I promised you Cuba pictures.

It will take time to get my Cuban stories into some sort of order, but here - as promised - are a few of my photos.

I've begun with this picture from Havana, as it typifies much of Cuba. This is taken in one of the main streets, and shows how some of the lovely old buildings have been restored while those next door are left to fall down. The extent of the restoration is impressive - there are some beautiful plazas, especially in the oldest part of the city. But - and this is a huge BUT - the restoration is concentrated in areas where the tourists go. Much of residential Havana is crumbling.

I took this from my bedroom window in Sancti Spiritus, at about six in the morning. This man walked up and down the streets, calling loudly enough to wake the cockerels. He had bread and biscuits in the box on the back of his bike. It is now possible for someone to set up a small business in Cuba. Maybe he was up all night, baking. Yet I never saw anyone come out to buy. I hope he was more successful round the corner.

There are images of Che Guevara all over Cuba. His image is on the walls of bus stations, private homes, on the bank notes. I shall, in time, write about him - but for now here is a statue of him holding a child. Whatever you think of him, I liked this - it's small, and hidden between hedges like an apology. But I've no idea what that stag with the gremlin on its back is doing on his shoulder.

Cuban art is wonderful - and everywhere. This is the painted water tank, on the rooftop of a home I stayed in. Imagine - going to all that trouble just to paint a water tank! I sat on that rooftop to read, and to write, with pigs snuffling in the yard next door and the sun going down over the sea.

This is a square in Trinidad (the town) taken through a window. It is as immaculate as it looks here - beautifully painted with trimmed bushes in the plaza and palm trees giving a little shade. If I'd been able to take a picture a little to the right of this, you would be able to see the steps where I spent hours listening to the music. There are less manicured corners in Trinidad - but a curious tourist has to step outside the normal thoroughfares to find them.

Finally, this is the front porch of my casa particular (like a Homestay) in Viñales. The only thing missing is me - on one of those rocking chairs. I had some serious rain while I was there - what a shame, there was nothing I could do but sit and read. Well, what would you have done?

You travel alone?

One of the great joys of travelling is meeting other people. Conversations generally begin with, 'Where are you from?' It's a world-wide opening that really means, 'Let's find out more about each other.'

But, for a solo traveller, it's often followed by, 'You travel alone?'

I enjoy travelling alone. I meet great people that way, and find myself in unexpected and wonderful places. (Ok, sometimes I make mistakes, but that's not a direct consequence of being on my own.) I'm very happy to talk about the excitements and struggles of travelling alone, and to contribute an anecdote or two to any travelling chatter.

Yet what this question really means is, 'Why do you travel alone?'; which, in turn, means, 'Why don't you have a friend or partner who wants to travel with you?'

I make no secret of being widowed. It's no mystery. It's not shameful. It's not what I would have chosen, of course, but it's the card I was dealt. I deal with it.

Generally I manage a brief resumé that reassures my new companion - I am not alone because I am a witch, nor because I smell. I have a patter that moves our conversation on to travel topics, where we've been or long to go, and unexpected joys we've found along the way.

But sometimes I don't feel so charitable. While my mouth prepares the usual spiel, my head is saying, 'Mind your own business. I travel alone - you got a problem with that?' Which is, of course, unkind and unnecessary and would prove I am the witch they think I might be. Travellers ask personal questions very quickly - we know we have a limited time, and conversations are precious, not to be wasted on talk of the weather (unless you're stranded in Somerset, that is). I just wish they could come up with something more original, or less intrusive.

All this is not very generous of me - and, were I ever to have said what I was thinking I'd have missed out on some of the most wonderful people. I just wish there were a different preamble that meant I didn't have to justify travelling alone before we can get down to the serious business of buying a beer.

(Where are my photos - I'll get them on the blog for Monday).

Am home, with apologies for blog silence.

A whole month in Cuba and only two blogposts!! That’s not like me …

Cuba is a complicated country, and I’ve much to write about. But today – and I’ve only been home a couple of days so my brain is still somewhere over the Atlantic, even though my body has made it back safely – today I’ll just explain the blog silence, and leave my musings for another time.

Computer access is limited in Cuba – the Cubans themselves can only use the internet if they show they need it for business or educational reasons. They realise that most of their visitors see things differently, and access is possible for tourists, though it is slow and expensive, and almost always involves a queue. It also involves buying a scratch card – which is fine, unless the scratch cards have run out, in which case it’s unlikely anyone will have any idea when more will appear.

(Wifi? – only in one or two, select hotels. The sort of place I only slink into to use the toilets.)

Most computers are flat-screened and look efficient, but many of the keyboards have letters missing – which is fine for those used to writing but a problem for anyone who needs to look at the keys. They have to resort to guesswork. I got into a muddle the first time I met a bare keyboard – my precious internet seconds ticked away and all I could write was gobblegook.

And then sites can take so long to load you’ve finished your tea before they're done. Than there seems to be some arbitrary decision-making regarding which sites are acceptable. To begin with I could access this blog but not write on it. Then I could write but not publish it. Then it published it, but wouldn’t let me check what I’d published.

Email access was equally random. On two occasions I was able to open my inbox, try to reply – and everything was fine until I actually wanted to write a message. On that occasion I put the message in the subject line, and sent it that way.

So I decided to keep internet access to an absolute minimum. Nothing terrible would happen – those I know and love had my phone number and everything else could wait.

Now I’m home, and the blog-ball will get rolling again before long. For Cuba has given me much to write about – I’d hate you to think that it was nothing more than internet randomness!

Onwards and westwards

Goodness, today this computer allows me to write here. (The whole internet-thing seems very arbitrary sometimes!)

