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1855 On Cuba, my motorcycle was a bit out of the ordinary, mostly one sees the good old MZs from Zschopau chugging through the streets. And most of them look brand new. I was often approa- ched because of my motorcycle, invited to stay and talk about my travels. This was usually followed by an invitation to erect my tent in the front garden, or I was offered a room. I accepted one of these invitations on my travel to the west of Cuba.

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