Option 1:
The town sat on and around the bay, which curled about a quarter-mile along the northern coast of the island, cutting a deep, crescent curve into the headland. People moved along, slowly meandering through their day and the cars that crawled thought the streets gave way to them every time on the small, congested roads. Hatchbacks and buggies, drivers with arms hanging out of open windows, the dull throb of their tiny engines just audible over the sounds of the crowd. Every now and again a car would drive past playing jam-rock out of the hi-fi, slow and easy. Other than that the only music came from a steel drum band who had set up in the middle of the square, a cap lay out infront of them and was slowly filling with coins. The bright sound floated over everything else, setting the vibe for the calm, relaxed people that strolled through the markets, browsing, talking and laughing. The biggest road in the town stretched along the sea front, hugging the bay - just wide enough to let two cars through and traffic moved along it slowly - not because it was busy, but because there was no need to rush.
The bay was magic - a streak of white sand ran across the western end. There were a few towels laid out, with honeyed, sun-kissed girls lying on top of them, reading magazines and rubbing sun cream into their torsos and legs, occasionally dipping into the azure sea to cool off before returning to their spot under the sun which scanned the sky, alone except for a few wispy strands of cirrus. At the western-most point of the beach a group of men stood around a barbecue; an oil drum that had been cut in half lengthways, propped up precariously with metal poles and filled with charcoal - the smell of smoke and cooked meat wafting along the beach on the gentle westerly breeze. Occasionally one of them would catch a look at the girls that lay stretched out on the beach, and every now and then the soft twanging note of an acoustic guitar could be heard from one of them. As the sand drifted east across the bay it slowly morphed into a small, ancient harbour full boats and activity as local fisherman returned from a morning at sea, talking and comparing successes.
A bar sat in the middle of the bay, between the beach and the harbour and next to the road. A small place with a few wicker tables laid out, shaded by a roof made of woven palm leaves and bamboo. A couple of locals sat at a few of the tables, drinking and smoking, playing cards, enjoying the day. The place was humming with atmosphere and the longer Ed sat there, the more he realised just how much he loved Cuba.
Option 2:
He sat at the bar with his mojito and watched two lesbians scamper topless into the sea. He hadn't got laid since Uruguay and while he could recognise a lost cause when it ran with its ample breasted life partner into the ocean - the seed of hope that had planted itself in his mind still managed to germinate as he fantasised of a cool, air conditioned bedroom containing nothing more than a large bed, himself and the two girls who were now toweling each other down and rubbing sun cream into each other's bodies.
