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It's been four days and four nights now, and i'm not sure that four days and four nights have ever seemed to take this long. This morning I decided to get out of the hotel for the first time, as my temperature has dropped somewhat and I'm feeling a little better. The porter opened the door, and as soon as the warm air hit me, I thought I was going to faint. There's such a feeling of frustration - its hard to describe. I've been listening to Habana for four days out of my window now and I thought i'd be better by now. Yet here I am, back in the lobby, confined by my own body to the sterility of this hotel.

The few moments I got outside were great. I wanted to get my camera out straight away and start capturing, noting down, writing what is out there. The colours, the characters, the atmosphere. But my body says no. I've been having crazy hallucinatory dreams for the last two days and nights, sweating no-stop and feeling entirely faint. It seems at times i'm getting worse not better. I'm beginning to question whether the drugs i'm on are doing anything at all, or whether I should be taking something entirely different.

Walking back into the lobby from the comotion outside, I just feel like crying for the first time. It's really confusing to be this sick in a foreign place, and to not really know what is going on with one's self. It has given me a good idea of how it must be to fight even the slightest cold or infection without proper medical attention and the right drugs. And it's not as though I'm doing it tough; I have a comfortable bed and a dark room in which to rest. Regardless, I want out: literally.

Tomorrow the girls want to hit the road in the hire car they managed to pick up somehow. We plan on heading West into the tobacco and sugar fields, into the real rural Cuba. More rest now and not sure when I will get a chance to write again... the internet is pretty hard to come by.

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