Cuba

I felt it beneath my feet. A tiny grumble: an echo of something much bigger, far away. It passed quickly, though, and I wouldn't have given it another thought. It was a truck, perhaps, grinding past in the green valley below and carrying a cargo of sugar cane, tobacco, livestock – or people, swaying in the back. There are plenty of big trucks in Cuba and most have seen better days, belching black smoke and engine noise in equal quantities. But the caretaker of the Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Cobre – she was an old lady, wrinkled, with a deep tan – glanced around at me, her hands fluttering. "Temblor," she said. A tremor.

The graceful shrine at El Cobre lies 20km north-west of Santiago de Cuba, the island's second-largest city, on an isolated hill encircled by higher peaks. A visit here brings you 100km due south of the tourist enclave of Guardalavaca on the north coast: almost the full width of Cuba. Eleven days ago, as the earthquake devastated Haiti, a faint tectonic ripple was also felt across Cuba's deep, dry south. A tsunami alert was issued and coastal attractions were closed.

Cuba escaped with barely a wobble. Yet this is a country well used to being at the mercy of external forces. Hurricanes Gustav, Ike and Paloma wrought enormous damage in 2008, shattering buildings and constricting the island's already meagre food supplies for months. And then, of course, there's the delicate matter of being a communist country just 140km from Key West at the southern tip of Florida.

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