A future for Cuba.

I might be expected to join in all the Happy Christmas shenanigans, but I can't let the Cuba news slip by without a thought or two.

Do I really have the qualifications to give an opinion on the thawing of relations between Cuba and America, based on just one month on the island last winter?

Of course not. But I can make an observation or two. Besides, I've read a couple of newspaper pieces that seem to be based on internet research. I have, at least, been there - and very recently.

Feelings, on both sides, run deep. There are misunderstandings, fantasies, projections - all feeding beliefs that have their origins in history. And that is surely the point - the fallout between the two countries began over fifty years ago. At last, it's time to talk.

In my opinion, what is most encouraging is not the announcement by President Obama that diplomacy will be resumed; rather it is the acknowledgement that there have - behind the scenes, in the bars of Havana and the corridors of Washington - been talks. Men and women from both countries have sat together, out of sight of newsmen and photographers, and settled on a discourse. There will be upsets and foot-stamping before an understanding can be reached. But the doors are now opened. There is the opportunity of listening.

And, from my position of ignorance, I can tell you what I wish for Cuba. I wish investment - in her buildings, in her health service, in her infrastructure. There is much to be done. But I hope it can be done thoughtfully - Cuba is a vibrant, wonderful country with a unique culture. Her music (ah the music) is compulsive. Her people are welcoming. She needs antibiotics and better transport.

Does she need MacDonalds? New cars? - Who are we, with our western luxuries, to go all gooey-eyed over the old cars, the shortage of french fries? Cuba should be free to make her own choices.

I rarely mention my books on this blog, but for once I reckon I'm allowed. In Vultures Overhead I wrote about my experiences in Cuba last winter. I found a Cuba that might not be recognised for much longer. Turkey vultures circled everywhere. I just hope that the Americans visit with the humility of puppies and not the avarice of vultures.

(There's a link to the book to the right of this blog.)

And - Happy Christmas. May it be whatever it need to be for you.

What I should do - not always what I want to do!

I know I should be telling you more about my wonderful little ebook. (Well, I think it's wonderful - it cost enough in terms of angst to get this far.)

I should be telling you about the challenges of catching buses in Cuba. Well, to be fair, catching the buses was fine; it was buying tickets that could be a bit random. I should be telling you about the vagaries of the casa particular system - a connected system of homestays. Once you have organised a stay in one (a process not without its challenges) your host or hostess will fix the next one. Which means you'll always have somewhere to stay - hurrah!! But you never quite know what it's going to be like till you get there ...

I should be telling you about the music ... and the waterfalls ... and the horse-riding ... and the vultures ...

But what I really want to do - what I always want to do at this point, with the ebook sent on its way - is think about another trip.

So I'll convince myself that if you're wondering whether to buy the book you might like to check out the pictures on my website here (follow the travel links to Cuba), and if you're not - well, me going on and on isn't going to change your mind.

Instead I'll ask you where you would go next, if you were me?

Would you retrace your steps in somewhere you've been before, and if so, where? Would you tramp back into the mountains of Nepal, with their breathtaking views and a cyclone or two? Would you head further east, back to Malaysia, or Cambodia, or Vietnam? Would you tiptoe back into the temples of India? Or maybe west, another road trip in America?

Or venture somewhere new? If I put my mind to it I might have usable Spanish by the winter, which opens more possibilities. So, South America? Somewhere in Africa maybe?

Vultures Overhead.

Tis done. My Vultures flew into cyberworld last Friday, and have been floating around the place landing in an e-reader or several. So all it all it's been an exciting weekend.

It's been a challenge, this little ebook. I have never been quite so aware of visiting a country at a particular point in its history. With Fidel Castro aging (aren't we all?) there is a feeling that everyone - Cubans included - are holding a collective breath. Things will have to change.

Will they? Or is that simply western thinking, unable to contemplate a country that has carved a very different niche for itself when compared to the great gods of capitalistic greed? Are Cubans themselves fearful of what will happen when El Padre dies and America knocks on her door with an invitation for McDonalds, and Coca Cola, and heroin?

