Accessing hotel pools in Havana

Even if you're not staying in a hotel in Havana, it is still possible to find a place to sunbathe. Most of the hotels will let you go to their pool if you pay a cover charge.

I like sunbathing at the pools - there are sunbeds, no messy sand, and showers. When you get too hot you can go in the pool, and the waiters will serve you cocktails where you're sitting! These are the pools we would go to in Vedado...

Habana Libre, Calle M y 23
If you pay $10, you can use the pool. The $10 goes towards the bar. If you don't want to order anything from the bar, just pay $5. You can also borrow towels here with a deposit. They do a nice salad and decent cocktails. Also you can pop over the road and go to Waoo! which does amazing burgers!

The pool is nice, its not that secluded so you can still hear the traffic but its a great place to sunbathe. Sometimes there are creepy men there.

Hotel Nacional, Calle 21 y 0
This has one of the best pools. Its $15 cover. The pool is large and attractive.
If you're cheeky, you can sneak round the back of the Hotel in the gardens where there is another pool, where people go swimming. Often nobody checks here so you don't have to pay.
A bonus is you can sometimes get the Wifi at the pool here.

Hotel Meliá Cohiba, Calle 1ra
This hotel is more likely to have Cubans at it. Its a salt water pool! The cover is about $12, though you can try to sneak in, and they have a bar that sells things like fried chicken and pizzas.

Hotel Inglaterra, Paseo Prado
This hotel doesn't have a pool but it has a lovely roof terrace with live music in the evenings and perfect view of Old Havana. Its nice to go here for a drink.

There are other hotels in the Old Town, and if you go in and ask they'll let you to the pool. Just make sure they don't rip you off!

HOW TO USE TAXIS IN CUBA/HAVANA! Cubataxi, Maquinas and American Cars

With no underground or metro system and buses that make you weak at the knees, taxis are probably the best way to get around in Havana. We have a volatile relationship with the taxi drivers. We love taxis. We hate taxi drivers.We hate taxis. We love taxi drivers. It's a fickle thing!

I would say there are three types of taxis,. each with their own special quirks.

1. Huge, beautiful American Cars

These big cars park outside hotels and are very shiny. A friendly Cuban will drive you open-top around the city, and he will charge you through the teeth for the privilege! This can be fun for the novelty but its not worth it unless you get lucky, and a fancy taxi driver gives you a good deal! No Cubans use these, unless they're getting married (to a foreigner) and are - in the words of our Cuban neighbour - 'ostentatious'.

2. Cubataxi

Cuba taxis are yellow and usually Ladas. They charge in tourist dollars but they're not too expensive, though you should still haggle with them. They're probably the safest, cheap option at night but nevertheless I used them rarely. 

When my parents were visiting, there was no other option for me to get from their accommodation to my house than to use Cuba taxi. On one particularly typical night, I had to talk to three taxi drivers before somebody agreed to my limit of $4 for a taxi. Climbing in, the driver began revving the engine but nothing happened. The car was old and decrepit, and needed a push-off. In a characteristic wave of Cuban comradery, all nearby taxi drivers (including those who had grossly overcharged me and I'd just rejected) surrounded the car and push it halfway down the road, running behind and beside it, so it could get enough speed to start the engine. Taxi drivers mince tourists as much as humanly possible, but they're nice to each other.

3. Maquinas/Collectivos

I love Maquinas because they are one element of Cuban life I feel I really understood and could manage as well as a Cuban. They're basically cars that are owned by the driver (unlike Cubataxis) that do a set route, for example from Vedado to Havana Vieja and back again. They are collective taxis, so like a bus, they stop for people who stick their hand out until they're full. It was difficult to explain to my sisters and parents how you could tell which cars were maquinas. They were usually old, rusty American cars that weren't fancy enough to be tourist taxis, they'd have a 'taxi' sticker in the window and.... they just looked like maquinas!
To catch a maquina you wait on the pavement on one of the routes- make sure you stand where its legal for them to stop! We would wait on Calle B y 23 for maquinas to go to Capitolio, which was basically the centre of Old Town. Passing maquina drivers will stick their fingers out their window showing how many spaces they had, and then you'd wave them down and tell them where you wanted to go. All journeys cost $10 or $20 Cuban pesos. Its so much cheaper than other taxis and really convenient.
You can get maquinas home from town from Calle Neptuno (walk to Hotel Telegrapho then go left).

