It was time for the train to leave and I get all excited and find a seat facing towards the direction of travel. I sit in a car that has a couple of older Cuban men, one leaning out the window finishing his cigarette. I thought they might provide for some good photography subjects on this historical ride. I know now why the ticketing agent was shaking her head at me. The metal seats with wooden slats for butt and back rests were not even close to full. And being that not all the seats even had back rests I don’t think it fills up very often. That could soon change with the changing political environment. The 12:30 train pulls away and then breaks, 100 meters down the track. It went twice the length of itself and that is all she had. The seats are for what you would imagine were for prison guards from the 1950's, and tickets are 1000% the cost for foreigners compared to what the Cubans pay. So it really broke my daily allowance putting a whole dollar fifty dent in my pocket. Within a few minutes the engineers had got the current back and the train rolling again. A train attendant asked me to follow him to the front for better photos. I had no idea that he actually meant inside the conductors booth. A hefty, black and shiny bald headed man was the train’s captain, and with both doors open on either side of him he had the coolest seat on the train.