I was late for breakfast, so missed my friends. A quick inquiry at reception and they sent an e-mail to the address Yves had given me; I wondered if it was purely external links, outside Cuba, that were unreliable. Never mind; when I returned from my day face-down in the sea, I had a reply, and an appointment the next morning, which gave me the excuse I needed for an early night, just as Nicole was sorting her footwear out. By early night, I mean some more beer in the other venue, where a soprano of rather more than decent quality was working her way through some opera standards.

The dreams were the same, and the sound of the wind moaning around the end of the building somehow took on a dance rhythm. Crap.

I was ready for the bike as early as I could manage, in slacks, trainers and T-shirt, my photographers gilet holding bird book and mini-bins, while the lightweight rucksack I had packed in my suitcase carried big bins, spotting scope and full-size camera., If I were to get robbed this time, the best part of seven hundred quid would be gone, but I didn’t care. There were all sorts of things I wanted to see, and this was the only way I had found to do so.

Pablo wasn’t that late, and his bike was neither a throbbing monster nor a tiny fifty, but a reasonable modern scooter with a 250cc engine. I could live with that. He stepped off the bike, and I realised how tall he was, at least six foot three, probably a year or two older than myself.

“Caroline nelson?”

“Yes. You must be Pablo?”

“Si. You have binoculars?”

“Yes, and a telescope. I have them in a rucksack, so they won’t be in the way”

“In the way? Oh!”

His laugh was absolutely natural, and he was grinning while shaking his head.

“No, not like that! I have a friend, he has a taxi. I meet you at the start of a path, in the forest. You pay me for the guiding, and you pay him for the transport. You have CUC?”

The Cuban tourist peso, naturally. I remembered Laurent’s account of second and third jobs, and that was borne out by the friend’s car, which hadn’t a single indication of its status as a taxi. I didn’t mind, to be honest. The driver was pleasant, although he didn’t speak English, and there was no haggling over the price Pablo had dictated. We made our way on smaller and smaller roads, turning to dirt in an echo of my ride from the airport, and at a little shack where two men in a neighbouring paddock were branding horses, Pablo’s scooter was waiting, and it was hot, bloody hot, away from the coast and its breezes. I paid his friend, who cleared off, and Pablo led us through a gap between two of the stringy trees to the start of a footpath, or perhaps goat track.

“There, Miss Nelson. Your first bird today”

His voice was hushed, and as I followed his pointing finger, I saw it, a tiny shape in red and green.

“Tody. Common bird, but very small. We have smaller, but you don’t see that today. Cuba has the world’s smallest, the bee hummingbird, Not here, though. Very rare”

That set the tone of the day, and I was astonished at how well he knew both the birds and where to find them, even including two types of nightjar. Red-legged thrush, tanagers, even a surprisingly well-hidden trogon, even a caracara in flight, I was seeing some wonderful stuff. We’d walk, push through some scrub or thorn, and he would go “There”, or “Look”, and there would be another new species for me. We paused at one point as he indicated a tall tree with a lumpy base to a high branch.

“He is there. Can you look through that little telescope? May I?”

It was the eyes I spotted first, and Pablo identified it as a Cuban pygmy owl. I spent a little while getting some half-decent photos, and then he indicated a piece of rock to one side of the trail.

“Have you brought food and drink?”

It was my turn to grin.

“Do I look stupid? I have a bag of munchies from breakfast. Want to share? I didn’t know your plan, so I made a bag full”

Another grin.

“Well, I have water, and… against the mosquitoes, yes? Oh, and…there”

Finally, I had my first hummingbird. It might not have been a ‘bee’, but it was just as the Canadians had described it, buzzing away as it worked through a fall of unfamiliar blossoms. As always, the longer I sat quietly, the more birds (and lizards) I saw. I was entranced.

Sod Egypt, once more. Sod topless gammons lying mindless under a coating of sun oil. Sod bloody Sussex. For a few moments, sitting in the shade of an unfamiliar type of tree eating sweaty ham and cheese rolls and drinking lukewarm water, I was in paradise.

Pity about the mossies.