Remember that things always change in Cuba so if you need help ask a friendly Cuban. Casa Paticular owners will always be helpful but they may well try and get you to use one of their mate's cars. Our Casa Paticular owner in Vinyales arranged our trip home with The Cat:

We fit 10 people in this (not-so) roomy taxi

Getting to and from the airport

There is a bus that goes to and from the airport but I'll be honest, it doesn't actually stop anywhere near the airport and its a big hassle, even if it does only cost about 3p. The best option is to suck it up and pay the $20/25 to get home in an official taxi. If somebody approaches you and offers cheaper then its probably illegal, but if you want the cheap price make sure you agree and don't let them wander off with another customer! If you're living in Havana and picking someone up, you might be able to agree a good price with a taxi driver to take you there and wait for you. Alternatively take the bus.

As with everything in Cuba, make sure you agree the price of a taxi with the driver before you get in. In my experience Cubans won't try and cheat you if you agree a price with them, but if you don't then they'll obviously seize the opportunity to make an extra few dollars!

And you've got to get the bus at least once while you're there.

More info on Cuba:
Food in Cuba
Toilets in Cubs
Cuba highlights

May Day Parade in Havana: "TODAS A LA PLAZA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Today is a hugely important day in Cuba because it is MAY DAY, DAY OF THE WORKERS!!!! Obviously workers are a big deal in this Socialist State, however confusingly they celebrate day of the workers by giving everyone the day off work (!!??!?!?). People have been preparing for the celebrations all week, and lots of shops and businesses etc etc have put up signs declaring their support for ‘primer de mayo’ followed by the popular slogan “TODOS A LA PLAZA”, which my dictionary reliably informs me means “Everyone to the town square!”.

Being an easily influenced sort of girl, I followed these enthusiastic instructions and Calle B and I set off at a bone-tingly early 7.10am (it was meant to be 7.00am but SOMEBODY was late) (that ‘somebody’ was me.) Off we marched!!!! Fortunately for us we live a small walking distance to La Plaza de la Revolucion, but others had travelled from far and wide to attend and I was woken 4am by a rather irate Bajan housemate exclaiming “CHEESE ON BREAD!!!” at revelers outside our window. At 5.45am I was again roused from a dream-riddled snooze by some eery, spage-age techno music echoing through the streets and lots of whooping from Cubans who had arrived early and were getting excited. People came in their work uniforms with big banners and papier mache models of Fidel and also crocodiles (relevance of which remains elusive to me) declaring their support for the revolution. Although it was still very early, a huge parade of workers was marching proudly alone, and we snuck round the people watching the march and GOT INVOLVED! Unfortunately I didn’t have a 10 foot flag, a “Viva la revolucion!” banner or a red t shirt that said “#yosoychavez” on the back, so I didn’t look like many of the other people there, but I did have an enthusiastic and revolutionary attitude which I believe my fellow marchers appreciated a lot.

At one point the march came to a stop. Our group had got a bit split up and I was left with Bajan roommate and a certain J McGuigan, who is yet to make a name for herself in Manchester but has a strong fan base in Nottingham who call themselves the ‘McGuiglets’. We heard one or two words from an old man who I have convinced myself was Raul and/or Fidel, then they played the national anthem and chanted “Viva la revolucion! Viva Fidel! Viva Raul!” and everyone waved their flags like CRAZY! This seemed to really enthuse the crowd, as the march took up quite a pace after that and people positively stormed passed the memorial of Jose Marti, which lies at the centre of the Plaza de la Revolucion. In fact, they were moving so fast that it was very difficult for me, Bajan housemate and McGuigan to manoeuvre ourselves to get in a good position to see the people on the podium. Thankfully, through some extremely skilled side-stepping, we did manage to get to the podium-side of the forceful river of people, and only trod on one or two or three people/children on the way, and THAT’S when I managed to get my top notch photo of Raul HIMSELF!!! Admittedly, at that exact moment in time, I can’t say that I was 100% certain which of the several men on the podium was Raul, or if he was even there at all. Rumours were flying left right and centre about whether he was in green, pink or white, so I took photos of all the men and on returning home we singled him out. He (Raul) was looking pretty happy and waving cheerfully at all the workers. Standing below there were also some representatives from all over the world of people who solodaridise with Cuba. Today was dedicated to Hugo frickin Chavez who is continuing to remain very popular with the poplace.

