On my walk back along the beach I noticed a horse trail. It ran behind the bushes inland to an abandoned holiday camp. The Cuban summer was over. The young people were long gone.
I walked among the weathered overgrown camp huts. Then past a huge empty swimming pool.
I stopped to read the graffiti on the fences, trees + a ball court wall.
An old hunched over black man in simple country garb ambled across a field in the tall grass. He stopped. We looked at each other + waved. Then he shuffled off among the guava trees. I made my way back along the trail to the beach.