in Cuba).
This was a simple affair of going up to a machine, sticking your card in, plugging in your code and drawing out money. Or at least it
would be a simple affair, if you didn't happen to have a record of forgetting your PIN code.
I stick my card in and plug in what I am sure is my correct PIN, and the card is swept away into the bowels of the beast. Apparently, you're not awarded three strikes at every machine you try. A total record is kept. And eight previous moments of forgetfulness is a little over the limit.
The most logical option would then of course be to contact one of the personnel at the staffed bank right there, and see if they could do something about this. Well, the bank wasn't open. And it wouldn't open until 45 minutes later.
So I stood out there, accompanied by the F&TV teacher, for three quarters of an hour. And this was more than just waiting around, since the plane was scheduled to take off about half an hour after we would be finished, and we would still need to find the gate after passing through that check.
When the bank finally did open, they informed us that sorry, they couldn't do anything. I had to borrow some cash from the teacher, and then we went through to the gates.
The plane trip was... Well, a trip on a plane. I wouldn't exactly call it enjoyable, but I at least got to sit next to a couple people I knew.
We hopped on over to Paris, and while there I received word from my dad (I had contacted him while waiting outside the bank, in hopes he might have some information which would help me) that he had wired money to the French postal service that I would be able to pick up. He gave me the claim number and the name of the sender, which I would simply have to fill out on one of their forms in order to get the money.
There's that "simple" again. Apparently, they needed a little more than just the names of the sender and the recipient, and the claim number. No, they needed the EXACT amount of the transfer, the location of both the sender and the recipient (country, state, postal code and street address), the secret question and the secret answer, and the phone number of the sender.
Not only did I not know most of this stuff, there were some things that didn't EXIST. Such as my residential address in France. Furthermore, the sender's name was a corporation. They wanted the first and last name of a person, otherwise no-go.
After much back-and-forth, including some spread out phone calls to numerous different people, things managed to get sorted out to the point where I got the money. Much more money than I would likely ever use in Cuba.
Then we got to the gates and sat around for a while. A long while. Some people slept, some people watched TV, I tried to find a comfortable position to form my body into so that I could relax. Now, of course, my definition of a "comfortable position" differs slightly from the tastes (and, indeed, capabilities) of other people. More pictures were taken.
After some time of this, I felt a certain bladder-related urge. I set off to find some restrooms. A simple enough task.
Oh, you devilish little word.
It took me a few minutes before I found a "Restrooms this way!" sign, which was pointing down a small set of stairs. Down those stairs I found a couple guys playing on a PS3, some maintenance doors, an elevator and another flight of stairs.
The elevator didn't seem entirely functional, so I took the stairs. Next landing down, there was one door which says "Do Not Open", and another door with a rather large lock on it. There was also another flight of stairs, so I went down those. Next landing down there was nothing except yet another flight of stairs. On the final floor it was almost completely black, and the only items of interest were two doors at either end of a corridor. One of the doors read "Emergency Use Only, Alarm Will Sound. This Door Is Kept Sealed", and the other door looked like it led into a warehouse of some sort. There was also a wheelchair sitting in the middle of a large puddle of water which made the floor quite slippery.
I made my way back up.
Going in the other direction, I find another restroom sign. I went down another suspiciously blank set of stairs before coming across a junction that loudly presented the "Sheik's Lounge", but gave no information as to what that might actually
be. After a bit of searching down there, my heart and bladder sour with joy as my eyes are treated to the restroom entrances!
This is quickly cut short by the fact that the men's restroom was out of order and the door was blocked.
I made my way up to gate level once again and gave it another go. All the way at the end of the various shops there was a sign proclaiming "Men's Room". I made my way around the corner, and was greeted by the delightful sounds of a functioning restroom.
Upon making my way in through the door, however, I find all the stalls and urinals occupied and about seven guys sitting around waiting for their turn.
Screw that, I'll take my chances with the plane.
Much, much later we piled onto the plane and take off for Cubaland. The seat assignments seemed almost completely random however, and I ended up sitting next to a German dude and his somewhat under-the-weather wife. However, according to some of the accounts I heard after the flight, I got off easy.
We arrived in Cuba late in the afternoon, and by the time the busses arrive at our first hotel it's already dark. Everybody checks in with a minimum of hassle, and everyone heads up to their respective rooms.
Relatively minimalist rooms, but they seemed just fine to me. The view was of the many buildings in Havana, which I might add all look like they've been through a war. Or two.
And that's pretty much it. I'm gonna go wander off for a bit. I'm not feeling particularly write-y today, so I don't think I'll be getting around to another update just yet. I'm biting my own schedule by doing this, but I really just can't make it through another update right now.
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Topic: Sandy Fjord (Read 96288 times)