I've been here over two weeks now, and am beginning to get my head round organising myself. There's a wonderful system of 'casas' - local families providing rooms for passing tourists. Once in the system (and that was a bit of a challenge) it's wonderful - each landlady (for want of a better term) phones for a 'casa' in the next town you're visiting and off you go. I've been made wonderfully welcome, in spite of my rubbish Spanish.

From Camaguey, with its narrow labyrinth of streets - many of which echo with the din of builders, as much of the town is being restored - I headed west, stopping in Sancti Spiritus (often nothing more than a whistle-stop for the tour groups) and then Santa Clara, to pay obligatory homage to Che Guevara.

And so to Trinidad - there are back streets where local people live and work, of course, but the central plaza and its surrounding buildings are given over to tourists. It is lovely - the sun shines through palm trees and glints from the tower of the church, and ponies clop along cobbled streets. Tourist-heaven, and I've no way of knowing what sense local people make of us wandering around peering in their doorways, but it's a great place to rest for a day or two!

And the music Trinidad breathes music. That glorious dialogue between Spanish and African traditions that has given us salsa, and rumba. Music is not cerebral here. It lives in bones and blood and muscles. Footsteps are bongos on the cobbles. Trumpets echo from the walls. It´s gutsy, and passionate ... ah, the music ... I shall be jigging round my kitchen for weeks when I get home!

Greetings from Cuba

Hola!

Where have I been all this time? Having a great time, of course - but one of Cuba's quirks is her internet access (you could make a cup of tea in the time it takes to load a page) and reluctance to let me into blogger to tell you all about it. So please, bear with me, I'll blog when I can.

I can barely give you a taster of the complexities of Cuba in this post - Havana with her music and contradictions. The lovely old city with its lanes and plazas and restored buildings; within a stone's throw walls are crumbling and roads filled with potholes. There are goodies for tourists, but local shops almost empty. Music thrums from every corner, setting toes tapping - it till take time for me to see how much that is simply for the tourists' benefit.

I headed west from Havana, a long bus trip to Camaguey - arriving at midnight (breaking all my own rules about safe travel) but was taken to a lovely casa and everything looked brighter in the morning. I loved Camaguey, with its winding streets designed to deter pirates (I spent most of my time lost!). And now I'm wending my way westward, with a few days in Sancti Spiritus - not on all the tour group itineraries but a lovely town celebrating 500 years of something with music and dancing in the main plaza. Here was Cuba at her most flamboyant and wonderful!

Next stop - the plan is to go to Santa Clara. But this is Cuba and I'm learning that anything can happen. So it's quite possible that next time I have access to a working internet connection I'll be in Santiago.

Here I go again.

The bags are packed (a wheelie suitcase this time, not a rucksack. I am assured that there won't be many unruly tracks). The tickets are printed and checked. The bank informed I'm going awol. It's almost time to go.

I understand that internet access is expensive and slow in Cuba - I'll drop by here from time to time, of course, to pass or an adventure or two, but my visits are unlikely to prolonged or regular. (I'll not tell you all of them - my daughters have been known to drive by here and there's no need to alarm them). Of course comments will be welcome - I promise to read them but I may not be able to respond.

Nor will I be able to do much on the twitter front - so if anyone feels energised to publicise a post or two, that would be wonderful. And if you don't -  that's fine too. I'll read blogs when I can, but can't promise to keep up with the chatter or even write anything meaningful. I'll do my best to catch up when I get back.

For I'll be ... I don't know where. I have five nights booked in Havana, and then I'll take a bus somewhere and see what happens. All I know is, it will be warm, and wonderful (sorry, probably shouldn't rub that in). I'll travel with notebook in one hand and pen in the other, scribbling stories as I go.

You never know, there might be another book when I get back.

(Meanwhile, I've titivated the website - nothing drastic, just a little play with the colours and boldy bits. If you have some online time to fritter: click here. And if you fancied following the link on the website and 'liking' me on Facebook - I'm told it makes a difference to something-or-other, but I've no idea what!)

How was it for you?

So, that's it for another year. The tinsel is tired, the compost overflowing with uneaten sprouts, the balloons popped.

I hope you all enjoyed the festival you needed. If eating, drinking and being merry is your thing - then I hope you are sated. If settling in a corner by the fire in glorious silence, knowing the shops are closed and the phone won't ring, is what floats your boat - then I hope no doorbells rang for you.

Me - I had the best of both worlds. On some days my walls echoes with the laughter of grandchildren (I shouldn't be surprised that people so small can make so much noise); and on others I sat with a book and let the hours swim by.

And so to 2014. The shiver of excitement that comes with a New Year. The days will get longer (promise); the birds will sing again; the snowdrops will bloom and we'll look for catkins.

Some of you will make resolutions - not me. I can't see the point of setting myself up to fail. I can do that easily enough without the excuse of the date. If you're promising yourselves a slimmer, fitter body by the time the clocks go forward - the very best of luck.

For it is a time of year for looking forward - and as you know, I have travels to look forward to. But before I head for the airport I shall think, for a while, about those who cannot - for whatever reason - share my excitement. It can be a painful time of year - for many reasons, and I won't speculate about yours. For those of you weeping into your cocoa, I hope that 2014 takes the shape you need it to. That the lonely will find comfort, that the needy will find succour, and the beleaguered will find peace.

I raise a glass to you all.

ps. I've had a rather wonderful start to the year - I submitted Over the Hill to a competition so long ago I'd almost forgotten, and then this happened: click here! So I might eat cake as I raise my glass to you!