... with a horse and cart

You don’t expect impartiality when you visit a museum in a communist state but you would think it would be well ordered.
Given the nature of the regime, I imagined Cuba’s Museum of the Revolution to chart a relentless chronology of key events in the revolution.
But while it did contain lots of fantastic photographs, many artefacts such as weapons and, bizarrely, a large collection of trousers worn by Revolutionary heroes, there were massive gaps in the displays.
For example, there was nothing about how unpleasant life had been under Batista’s dictatorship.
And there was no mention of the Florida gangsters who used the island as their playground in the first half of the 20th century. I’m surprised they missed that chance to take a pop at the Yanks.
Instead, there were ill-ordered and confusing references to incidents in the run-up to the revolution in which many of the guerrillas lost their lives.
What was fascinating was the language used in the displays.
You can never get a totally unbiased view of history but this photo caption gives you a flavour of things:
“Butcher commander Arcadio Casillas Lumpuy presented charges against the heroic combatants on April 22, 1957.”
Meanwhile, you’d think from the displays that the socialist leaders had done all the fighting themselves.
In the grounds of what was the presidential palace prior to 1959, preserved military vehicles included a makeshift tank used to destroy railway lines. It had been driven, of course, by Revolutionary commander Camilo Cienfuegos.
The display next to the aircraft used to fight off US-sponsored forces during the Bay of Pigs invasion suggested Castro himself had shot down one of the enemy bombers.
Call me a sceptic but I thought Fidel left the front-line dirty business to his pal, Che.

Backpacking in Cuba is very different to any of the other countries we’ve visited on our trip.
There are no hostels and the only hotels - outside those on package holiday resorts - are state-run and ludicrously expensive.
As a result, the only option open to us was to stay at casas particulares - the homes of ordinary people, allowed to rent out a room as the government relaxed rules on private entreprise.
It’s like a more intimate B&B, giving you an insight to the lives of Cubanos. And while it would be unfair to ask them too much about their opinions of life under communism, most are surprisingly eager to talk.
Our first stop was a beautiful apartment overlooking Havana’s central strip, the Prado.
Hosts, Luis and Fifita, sat us on the balcony and set us straight on a few things.
“You’ve been in Central America, which can be dangerous. But here there is no violence and you can walk anywhere,” said Luis.
It might sound like it comes straight from the Party’s tourist manual but it was no idle boast.
During our few days in Havana, we walked along all sorts of shady streets and dark roads where groups hung around.
Anywhere else, we’d have made a quick U-turn but you always get a feel for a place and here the buzzing atmosphere with so many people out enjoying themselves told us there was no danger.
It seems to be generally accepted that crime levels are low in Cuba and the penalties against those who target tourists are apparently so harsh they prove an effective deterrent.
However, Luis was quick to warn us that it is a quite different story with scams and not to believe anyone with any sob story, such as needing milk for a child.

Indeed, to walk Havana’s streets is to run a gauntlet of jineteros - kindly folk keen to part you from your cash.
These disarmingly charming guys strike up a conversation before offering to help you find a good restaurant or accommodation - who they then charge a commission which is added to your bill.
In other cases, they might just be hoping you’ll buy them a mojito or two in exchange for their company.
Had this been the start of our trip, we might have seen this as a good way to meet locals and improve our Spanish.
But with funds running low and Cuba being one of our more expensive destinations, our patience was limited.
I also have a natural dislike for having things forced upon me, so while I might appreciate being shown a good salsa club I don’t necessarily want to be frogmarched there immediately.
One time we did fall for their charms was when a couple stopped us to ask the time and, when I replied, complimented our use of Spanish.
They twigged that we were headed to an alley famous for its rumba dancing, performed by followers of the Afro-Cuban Santeria religion.
Having led us there, they then introduced us to some people selling CDs, obviously hoping for a commission.
But while it’s interesting to watch the dancers thrusting about to tribal beats, a manic look in their eyes, I can’t imagine anything I’d rather listen to less in the comfort of my own home. Except James Blunt.
So they left disappointed, as we pondered how a religious event could turn into a tourist circus.
The best bit of the show for me was watching a huge woman in bright African dress in the crowd light a massive cigar.
What makes these jineteros bearable is that they are invariably pleasant, often funny and never get aggressive if you bat them off with a stock line about only walking around admiring the architecture.
Some don’t feel the need to explain themselves, however. We met one American guy - on his seventh visit - who said he was known as “Senor No Gracias” on account of his reply to of any kind of conversation.

Another aspect of travel in Cuba is that tourists are pretty much separated from locals.
This makes bus travel less fun for those used to squashing into seats next to people in indigenous dress, people carrying livestock or goods to sell at market.
It means you come across tourists on a much greater budget and can end up visiting places you wouldn’t normally go.
On one such trip, which took in rum and cigar factories, we came across an Aussie couple, senior in years, who gave off the whiff of wealth.
We had marked them out as a pair of eejits when the woman commandeered the tour guide, Marta, to get her to ask for more milk in her coffee at a snack bar.
Fair enough, she might not have any Spanish but a caveman could have conveyed that with a bit of simple miming.
Later, her husband - clad from head to toe in Route 66 merchandise to show off his trip to the states - made a beeline for “Martha”, as they insisted on calling her.
He launched straight in: “What I don’t understand is, you had this revolution to get rid of a dictator but you’re worse off now than you were before.”
You could feel the collective cringe from anyone within earshot.
Marta was unimpressed: “How do you know?”
- “Well, from what I’ve read...”
Now maybe he has studied the subject extensively - and he’s entitled to his opinion - but it strikes me as pretty offensive for any tourist to claim to know what life was like under Batista.
The ultimate irony was that pinned to his Route 66 baseball cap - alongside badges extolling the virtues of the US military - was an image of Che Guevara.

You get so used to saying “no” to all offers that when a farmer stopped his horse and cart to offer us a tour of the area we instinctively refused.
It was only as he rode off that we realised it would have been a really nice way to spend the short time we had in the country town of Viñales.
So, we called him back, agreed a price and hopped aboard.
Think of Cuba and it’s hard to picture much other than beaches and Havana music bars.
But the scenery in Pinar Del Rio province is stunning and our slow ride with Carlos, the farmer, was the perfect way to take in the mogotes - high limestone mounds covered in vegetation.
Carlos also told us about the various crops grown in the area, including coffee, yukka and corn, and explained how its farmers worked in a co-operative, selling their produce to the state.
It was a relaxing ride and Carlos proved a more interesting guide than Marta, giving us a deeper insight into rural life.
Sadly, the view of one part of the mogotes has been obscured by one of Fidel Castro’s more bizarre initiatives.
Years ago, he commissioned a “prehistoric mural” to be painted across the cliff face of one of the mogote's.
It's massive and is supposed to represent the island's evolution but to me it looked like something you might see in a playschool.
Painted in bright blues, greens, reds and yellows, it shows a couple of crummy dinosaurs and blotchy humans.
Still, all the locals seemed very proud of it.