I couldn't answer any of those questions - though they lurked in my thinking all the time I was there. All I have done is try to tell you the Cuba I met, in January 2014. It is a personal journey - but I hope I have treated the country and her people with respect. That, to me, is more important than anything else.

But, I hear you ask, where are the adventures? Well, there were some hiccups along the way, and a few people I'd rather cross the road than meet again. And others who made me so welcome I felt like family. Read it and see for yourself!!

The Amazon UK link is here, and US link is here. For those who give Amazon the cold shoulder, you can find it on Smashwords here.

Just when you were wondering if I was ever going to write about Cuba ...

Well, the manuscript is almost back from the copy editor. If it's too smothered in red it might be several days (or even weeks) before I can tease it into an ebook. But it will happen.

It already has a blurb:

It’s time for JO CARROLL to pack her rucksack again, and this time she’s heading west, to Cuba.

Everyone, it seems, has been to Cuba, or wants to go to Cuba, or knows about it. Cuba, they insist, is on the brink of change. A market economy will finally see off the old cars and rationing. They’ve been saying that for decades. But what face does Cuba present to a tourist in 2014?

She finds salsa, of course, and cigars, and wonderful coffee. But what surprises wait for her when the music stops?

It even has a  cover:

For which, as usual, I am indebted to Mark Smart.

And if anyone should ask nicely for a review copy, then you can have one. Just get in touch.

So where shall I go next?

With the Cuba ebook in its final stages, it's time to plan another trip. (Well, it would be time to plan another trip whatever state Vultures Overhead was in - I'm not good at sitting about for months when there's a world that needs exploring.)

As some of you know, I've wanted to go to Madagascar for a long time. (No particular reason - it just feels like a good idea!)

Two years ago I didn't go when I discovered that January (when I planned to travel) is hurricane season. Hurricanes and cyclones are the same thing. As anyone who has read Hidden Tiger knows, I've done cyclones and they aren't funny. As a tourist you become part of the problem, which is unfair on people who live there and must piece their own lives together without worrying about you.

So last year I was almost organised to go in September when I checked out their election dates ... oh no, there was a Presidential election in September. Travelling independently in an African country during an election was simply bonkers. Never mind, I could - I thought - go this year.

When I got back from Cuba I was all itchy feet and enthusiasm, bought a Lonely Planet, worked out where to go and how to get there - and in the last few weeks I've been checking the Foreign Office website and Lonely Planet forum for safety advice (something I always do before travelling).

And this is where things came a bit unstuck. The Foreign Office advice seems to be changing all the time - largely in response to the murder of two tourists on a beach. It was particularly unpleasant, as the local people accused them of killing a boy to steal his kidney, and so the manner of their dying was particularly punitive. Never mind, I thought, I don't have to walk along beaches at night. But then more advice came - never leave your hotel after dark. In some places, don't even leave the resort.

I hoped for more encouragement on the Lonely Planet forum - that's where such safety advice is often poo-poo'd. But independent travellers, many of whom travel by taxi-brousse (pile as many people into a taxi as possible and then leave), wrote that even taxis are travelling in convoy because the roads are full of wandering youths armed with knives and machetes who waylay the unwary.

Then one man - who lives there - advised visitors to carry a gun. Now, he might have been being alarmist, and quite enjoying the attention this brought. But it was enough to give me the heebie-jeebies. I know I take a risk or two at times - but never, ever, ever with guns. Even if I had a guide with a gun, what if someone got shot with it? Even if it was one of the highwaymen  - that still isn't ok. I'm not sure I know how I could live with that.

So I've put my guidebook back on the shelf. I know I could take a tour - but I love independent travel. I love being able to talk with local people, to share a beer with them and discover what makes their worlds go round. If I can't do that, in relative safety, then I think I'll find somewhere less alarming.

Which grieves me - a lot of this may be scaremongering. The chances are I could visit and have a wonderful, safe time. But I don't want to be looking over my shoulder all the time. So - back to the travel drawing-board.

