The things my friends and I had experienced in Cuba so far had been somewhat confusing. All that we had in our minds about this conflicted country, all the dreams and idealised perceptions we had had been tarnished by the abject poverty and repression we had witnessed. It was at this point that we started to question our plan, which was to experience the real Cuba and not that which is forced upon all foreigners by the Cuban Government.

It had not been all negativity, in fact we were quickly growing accustomed to a complex and beautiful culture so far removed from our own, and everywhere you looked, you could see glimpses of something special. We deemed that it was time to leave Havana, so we set out for the region known as Pinar Del Rio, made famous as the tobacco rich farming lands of Cuba, and hub of the island's cigar industry.

We caught a taxi from Havana for the 3 hours journey out to the West and crammed our things and selves into the car. We had met three other Brits in Havana and had pursuaded them to come along with us, their travel plan for Cuba mirrored ours and they caught a separate taxi. When we arrived, the light had fallen and menacing clouds had spilled their cargo upon the lush green lands. Looking for a place to stay was proving hard, the only places available in cuba outside of hotels are known as casas de huespedes charging an inflated rate given the time of season. Most of the money goes to the Government and they have to be registered as part of the country's tourism industry, if not they would be breaking the Cuban constitution by housing people. Every guest has to sign a form and give their passport and visa number every night of their stay in Cuba, and one feels as though the Government are constantly keeping tabs on your movement.

It was then that we were told that the taxi driver in our friend's taxi had family in the region whom we could stay with. We consented and went out away from the town of Viñales into the countryside, to a small wooden farm house.

Morning came, seven of us had shared two beds, each paying a very small sum of money. Our hosts came in, an elderly couple, the man with calloused hands and deep wrinkles in his face depicting a life of hard work and struggle. They owned hardly anything, the bare house their pride, and most likely only home throughout their lives. We ate a delicious breakfast of fried bananas, fruit and eggs, a traditional Cuban serving. It was then that we ventured outside and saw our surroundings.

It was as though God had used the rest of the world as his practice and then saved his finest work for this region. We were set on the lush green valley floor, surrounded by a carved igneous landscape that was sheer, breath-taking and brought me to my knees. I felt as though I had been winded, I felt as though I had been cheated out of seeing such a view for my entire life. Even on the sheer rock faces, a climbers wet dream, there was stubborn vegetation clinging on as though it refused to admit to the existence of gravity.

The modest little farm house was surrounded by a dirt yard inhabited by the most important posessions to our hosts: three chickens, a turkey and two pigs. Later that day, the son of our hosts came over and told us he would take us to see the valleys. We headed to a series of caves, went swimming in the pitch black along with whatever other nameless creatures lived in that light-depraved pool. Later we went to see a cock-fight, and although it was not for the faint-hearted, it was fun to see an underbelly of Cuban culture, marred by gambling and alcohol consumption. Later in the day, tensions ran high between locals as the underdog won its fateful fight. It was truely special to see, and we were the only priviledged outsiders there.

We returned back to the house in high spirits, we had walked far, seen lakes, mountains, wildlife and real Cuban culture. We felt we had experienced something truely unique, and to add to the jubilation was the fact that it was Christmas eve. That evening is very important to the Latin American world. Known as La Noche Buena (The good night), a large feast is often held in celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. Our hosts had put on a magnificent feast, a turkey, sweet potatoes, carrots and of course, more fried banana. We dined together, we laughed and drank and retired to bed late at night in good humour.

Two hours later we were to be rudely awoken.

It could not have been later than 6:30am on Christmas day, I awoke hearing the word 'policia, policia', and felt more than confused. At first I thought I had heard 'Santa's here', but Santa would not have sent this gift unless we had been very very naughty.

We slowly got up and were greeted by a memeber of Cuba's police force, clearly unphased by day nor time. We were paraded, all seven of us, in front of him and told to hand over our passports and visas, then wait for the result. After some time, he came over to us and told us in the sternest Spanish I will ever hear that by staying in that farmhouse, we were breaking Cuban law (i.e. not paying our money straight into the Government coffers). Worse was to come, our hosts were fined 200 convertible (A farcical second currency only for foreigners, and equal to roughly £140), which was almost two years wages.

Of course we had to pay, lest we were to live forever with the thought of being responsible for ruining someone's life. We then had to leave our paradise and were forced to walk the 5kms back into Viñales town in the rain, and arrived soaked, broke and tired. Happy Christmas!

My one piece of advice and most certainly the moral of the story here is; if you want to see a stable, autocratic country for what it really is, you will not find it easy. Going against the force of the Cuban Government was not the best idea, but we did feel that we had seen the exposed Cuba as a result. The true untainted beauty that lies beneath a veneer applied only to betray the eyes of tourists who only want to see the romanticised Cuba of which they have heard so much. Cuba is very much a butterfly trying to escape from its cocoon, and only when it can spread its wings will the world fully see its full beauty

By Paul Stafford