We not only got in touch with our patriotic, socialist roots this week, but also got one on one with nature on Saturday, as we went for a cheeky trip to Las Terrazas. Las Terrazes in an eco-community that is a day-trip away from Havana. At first our plans were nearly foiled as the bus there was full and we couldn’t find any six-seater taxis, which made the whole thing incredible economically unviable. However, by a stroke of luck, we stumbled on a very shiny, red car owned by a nice man called Carlos who agreed to drive us there for a very reasonable price. Once we got to the eco-community it became clear it was an incredibly large kind of place, but luckily Carlos drove us around the little roads so we could get where we wanted. You’d think riding around in a taxi inside an eco-community would be frowned upon, but it wasn’t. We went swimming in some natural pools. Everything was very GREEN and disconcertingly slimy, especially in the pool. Regular fans will no doubt be impressed, amazed and proud to hear I actually jumped into the pool from a nearby rock (more slipped than jumped, really, but the point remains). Hashtag overcoming my fear of water 2k13! Of the evening we returned to our New Favourite Club, El Morro in the fort, but I decided not to make a repeat performance of my Rapping, as – and i’ll admit this without any shame or embarrassment – i was a bit nervous it was a one-off thing and I wouldn’t be able to repeat my roaring success. However, on Monday I was introduced to a group of hip-hoppers from the US of A as ‘the rapper’, and joined in their hiphop bodypopping dancing style (lots of twisty-wrist going down), so you’ll be no doubt glad to hear that I am continuing to represent the UK hip hop scene here, “across the pond (and south a bit)”.

I’ll end on some sobering news. The more sensitive souls among you might be troubled to hear that both my laptop and my mp3 player have come into contact with a serious amount of liquid this week, and neither seem to have come off too well from the meeting. Both have failed to respond well to my fiddling with them, despite gentle coaxing and frustrated bursts of anger. Additionally, the laptop has acquired a vaguely unpleasant smell of gone-off-chocolate-milk. Thankfully Bajan roommate keeps leaving her laptop unattended and, through some serious sleuthing, I know her password and so have been hacking it.

Lots of love, Sarah x

Scuba Diving in the Bay of Pigs

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this particular entry on Sunday avfter an Extremely Traumatic Experience. Obviously the best way to deal with an Extremely Traumatic Experience is to talk about it extensively so it’s a teensy bit long. Enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes life in Cuba can be more similar to life back home than you expect. This morning, for example, I woke up heavily bruised, with a pounding headache, back-brushed hair skewing in various directions, some barely explained grazes on my knees and vivid memories of spending several hours the previous day hanging on for dear life to a giant of a man aged about 45. In England, I would associate this combination of symptoms with a night at Bop or perhaps even Erasmus (the 45 year old man being my old friend, Michael, the bouncer. Obvs.). Obviously Erasmus doesn’t exist here so the causes were quite different: YESTERDAY I went on a SCUBA DIVE!!!!!!!!!!

BACKGROUND INFORMATION: It may surprise you to know that I am actually NOT the world’s most proficient swimmer. I did successfully obtain my 50 metre swimming badge aged approximately 10 years old, though I could only do this by swimming on my back, as I couldn’t swim on my front because putting my face in the water freaks me out. However, despite this fact - and despite the fact that any fool could tell you that scuba diving most definitely involves putting your head under the water - as we were cruising toward our diving spot of choice, this was the narrative going through my mind: “I’ve never done scuba diving before. Maybe I’ll have natural talent for it, which I’ve never known about!” I pondered. “I love fish. I love aquariums. I can already tell that this is the sport for me. Maybe I’ll keep it up in Britain. I could get certified. I could become a trainer; that would be a great summer job. Maybe I’ll even find some buried treasure on a shipwreck and become a millionaire!” The prospects were very exciting.

We arrived at a small bay in Playa Giron, a beach in the infamous Bay of Pigs in southern Cuba. The sea was so clear it looked like liquid cling film, the sun was shining and the view was breath-takingly beautiful. We chose to dive because it’s one of Birthday Boy’s passions. Bajan Housemate and he are very experienced, so they split off to go on some kind of intrepid adventure, involving a sunken American warship, and which I imagine to have been rather like the opening scenes of Titanic. The rest of us were left with several cheerful, portly Cubans who cheerfully showed us what we were meant to do and cheerfully helped us do up our wet suits. It was all going ‘swimmingly’ (if you’ll pardon the pun), and I thoroughly enjoyed both the wet suit and the goggles. This was the high point of the morning. In many ways, as soon as I had to enter the water, things began to go dramatically downhill.

