TRAVELLING from Edinburgh to London, London to Madrid, Madrid to Havana, I was full of anticipation. Once I stepped off the plane and was reunited with my guitar, that anticipation ratcheted up all the more.

Supported by Unison Scotland, FBU Scotland, Unite Hospitality Scotland, BFAWU, PCS Scotland and the Peace and Justice Project, I travelled to Havana from November 19-29 as the only Scottish musician taking part in the 40th edition of the Havana Biennial.

I dived headfirst into the vibrant cultural scenery of the Biennial — literally, three hours after leaving the airport, I was on stage in El Antonia in the heart of Old Havana. I was part of a delegation that included artists and musicians from Ecuador, France and Switzerland — including German rock and blues band Keimzeit.

My base was in Vedado, one of Havana’s most dynamic neighbourhoods. Known for its mix of architecture, tree-lined streets, foreign embassies, state buildings, cultural hubs and everyday people living their lives, Vedado was the perfect backdrop.

Staying here gave me glimpses into Cuban daily life. I holidayed in Cuba in 2018, staying in Old Havana, which, while beautiful, is aimed at tourists.

That’s not to say local people do not live there — this is not the Royal Mile in Edinburgh with its AirBnB boxes — but it was removed enough that the tourist could be forgiven for thinking Havana is little more than Cuban music and mojitos.

In Vedado, people waited for busses, met friends, and filled gaps in their days with periodic glances at their phones. Punctuating this were planned daily blackouts. Since Hurricane Rafael disabled one of Cuba’s biggest power plants, the island’s engineers have been in daily battles to repair damaged infrastructure.

It is unclear exactly how long these repairs will take. The plant is old, and the parts needed for repairs must be made from scratch as they cannot be bought anywhere — one example of the long-term damage the illegal and cruel US blockade is inflicting.

In this atmosphere, everyone has to adapt. For example, a Cubavison director who I got to know saves his work on a USB and then switches over to his laptop to finish off before publication later that day, all to avoid his PC’s hard disk blowing out from a sudden power outage.

For musicians, this brings problems, too. One of my gigs, at the wonderful La Mansion Castillo, had to be delayed due to the blackout. In practice rooms and studios, they have to make sure that amps and speakers are turned off to avoid fuses or valves blowing out from power loss.

Recordings are paused mid-session, and expositions and exhibits at the Biennial had to be held up or rearranged to work around the blackouts.

For me, it was mildly inconvenient: cold showers, getting ready in the dark and going out with a barely charged phone. For the Cubans, it was something else to adjust to.

Some question the government, others spit at the US blockade, highlight its genocidal intentions, and push back against what one person called the “terrorism of the US.”

Despite this, the Biennial brings light relief by putting Havana, as well as Cuban culture, at the heart of the global art conversation for the next few months.

Performing in Cuba has been an ambition of mine since I was in my teens. My first gig there was intimate — a small venue where locals, music enthusiasts, and fellow artists came together.

The warm reception I received was so special, especially since I was not long off the plane and severely jet-lagged. It always strikes me how music connects us despite linguistic and cultural differences.

My other shows were equally inspiring. I shared the stage with Cuban musicians Yeni Turino and Emy Abreu, whose passionate performances and seamless expertise were breathtaking.

I was also joined on stage by percussionists, violinists, guitarists, woodwind players and pianists who would jump up and spice up my songs and those of other artists. The Cubans have a mastery of improvisation that I have never seen before, and it has really pushed me towant adapt and grow.

While music is engrained into the lives of the people, I could not help but think that the quality of the music here is a testament to the revolution’s policy of encouraging musicianship from an early age.

Cuba has maintained this policy despite the US blockade having its knee on their neck for the past 65 years — a lesson for policymakers in Britain whose austerity attacks music tuition, arts funding and music venues.

The Biennial is not just about performing or participating but about learning — hearing stories, engaging with other peoples’ work and talking with different artists.

The Biennial is to Havana what the Fringe is to Edinburgh, and it was important to make time to see other peoples’ work. I visited the Wilfredo Lam Contemporary Art Centre in Old Havana, where I was confronted with work on the legacy of colonialism and slavery, the environment, and issues like global poverty and racism.

I strolled along the Malecon and, enjoyed live music performances and took in specially painted murals. Most engaging was a photography installation by Arian Irsula, which focused on the microscopic elements of the Malecon, right down to salt crystals from the splashing sea. I saw this as a metaphor for the different layers and elements that make contemporary life in Cuba.

As Bertolt Brecht said, art is a hammer one uses to shape reality. At the Biennial, the songs I played and conversations I had often felt like small acts of resistance against the isolation imposed by the US blockade. Artists here were not just performing or exhibiting for the sake of it but to remind the world of Cuba’s enduring cultural wealth.