Approaching Varadero is a little like landing on an aircraft carrier, within metres either side of you is sea and there’s not a lot in the middle apart from a long road. Yes, Varadero was a disappointment. When I say a disappointment, it had it’s highlights…not forgetting the beautifully crystal clear waters that only appeared when the sun did and unusually shaped fat trees that greeted you upon entering the city. The shame was that it was a place of rejection, lazy people and tours that consisted of a bus that goes up one road and back down the same on a 2 hour never ending journey. Its a place for the ‘all you can drink’ tourist, the ‘all inclusive’ lazy bots of the world. Venturing out of your hotel is like trying to hike in the Sahara, yes you’ll find something but it may not be pretty and it’s not going to offer you anything but the same things. Restaurants and cafes seem to lack imagination and effort; a menu is basically just a lose translation of what they want to offer you. Time after time you’ll be grateful that the word “No” in Spanish is exactly the same as English, because thats the only thing you’ll understand when comprehending why a cafe serves you hot Nesquick favoured water as a ‘Hot Chocolate’. Just as an insight to their imagination, calling a Cafe Bar, ‘Cafe Bar’ is not the most Cuban inspirational work at it’s finest. If you do venture out of the many many resorts in Varadero, you’ll only find a selection of restaurants which offer exactly the same, unless you like average pizza and 6 year old melted cheese fondues. Nightlife seemed to consist of one place on the island, the one place we had avoided for 3 months, a Beatles themed pub filled to the max with drunk English crowds. It was unbelievable, so much so that I seriously considered operating an aircraft company to ship hoards of Liverpudlians over to sunny Varadero to stay at an all-inclusive rum hotel to spend their nights dancing ‘silly moves’ to old 1970s classic rock. For what I called the Mathew Street of Varadero, men were falling sideways on their chairs as their gormless eyes viewed the more bold colourfully dressed woman who’s dance style looked like the equivalent of a drugged but confident pigeon’s reflection in a mirror of horrors – this particular woman has now been referred to as ‘The Rainbow Pigeon’. That aside, the beaches were stunning on reflection of the water, which tides gently flowed into the banks of sand. Despite the potential ‘Happy Meal’ children invading their own territory for a dip during the holiday season, we managed to find a rare moment of tranquility knowing that for at least 100 metres out into sea, you wouldn’t find water passing the upper part of your body and that your feet would be more visible in water than that covered with sand. All in all, I think 50% of our time was spent on buses, 25% sleeping, 10% on finding WIFI connections, another 10% on WIFI, 5% sitting on the beach, 3% getting rejected and 2% wondering what did I spend more time wasting my life on – watching these people or talking about them.