First of all, I had to put on this huge jacket with a tank full of oxygen, as this is vital for you to be able to breath whilst under the water (as there is no air underwater).  I did not ask exactly how heavy this tank was ( I shall estimate that it weighed approximately 100 kilograms) but I can tell you that once it was on I couldn’t stand up without assistance, and one of the portly gentlemen had to assist me into the sea, where I promptly toppled backwards due to the weight. The portly gentleman hastily filled my jacket with air so that I floated on top of the water, bobbing up and down on my back (or, in his words, with “my inside-up”). At this point I was encouraged to put on my flippers. I tried to bend forwards to reach my feet but what with the puffy air filed jacket and the 300 kilo oxygen tank on my back, it was remarkably difficult to move, and being unable to reach my feet put me into a fit of giggles which made all movements COMPLETELY impossible. Portly Gentleman had to put on my flippers for me, while I flapped around and rolled over, and I no longer knew if I was laughing from amusement or embarrassment. I was surprised to note that nearly every other member of the group successfully walked into the ocean and put on their flippers without any assistance.

Anyway, we all bobbed around for a bit and I got carried away by the current because I was bobbing too much, and had to swim back and got all tired, and then we had to spit in our goggles(!) and put them on and we saw some fish and got excited and all these sorts of things. Then, one by one, my companions had their jackets deflated by a portly gentleman and ducked under the water.

What then happened is a bit of a blur to me, but I’ve tried to piece it together for your reading pleasure: When it was my turn, I went under, mouth tightly clamped around the mouthpiece, and accidentally breathed through my nose, which caused my goggled to steam up, which surprised me, so I opened my mouth to express my shock and breathed in water and panicked and had to be resurfaced. Portly Gentleman cheerfully reminded me that when I went underwater, I had to breathe. I thanked him, put the horrible thing back in my mouth and bobbed around for a while, hoping he would leave me there. However, he obviously was very keen to see the fishes again as he went back underwater, grabbed my hand, and took me with him!

I imagine he was hoping that once we were under the surface again I would realise that it wasn’t so bad after all, and that as long as I breathed through my mouth and kept my mouth shut, I would be okay, and I would be able to let go of his hand and swim off and enjoy the coral. But I did not let go. I held on to that man. He pointed at fish, I nodded enthusiastically, and kept hold of him. He pointed at my companions, who mainly seemed to be taking to diving like ducks to water (if you’ll pardon the pun), and I observed and nodded and waved at them and kept hold of the man. He repeatedly asked me if I was okay and I replied (using the scuba diving special signal) that I was – and I reinforced my tight hold of his arm.  I held onto that man extremely tightly, as if my life depended on it, and stayed with him for the complete duration of the dive. I think three times I considered letting go, when I was distracted enough by the fish and the coral to calm down a bit – or just after he accidentally dragged me along two feet of coral and I cut my knees - but the thought of it gave me mild heart palpitations and made me breathe faster which made lots more bubbles come out of my mouthpiece that hit me in the face, which alarmed me (and the fish) and then I just held on tighter. At one point I contemplated letting go and swimming to the surface, where it was safe, and waiting there until everyone was finished, but I had an inkling he wasn’t about to let that happen. Then I no longer knew if I was holding him or he was holding me – it was very confusing.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, he tapped me on the head and pointed upwards, and I stood up out of the water, only very nearly avoiding toppling onto my back again. I was shaking and wobbly, and made my way slowly out of the sea and, with the help of a portly gentleman, climbed back up onto the rock where the coach was and took off my jacket. Then I saw Bajan Roommate and I had a little cry because I’d been so scared but I’d had to be so clam for so long to avoid panicking and drowning. Then I had a little wee because I’d needed one in the water but hadn’t wanted to wee on Portly Gentleman and also I find it difficult to sea-wee.

There were two others who had found it a little perplexing, and had also made use of some hand holding (though only I had kept a grip of my man for the entire trip), and we all took a bit of time out to regather our Selves. Some of the group were sorry to get out, and had loved every minute. I find that very suspicious. I haven’t felt that close to death since the Great JLS Riot of 2009.