Where would you go?

So, when am I going to write about Cuba ...

Let's start at the beginning. Yes, I'm going to publish an ebook about Cuba - and it should be ready towards the end of June. The manuscript is currently with a copyeditor, the title is more or less fixed and my wonderful cover-person has been busy.

But I'm more cautious about this book than I have been about the others. Before I went to Cuba I was deluged with advice - everyone, or so it seemed, had been there or knew someone who had been there and knew where I should go and what I should buy. Then there were those with strong political views who seemed to know what I should think (they don't know me very well - telling me what to think is never a good idea!).

On top of that, I have no Spanish. Well, I didn't when I left home - I've blogged about my efforts to learn the language and develop my miming skills. But it means I have only impressions to work with, as my discussions with local people rarely developed beyond telling them where I was from (though I did get Brownie points for not being American).

So I'm biting my nails in launching this book. I might upset those whose advice I ignored. I might upset those who hoped I'm come home a raving socialist or even ready to worship the gods of the free market.

I don't wish to upset anyone - but do not feel a need to compromise. I've written about my experience of Cuba (which was mixed). I hope I've approached the country and its people with respect - that feels more important to me than pleasing all my well-wishers. Only time will tell if you agree with me.

That title: Vultures Overhead.

And it will be followed by a print book which includes all three Over the Hill ebooks, entitled From The Outside Looking In.

That should keep me busy for a day or two.

Yet again, I'm here and there.

I have a regular blog spot with Authors Electric on the 24th of each month - and I suppose it's no surprise that, when it fell on a Monday in February, we should be in the same position in March.

So, if you are interested in my thinking about the ethics of writing about people you meet when travelling, then you can find me here.

On the other hand, if that all feels a bit heavy ... then I'm sorry, because I've another serious link for you. A week or so ago I blogged about poverty tourism. Jenny Woolf (some of you may know her - she's a wonderful English Travel Writer) signposted a website devoted to promoting ethical tourism, including a petition to put an end to tourists traipsing around orphanages. I'll not tell you more - for you can head across there and find out for yourself. Welcome to Tourism Concern.

Or if it's one of those days when you really can't think beyond looking at pictures, I've put a few more photographs from Cuba on my website here.

I think that's enough for a Monday morning.

Writing the non-verbals

I tried, honestly I tried. I made excuses: I'm not a natural linguist, I don't have the time, that sort of garbage. But if I'm being honest, I just didn't work hard enough. My Spanish is worse than rudimentary - and somehow I was able to delude myself that it was good enough to get by in Cuba.

It wasn't.

There were words I had to learn very quickly (like beer, and breakfast). And my dictionary was soon well-thumbed and a little tatty.

But often I had to fall back on sign language and 'acting'. Now I'm home, with an ebook to think about, I'm  trying find a way to write about that. The problem: I begin with the words I wanted to say but couldn't, and now must find a way to describe my acting-efforts using words in such a way that the original meaning becomes clear.

I'll give you some examples. How would you 'act':

• Do I need to go to the bus station to organise a ticket to Santa Clara, or will it be fine if I just turn up tomorrow?
• Thank you for organising horse-riding. Please tell me they're not going to gallop because I might fall off if they do?
• I'm sorry I'm late for breakfast, but I was out drinking mojitos and listening to music last night.
• How kind of you to get me a birthday cake. How do I cut it?

(The answer to the last question - the woman in the casa just plunged plunged a knife in, scattering icing, and giving me a look that said, 'You might be able to travel round the world, but what sort of woman doesn't know how to cut a cake!)

Just out of interest, how would you mime the horse-riding query?

Ah, the salsa!

If you're looking for thoughtful - I've over at the Authors Electric blog today, writing about the dialogue between politics and culture and literature. You can find their blog here.

So, I thought we'd better have a bit of contrast here.

That's all there is to it ...

I don't know about you, but my hips didn't do that when I was twenty, and they're certainly not going to do it now. But oh, that energy, the sensuality of it.

