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The rich, sweet smell of the tobacco smoke permeates the room. Wisps of silver-grey curl and dance their way through the thick, hazy air. Even after the club has closed, I imagine that the aroma would cling to the fabric of the chairs and in the curtains. It hangs in the air, ready to greet anyone who enters. I don’t smoke myself, so blow away the cloud and waft a clearing with my hand.

A stranger in an unknown place always draws attention. As I stride towards the bar, I raise myself an inch or two. I portray a confident, self-assured man, but inside I am a little nervous. I thrust one hand into my pocket, to give a casual look to my appearance. As if I belong here. During my travels through South America, and now Cuba, it is a tactic that has served me well. Locals are often suspicious of strangers, but here it seems different. No one gives me a second glance. I am immediately put at ease, the adrenalin slowly lowering in my body.

The bar is full of people playing cards, backgammon, and chatting. There is a relaxed atmosphere to the place, which is reflected in the barman’s face, as I pull up a stool and sit down. A pair of brown, alert, but a friendly pair of eyes twinkle back at me, waiting patiently for me to get comfortable.

“What can I get you, Señor?” His voice matches the friendly demeanour as he reveals a set of sparkling, white teeth.

“Cuba Libre, por favor?” I return the warming smile with one of my own.

The barman turns away and begins to mix my drink of rum and cola with a twist of lemon and plenty of ice. While I wait, I look around the room. Everyone is engaged in their own personal conversations and it is as if I wasn’t there. I suppose my Latino looks, derived from my maternal side, help me to fit in. I love Cuban culture and attitude towards sex. It is extremely casual. I have heard there’s good sex, there’s great sex and then there’s Cuban sex. On arrival three nights ago, I was immediately hooked on Cuba, heaven for horny men of adventure.