My first impression of Cancún was simple. “Oh my God, I want to get out of here.” Fortunately, it turned out to be slightly unwarranted, but the majority of what you hear about Cancún is true. It is full of hotels and fast food chains, it is full of fat tourists and it is full of locals trying to get your money. I was instantly ripped off by the taxi driver. Late in the evening without a clue where I was, I had been persuaded to accept the overpriced taxi with the promise that if the hostel I was heading to was full, then they wouldn’t leave me until we found one that was available.

After a short break in Havana to collect my main rucksack from my casa, Alice, Mum and I were on the bus to Viñales in the Pinar del Rio valley. I’d been persuaded to visit on the grounds of it being a popular destination, but really had few expectations. The bus arrived in Viñales, and we were met with the worst throng of eager local casa-owners that I’d experienced. It was literally a mob scene, as we wrestled our way through to try and recover our bags from the coach, we were bombarded from every direction by people with their business cards, frantically trying to persuade us to stay with them.

Still slightly bitter from the shirt-stealing-Jewish-Chilean-Mexican experience, I arrived in Trinidad, where even the arrival is an experience. In most towns that you visit in Cuba, there´s a mass panic as you get off the bus, as the locals try to entice you in to their casa. Trinidad is no exception but is made worse by the fact that you´re first paraded through the streets in the coach as the next wave of presumably money-laden tourists.

It didn´t take long for the scenery to change dramatically. On the bus leaving Havana, you´re no more than 5 miles from the city boundaries when the vista changes from the derelict built environment of Havana to the rolling countryside of rural Cuba. It´s a stunning and beautiful change, not to mention a very welcome one. Instantly you are presented with a different culture - farming and agriculture, usually sugar or plantain, are very much the focus.

With a slight (and when I say slight, I mean massive) sense of trepidation, I was on a flight to Havana. Cuba has such a reputation, which is, in reality, an undeserved reputation, but nevertheless, a reputation that it’s not such a straight-forward place to visit. Touching down, I was expecting to receive the Spanish inquisition as to my motives for visiting, several intensive (and intrusive) strip searches not to mention a free lesson in Communism and why it’s so great.

Final thoughts on Eleuthera? Awesome. Such a beautiful island, great weather, incredibly friendly people and an altogether pleasant experience. Not to mention some of the best surf I’ve seen and ridden. Surfer’s Beach is a good spot, although James Point further up the coast is even better. If you’re looking for a surfari, then consider Eleuthera. And I’m sure the Surfer’s Haven would be willing to accomodate you. You’ll meet some fantastic people (my Facebook contacts are growing at a rapid rate!

I escaped the clutches of New York and continued my voyage and now find myself on a beautiful island in the Bahamas - I know, it’s a tough life. The journey here was eventful to.say the least and started early in the morning with a flight out of JFK on JetBlue to Nassau ($45 flying standby - thanks Leo) arriving in around 1030am. I had no intention of staying in Nassau and booked myself on the next BahamasAir flight to Eleuthera ($160 open return) which meant a 7 hour wait in Nassau airport, something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I’m still in New York, about a week longer than I had originally planned. My travel plans have been compounded now twice but I hasten to add that my travel plans are a miniscule consideration compared with what is going on here. Initially, the plan was to make my way to the west coast of the USA, such as Los Angeles or San Diego, and use that as a stepping point into Mexico. Unfortunately, just as I was preparing myself to depart for San Diego, the forest fires hit, displacing some 250,000 people and causing no end of grief for the local residents.

New York, New York. The Big Apple. Don’t think I’ve actually seen any apples, but it’s great being here anyway. Strictly speaking, I’m in Connecticut, staying with my brother in his new house in Stamford, but it seems that anyone within about 3 hours of said massive fruit describes themselves as living in New York. I just need to get this out the way first: we were robbed. Rugby, that is. I don’t care what any of my South African friends say - we were robbed.

I haven’t decided if titling these posts with the place I am or have been is the way forward, but I haven’t got anything better just yet so that’ll do for now. I’m writing this from room 3021 of the Sheraton Hotel in Montreal. That’s right - Sheraton Hotel - thanks to my brother and his Sheraton points which scored us a free stay. Needless to say, it’s something of a contrast to the Global Village Backpackers that I was in for the last week.