The wilder side of Cuba, with its hidden railway lines, empty beaches and forgotten relics
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Weâre heading south towards Cubaâs swamps, following a faint line on the map. Outside, the road is worsening while the landscape grows more beautiful, cane fields interrupted by vast ceiba trees. We pass through a village full of children laughing their way home, smart in their red and white âyoung pioneerâ school uniforms. At the edge of a woodland, campesinos on horseback turn in their saddles, machetes hanging down past their spurs, gazing at our white Peugeot 301.
A woman is walking the track, an umbrella protecting her from the sun, and we stop to ask if she wants a lift. When she hears where weâre headed, she explodes: âAre you crazy? The river is flooded ahead.â A cart pulled by oxen is coming the other way. She calls to the driver to confirm this intelligence, and our lack of it. He nods towards the two huge beasts in front of him, sayi