But it’s all true. Cuba is not the most comfortable country (far truer for citizens than visitors), where the heat reaches unimaginable humidity levels without breaking, plumbing works only occasionally and even the government-owned hotels and resorts are not exempt from flies, mosquitoes and bed bugs – great levelers in a genuinely unequal system. Yet it is one of the most authentically beautiful; besides its physical aspects the island has an enthralling history, a complex social situation and is one of the only places in the world virtually untouched by contemporary American culture. The fascination and beauty of the location does much to distract from the occasional discomfort (although it is hard to look consistently glamorous in such a sweaty, sticky and yet sexy place).

Culturally, the talent is astounding, and incredibly accessible. The amazing quality of live music at every meal renders one almost inured to it after a few days, yet leaves one surprised at the silence surrounding meals back at home. Cd’s from bands we had listened to for hours and paintings from people we met and with whom we had discussed the challenges of Cuban life have become personal souvenirs of the experience, far more treasured than any anonymous mementos would have been.

Few things measure up to walking along a narrow Havanan street in the dark, the interiors of buildings lit up in relief as people eat, play or watch sport on television. Groups of young men kick at soccer balls or smoke on street corners, children run around chasing each other and women chat comfortably through open doors or on the edge of pavements. We undeniably stand out as being foreign but attract no hostility; everyone wants to know where we are from, what languages we speak, how we live and what we think of their country. Many implore us not to believe the international perceptions of Cuba – they are anxious to show us the reality of the country, the citizens, the governmental systems and the pride. Possibly due to half a century of international semi-isolation, Cubans, even dissenters, tend to be intensely nationalistic. And they have reason to be proud. Even engrained poverty is presented with beauty and style, which does not take away from the hardships they face.

The sweat and sweet flower smells of Havana, the open doorways leading to labyrinths of households, the generosity of spirit, earnestness and inherent pride in what is good – these are things which will stay with me forever…or at least until my very next trip.

Imagine, if you can, how surreal it is (after living in a country where many people did not know that South Africa existed) to walk into a bar of a five star hotel and to see the South African flag on every single table. Or to explore the colourfully tattered streets of Havana while hearing the constant drone of vuvuzelas blasting through doorways and out of bars. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves where we are, such as when walking through downtown Toronto and being stopped in our tracks by a Bafana shirt in a shop window, or catching a fleeting glimpse of a passerby with the telltale six-colour flag on the back of their neck.

It is not only our accents that now betray us (not very well as it turns out, because almost everybody thinks we’re Australian) but the colours we wear, the flag we carry and the anthem we sing. While proudly wearing my new Bafana zip-up top on the plane I was acutely aware that despite being dog-tired and combating the after effects of food poisoning and sinusitis, I had to be friendly and polite to everyone I saw. After all, I had identified myself as South African.

Although we met many lovely people in Cuba, it was with mixed feelings of excitement and disapproval that they learnt we were from South Africa. After all – what were we doing in Havana when the FIFA World Cup was playing in our back yard? They had a point. One day, while walking through shady pre-revolution avenues to reach the Museum of the Revolution itself, different people started approaching us, shouting: “South Africa, South Africa, Futbol!” Yip, word had gone round the Havanan grapevine that South Africans were in the streets. Through the people we met, we learnt that despite not having a competing side, the FIFA World Cup was a major bone of contention within Cuba. Unable to travel abroad, Cubans are becoming more and more frustrated within the confines of their country. To add insult to injury, many Cuban soccer fans could not believe that people in Africa (who they had always been told were poorer and worse off than them) could go and watch the soccer live.

Aside from one negative article in our local town newspaper (which reads as though the journalists only made it up to Grade Two), the international feedback seems incredible. All the games look so professionally produced, the crowds are colourful and full of gees, and South Africa is once more doing itself proud. For this month anyway, the world has gone Mzansi mad. Viva Mzansi – fo ‘sho!

Sarah Laurence is The Soapbox’s travel editor.