However, in conclusion, I did manage to see a sting ray floating along on the seabed. I recognised it because I have seen them in Birmingham Sea Life Centre, which I can enter for free with my Blue Peter Badge. I love a good sea life centre and plan to do all future sealife viewing at this venue, and NOT whilst scuba diving. J

Kisses from the Caribean,

Sarah

Going to the beach and going crazy

UPDATE FROM THE CARIBANIA:

HEY GUYS!

As I hear it has been snowing the UK/Austria this week I am sure you will be able to extend some sympathy to my situation in Havana, as we're suffering a bit of a cold spell. Yesterday it was one of the  boy's birthdays so we went to the beach, but we were the only people there, as there was a bit of a cool breeze and several clouds in the sky. I was only wearing shorts and a t shirt, and at one point I had to put a towel over my shoulders to keep warm!!!!!!!!!!!! I still managed to get a spot of sun burn on my left tricep though.

Spirits were high at the beach as we were all enjoying the birthday cheer, and I felt like I was in Cornwall  what with all the wind and sporadic sun, so we listened to a lot of Brit Pop to keep us in the mood. Festivities carried on into the night and we braved a local club, which is confusingly called 'Bertold Brecht' and boasts some BIG NAMES in the Cuban prog rock scene. Things were going well and I even made some Cuban friends, but then one unruly character grabbed a chunk of my (admittedly irresistibly luscious) hair as I was walking into the toilet. On my way out (of the toilet) he grinned at me and I politely told him to not touch my hair. He did not seem to comprehend fully however as he then touched my hair again and said "I've met your parents! I know you!" I disregarded this immediately as my parents would have definitely informed me of any Cuban friends they had, so I said "no you don't. Don't touch my hair." To my utter HORROR, in response he then GRABBED MY CHEEKS (!) and shouted, drool and spit flying all over the shop, "YOU'RE IN CUBA NOW!!!!!!!" then touched my hair again (!!). Thankfully (for him) he then decided to leave, cackling like a little gnome. Those surrounding me had to HOLD ME BACK to stop me from giving him a Piece Of My Mind. I'm still angry at him and hope not to bump into him again. Most Cuban people do not act like this, which is a blessing. You'll be glad to hear that despite this interlude the night was still a success, and I got a HUGE sandwich to snack on in the club, and it came with BREE in it!! (as in, the cheese!) It was so exciting!

We were all hoping to have a few days off uni due to the national mourning taking place for President Chavez of Venezuela. This turned out to be far from the case and our teached pointedly rang our homes to make sure we knew that we had to go to class. However, we did go down to the Plaza de la Revolucion, where about 500,000 people were queuing up to pay respects to him at a little memorial. Cuban people are very patient and very, very good at queuing, far better than English people I AM AFRAID TO TELL YOU. I hope that doesn't destroy your sense of national identity. English people queue better than Austrians (not hard) but Cubans win hands down. Every time they join a queue they say "who's last?" to make sure they're not pushing in. Then they just watch that person, instead of the whole queue. They don't even need to queue in a straight line this way! It's SO efficient!

In the last week Bajan Housemate and I have been competing to come up with one adjective that adequately described Cuba. So far we have been squabbling over "confusing", "interesting", "chaotic" and "complicated". My word of choice was 'confusing' because I spend at least 95% of my day with a complete lack of comprehension of what is happening around me. This is caused partly by the language barrier but mainly by the culture barrier, which is great. The good news is that my cleaner/cook/maid lady has gone from hating and disdaining me to finding me ridiculously hilarious, mainly because I never have a clue what's going on and I get out of bed so late (which she seems to find funny...)

See ya later alligators xxxx

Dipping our toes in the warm Cuban Cultural POOL

“Ballet!” we cried, in unison, storming the ticket booth in solider-like unison, moneda nacional waving in the air and a sense of righteousness that enabled us to get in for local, Cuban prices.

“Ballet!” we cried, shirts buttoned and dresses flared. “Ballet!” we hollered, skipping into the venue, and settling bums into our velvet seats…but BALLET – ‘BALLET’ - is NOT what we were presented with. Unless, of course, the Spanish word ‘ballet’ actually means ‘FLAMENCO’ or ‘woman pretending to be a bull and thrusting’.

