Seven hours in a bus station - or, practising the lost art of waiting

We hadn't been able to buy bus tickets for our journey from Camaguey back to Havana.  It wasn't a route where you could buy advance tickets and we couldn't get our names 'on the list', but every Cuban we met said we would have no problem whatsoever arriving at the bus station at 9pm and waiting for one of three night buses - at 10pm, 11pm and 12am.

The trouble was we followed their advice, but all three buses were full.  There was, however, to be a fourth bus arriving at 3.40am.  Another three and a half hours.  Shortly after hearing this I had a sense of humour failure and started to plan alternative routes - the train?  a plane?  Neither was a workable solution for reasons I won't bore you with here.

Bored almost to tears by a combination of tiredness, the hard metal seats of the bus station and bad Cuban television broadcast for our entertainment, I was delighted when a friendly Norwegian guy who we'd met earlier that day turned up early for his 2.30am bus to somewhere else.  I chatted to him for another hour, soon after which the 3.40am bus to Havana did arrive, there were two spaces on it, and we jumped aboard, happily continuing our journey north.

Never in my life have I been so pleased to see a Viazul bus.