So, next time you have an urge to read something serious, how about a quick salsa round the kitchen to recover. No one is looking!

Since you ask ...

Will there be an ebook about my trip to Cuba?

I've been asked a few times - and all I can answer is, please be patient. I've been back a couple of weeks, and begun the process of transcribing my scribbled notes onto the computer - which sounds mind-numblingly dull, but it enables me to highlight the relevant bits and to recall little gems I might otherwise have forgotten. And delete the drivel, of course, and there's plenty of that.

Once that is done, I need to spend time thinking.

Sometimes thinking can be mistaken for faffing.

I discovered, on one trip some years ago, that not everyone understands the verb 'to faff'. It's more than procrastinating, for that can sometimes be fruitful - the kitchen floor might get cleaned, for instance, when you really ought to be writing that synopsis. Faffing is far less directed, or constructive; it is an apparently aimless mooching about which, to the casual observer, might be mistaken for wasted time. I would argue that is can be highly productive, for it is in the faffing time that ideas are allowed out to play - and if we let them be they can realign themselves without any apparent intervention for the player. We can emerge from that faffing time with a story we hadn't seen before.

Okay, I'll dignify it with the name of 'thinking.' For me, it is an essential part of the process of finding the thread to hold any travel narrative together. I can easily offer you a succession of anecdotes; but I want to do more than that - to find the idea, the story than holds it all together. Only once I know that I have a coherent story can I tell you if there will be another ebook.

But, for those of you for whom this is not enough, here is another picture. It is a handbasin, in a the loo in a little restaurant in Havana. There was no water in the tap, so it was not fit for purpose. So it doesn't matter that there's no plug. But hey ho, who needs water when you've a basin like this?

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!

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!)

One small handshake.

In the middle of all the tears and the razzmatazz following the death of Nelson Mandela there was one small handshake that could change the lives of millions.

For Barack Obama shook the hand of Raoul Castro. (Why am I writing about this now - because I'm off to Cuba in the New Year, and so I've kept an eye or two on Cuban news in recent months).

There has been no official diplomacy between America and Cuba for almost sixty years ... and here's where I have a question. I understand that countries fall out, that harsh words may be said and even bombs dropped. I understand that it takes time for people to lick their wounds, to sulk, to huff and puff and generally declare everlasting loathing. But at the end of the day, conflicts are solved by talking.

I know Nelson Mandela was exceptional, that it took time for both sides in South Africa to understand that they were locked in a mutually destructive way of being and to set up Reconciliation Committees, to admit the horror of what had happened and bring people together. Countries in the Former Yugoslavia are now reconciled to each others' independence. Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland continue to work towards peace. Americans are even, quietly, talking with the Taliban. The Syrians will, eventually have to meet around a table.

So how come it's taken sixty years after a silly scrap for Cuba and America to be brave enough to risk the one small handshake that might lead to some sort of reconciliation? Why did nobody sit them in the naughty corner till they both said sorry?

More money - Cuban money this time.

This news may have passed you by:

In the past, Cuba has worked with a dual currency, one for tourists and another for local people, effectively ensuring that tourists pay higher prices.

This dual-pricing system is common in developing countries. There has been much discussion on travel forums about this - for what it's worth, I don't have a problem with it. If I can afford to fly there, it's reasonable to assume I can pay a little more for my museum entrance or my supper.

Yet Cuba is the only country to enshrine the practice in two currencies, and now it is to be fazed out: the details are on the BBC website here. It's very unclear when the process will begin, or how it will happen -  but I recall similar concerns prior to decimalisation and that worked out ok.

Yet I do foresee some confusion when I go there in January - for me and for the Cubans. For I've met complex currencies before.

Let me give you an example: in Cambodia they have three currencies, the Cambodian riel, the Thai baht and the US dollar. It is common to be paid in one and get change in another. In the process of this exchange it is also common for the rate to vary, thus ensuring the tourist is a cent or two worse off than he or she ought to be.