The afternoon went the same way, as we emerged from the path to find Mr Not A Taxi awaiting us, and the second part of the trip was spent at a wetland area, all reed beds and egrets, warblers and clapper rails, with an enormous land crab skulking under a bridge support. I was surprised when Pablo apologised for the lack of ‘interesting’ birds. I looked at him in astonishment.

“Are you joking?”

“They are all common birds”

“Pablo, not to me. Come over to where I live, and I will show you want ‘common’ means. We even have a word for them: SBJs. Small Brown Jobs, that is, because they are all small and brown!”

He shook his head.

“One day, I want to see the Camargue, or the Solent, or Slimbridge. The migration time in Gibraltar, oh yes”

“The bloody Solent? That is where I come from, just inland. Trust me, not that much to see there!”

He was grinning again.

“I think the English word is ‘snap’, Miss Nelson!”

“Caroline, please! You make me feel like a schoolteacher”

“Caroline, then. Now, You still have CUC? I need to be rude, for I have to pay for food for my home”

“You can’t fit much shopping on a scooter, surely?”

“Ah, my friend delivers it, and I pay the store. The food is already at our apartment”

“How many are you? Children?”

“I have a daughter. She is fourteen”

“Sweet! What do you call her?”

“Rita, after her mother”

I laughed.

“I had that as a child. My parents named me after my… mother, so whenever someone called that name, we both looked round”

After my father, to be truthful, but I wasn’t sharing that little titbit. Pablo was shaking his head, though, a sour set to his mouth.

“There are just two of us now, Caroline. A bad driver, which is enough of the story. Now, I must ring my friend to collect you”

Conversation closed very abruptly, but I could feel his pain. He dialled a number, and after a couple of rings, he launched into Spanish. I couldn’t follow any of it, but it gradually increased in vehemence, as did the movement of his free arm. Eventually, his head dropped, and a tone of reluctant acceptance came over his voice. He closed his phone, and turned to me, looking profoundly embarrassed.

“My friend, his car has broken. It is the time when everyone comes from work, and I do not know when I can find you a driver, and I must get back to my office and the store. I am sorry”

Shit.

“What options are there?”

He turned and looked at the scooter.

“Have you ridden before on a motorcycle?”

With a beard and a leather jacket, Pablo, but once again you do not need to know that.

“Many times”

“Then I am sorry, but we have no choice. Please just sit still and do not lean the bike”

He popped the saddle off, and produced a second helmet, a minimalist thing that didn’t even cover my ears. I managed to force it on, the size a little small, and once he had the engine running properly, I settled onto the back seat, the suspension sinking a long way. No bloody grab handles. With a muttered “Sorry, mate”, I took hold of his waist, and we were off.

I had never, ever, ridden on such a shit road surface, each notional straight in the road actually a chicane, simply because of potholes. Riding that pillion made me feel as if I was taking part in that dance from the evening before, and I was rather relieved when I was able to step off the machine at the turning circle in front of the resort. A horse-drawn taxi (that was what the sign on the back said) was waiting for a passenger, and its whip-wielding driver called out something to Pablo that sounded like a bad joke. It went backwards and forwards a couple of times, and then my biker muttered something under his breath that carried more than its fair share of venom. He pulled his scooter onto its centre stand, and led the way into the building, face like thunder. I caught his arm just inside the door.

“What did that man say?”

“It is… No. He is making trouble for me. He tells me that you are… That I am seeking sex, abandoning Rita for money. I need to speak to the manager, explain his words. This can make trouble for Rita, because his mouth is too big. I do NOT leave my daughter!”

Shit, he was angry, but at least it wasn’t with me.

“Wait here, and I will speak to the manager, because I have been insulted, and I am the paying guest. You are not. Please”

I left him shaking with anger and approached the desk, a mad idea now in control of my mouth, and after I had done just a little bit of negotiation (and spent a few more CUC), I returned to an angry man.

“Pablo, are you in time to pay your bill?”

“Yes”

“Can Rita ride on your scooter?”

“Yes. That was her helmet you wore”

“Then go and pay, then collect her and bring her here. Dinner is on me tonight”