The chosen piece was ‘Carmen’, the traditional OPERA, turned into ‘Spanish Ballet’ which was 100% flamenco. The ticket for Cubans costs 10 moneda nacional, far less than a can of coke and about 30p in GBP, and I must admit the dancing quality was extremely high – the production values slightly less so. It was all a bit confusing because they used a lot of the famous music from Carmen, but I am also convinced they did a mash up between flamenco and swan lake at one point and I have no idea why. The music wasn’t live though, and the sound quality was a little tinny and echoey, and in adition I spent some of the second half distracted by the fact the walls were creaking threateningly and I was scared they’d fall down. By far the best bit was when they stopped the music and the male protagonist stood on top of a table and did that insane foot-stamping flamenco thing, accompanied only by a woman clapping and another man beating on a wooden box. His feet were moving so fast you couldn’t see them! It was really cool and we clapped VERY hard.

The ballet venue is only 10 minutes walk from our house, as is the national theatre and concert hall, so we are planning to make some more visits soon and see what we like. I definitely want to go to see the national ballet (as I think it would actually be ballet). As regular fans will no doubt be unsurprised to here, I am also on an avid search for getting my next fix of opera.

The theatre is just off La Plaza de la Revalucion, which is a big square where that huge mural of Che Guevara is. In the middle is a giant tower built to Cuban hero Jose Marti, a poet and revolutionary from the 1800s. Me and Bajan Roommate went there on Saturday and got the lift to the top to get a view of Havana. [NB: The following eloquent and poetic description will only make sense if you have ever played Sim City.] You know on Sim City, when you built a town really nicely in a nice grid shape, and given a few nice monuments and a town hall and a hospital and all that jazz, but then you neglect it for a bit? From zoomed out it still looks good, but when you zoom in, some of the blocks still look all shiny and new and the town hall is doing great, but right next door to the shiny, healthy looking blocks and you see a whole block of derelict buildings that are falling down or on fire. That is what Havana looks like! (except no buildings on fire). A beautiful renascence building will stand directly opposite an almost completely derelict one – its really extraordinary  From what I can gather, this is because Old Havana became very derelict as I guess there isn’t much money and it was being spent elsewhere (like at the ballet.) but recently they have started a big project of restoration, which is why seemingly new buildings are stood by decaying ones. The restoration is deemed as being a huge success because the man who spearheaded it had ensured that they keep to how they would have looked originally, and carefully and sensibly restored. The results are quite SUBLIME in some places.

The area where I live is full of huge houses where the mafia used to live, now mostly looking really quite rundown. One of the concerns of opening up the housing market is that foreign money will not be as respectful to the history of buildings as the government has been, and fund cheap but poorly judged and insensitive repairs to the buildings, which would really take the magic out of the area. I find this very interesting, and I learnt a lot from speaking to our professor who came to make sure we were doing okay as we settled in (and bought me a shandy).

NOW FOR SOME POLITICAL INSIGHT: Cuba is currently in a state of mourning after the sudden death of President Chavez, and this means I have uni off tomorrow. There is going to be a huge ralley in the Plaza de la Revolucion apparently, so we're planning to go in the morning. Venezuela is one of Cuba's closest allies and trades with it and apparently, amongst other things, sells it cheap oil. A change in government there would really affect Cuba, so we're waiting to see what happens. However the TV seems to show the whole of South America is very affected by his death, as he was a bit of a hero.

The weather became quite stiflingly, suffocating hot this week until I could barely breath without getting all bothered, and every now and then I’d get a whiff of how I smelt and it would be so stomach-churningly sour that I’d immediately run to bathe myself in a refreshing lukewarm shower. Then, on Thursday, l the heavens opened and the rain fell down with the pounding force of projectile vomit. It was absolutely freezing today (like 20 degrees or something) and I’ve been having to use my blanket at night L I’m even wearing my (only) hoody as I type (it’s starting to stink.)! 

Mother will probably have noticed my grammar and spelling have improved this week, which is due to the fact that I found ‘Microsoft Word Starter’ on my laptop (instead of notepad) and it comes with Spellcheck! I love Spellcheck.  But apart from that, university is still running, I’m still on a diet based almost exlusively on rice and beans, and the an army of dogs is still roaming the streets, bald and growly and scaring me senseless.

Kluvya bye xxxxxxxxxx