Does that matter? There are those who believe that it does: ripping people off is always wrong, and tourists should make a point of challenging this process to promote a fairer cross-cultural exchange. Then there are those who recognise that a cent or two means little to the tourists, but - added to the next cent and the next - can buy a meal for a family, and they shrug off any discrepancy.

And now I shall probably be faced with this dilemma in Cuba. Which side of the fence do you sit?

The year is turning.

As promised, I'm not blogging about voice any more. But there's an interesting discussion in the comments after my last post for anyone wanting to see Trish Nicholson and I grappling with it.

And now, on to lighter things.

It seems we've had our summer. All those lovely warm days, sitting in the garden with the hum of bees for company, skin smothered with sun block, book on my knee. For once we had some real weather - and wonderful it was too.

But now the lights are on before seven in the evening. My sandals are back in the wardrobe. T-shirts are hidden under fleeces and cardigans excavated from the dust in my drawers. Firewood for my woodburner is heaped by the back door. The garden is looking ragged - it needs me to take serious secateurs to the bushes, even a saw to the bigger shrubs. The man who wields the loppers will visit and my compost will overflow. (I no longer do anything that involves standing on ladders in the garden. I've been stuck in a shrub once - it was funny the first time...) I'll stand by the incinerator for a few hours and come back to the house smelling as I used to after visiting the protesters at Greenham Common.

The house is chilly - for now I'll turn to vests and fleeces but before long I'll give in and turn the heating on. The radiators will click and the rooms will warm and I'll close the curtains against the cold and the rain and the dark. I'll light the woodburner - and there is comfort in the flames.

And then - I'll turn to my Lonely Planets. For this is the time of year when my thoughts turn towards your freezing days of January. My flight to Cuba is booked. I have a hotel in Havana for the first few nights. I shall read Dervla Murphy and Graham Greene and, as my fire flickers and the wind howls, my mind will be in the warmth, the sunshine, and my body will sway to the music. There are worse ways to hibernate.

I've bought a ticket to Havana!

When the nights are long again and the east wind blows - that's when I'll be heading for the airport again.

Why Cuba? Well, why not? 

Am I suggesting that this decision is entirely arbitrary? No, of course not. I've mulled over destinations for a while. I'd like to explore a new continent - I love the Far East, but feel I'm ready to tread on different soil. Africa? I almost booked a flight to Madagascar, and then discovered that there are cyclones there in the winter (I've done cyclones; fun to write about ... not much fun at the time) and elections this September. I need to do more research before trying most African countries on my own - I know tour groups run successful trips in the National Parks, but I can't get a feel for what it would be like for a western woman wandering about on her own.

South America? I've been to Venezuela, and wonderful it was too. But I've no Spanish and it would have been impossible had I been alone and unable to say more than 'please' and 'thank you'. And it's not so safe at the moment. 

Which leads me into the whole safety-thing. I know some of you think me utterly reckless, but I try to take my safety seriously. Which, these days, excludes more and more countries that women once visited without concern. I know we only have television and newspaper reports to go on, and I'm sure that there are peaceful corners of Iraq and Syria, but I'm not convinced I could wander from a hotel with nothing but optimism and a headscarf to keep me safe. Yemen? Saudi? Qatar? How easy is it for women to visit these countries when those who live there are not allowed to drive? I long to visit some of the cities on the Silk Road - has anyone been to Uzbekistan, and can let me know how life is like for single women there?

It hasn't always been like this. The Hippy Trail of the late 1960s saw scores of young people driving through the Middle East, camping on the Khyber Pass, exploring the markets of Kabul. 

It saddens me, this narrowing of our world, these divisions into safe and unsafe places. I grieve when the things that divide us - the colour of our skins or the gods we worship - take precedence over all we have in common - the need for food and shelter, to love and be loved, and to tell our stories.

I shall have a wonderful time in Cuba - I've no doubt of that. I am already practising a salsa. And one day I want to go to Samarkand, on my own, to smell the incense in her markets and feel the slither of her silks, like women and men have done since the dawn of trade.