Arriving in Trinidad was like walking into a postcard. The Unesco-listed casco histórico, centred around the elegant Plaza Mayor, was a photographer’s dream, all pastel facades, cobbled streets, iron caged windows and terracotta roof tiles. Like just about everywhere else we went in Cuba, there was no escape from

Each day in the Valle de Viñales, at around two in the afternoon, the sky would start to bruise and darken. Fat thunderheads reared up above the mogotes, the lumpy limestone mountains that define the horizon in this part of Cuba. Broad-winged, black-feathered turkey vultures began to circle high up

Havana is often described as a city stuck in a timewarp, and perhaps that was true once. For me, however, the label didn’t quite fit; the Cuban capital was more like one of those composite photos, two identical shots of the same street taken 50 years apart and overlaid.