Knowing that the journey was challenging and that the road would be "ugly" we set off Exodus-style at 8.15 and for the first 20 km things were OK. Just the usual potholes to swerve around, which given the lack of other vehicles on the road was no real problems. Then things went rapidly downhill, firstly onto unmade roads where they had decided finishing with tarmac was really not essential, then rather scarily tracks that disappeared around the headland (at one point we were driving along the stones of the beach, always cognisant that if the road ended we would have to do many km in reverse, as there was nowhere to turn around). Only our Dutch guardian's words kept us going - it's ugly, but possible. There were no other cars or trucks and even very few horses or bikes. This was truly off the track - beaten or otherwise. We were covering parts of Cuba that even other Cubans don't come to. Passing through the odd village here or there, the look of surprise at seeing a red number plated (so obviously hire) regular saloon car weaving between the obstacles in our path, was evident on the few faces we saw.

There were several occasions when we would have turned back if the Dutchman had not told us that it was possible. Particularly when encountering the three or four bridges that have completely collapsed on one side and you have to hug the upper, relatively intact side of the bridge, with the car leaning at a precarious angle - the vision of the Dutchman's hand at the 45 degree angle haunted us during each traverse. Fear and wonder were mostly mixed in equal measure (although sometimes fear won the day, to the extent that it was only afterwards we realised we hadn't photographed any of the scarier bits - the problem was that we were too busy living the moment, we forgot to capture it for the future, although I have the feeling certain parts will be permanently etched in our memory banks) The views were spectacular, sparkling Caribbean sea to our right, and the looming peaks of the Sierra Maestra mountains to our left. We were passing through the very heart of where the revolution really started. ,

After a few brief stops to stretch our legs and catch our breath from the adrenalin laden drive, we finally reached the small town of El Uvero, site of a crucial battle between Fidel's handful of rebels and Batista's soldiers (it had taken 2hrs 15mins to cover only 70 kms).

The journey continued relentlessly along the unmade and potholed roads and we began to wonder if we would ever reach Chivirico. The worst bridge by far was along this section, the left side had completely collapsed and the car listed at an alarming angle as we cautiously crept over it, collectively holding our breath, as it that would somehow make a difference to whether the bridge would survive our crossing.

At long last Chivirico was in sight, which was fortunate as we were now running low on fuel. We almost missed the petrol station as it was tucked up on the left out of town and I had to flag down an old man with his horse and cart for directions. By now we had been going almost 3 and a half hours to cover only 90km, so we asked the petrol attendant if the road was any better going towards Santiago de Cuba. It wasn't the answer we hoped for; he shook his head, smiled ruefully and muttered "mucho malo, mucho malo"

We could not believe that it could be worse, but we were proven wrong. The unmade road had bumps and dips big enough to swallow the front wheels of the car. The only way to proceed was to weave drunkenly from side to side in a vain attempt to avoid the worst holes. The next bone jarring 20 kms took an hour to cover (we were faster than that on bikes); so that we were both shaken and stirred by the time we reached El Frances where the road briefly improved. The remainder of the journey to SdC was a mixture of more of these stretches of unmade track and pot-holed roads. We finally arrived at our hotel a bottom-numbing 6hrs 10 mins after leaving Marea del Portillo, in total we'd only covered 160 km, yet it felt like so much more. Our plans of a relaxing dip in the sea along the way, perhaps a picnic lunch or peso pizza by the beach had disappeared as quickly as the hire car's front tyres a pothole. We were now also wise as to why the care hire insurance didn't cover tyres… Then again, that's part of the experience of travel.

When we checked into our Hotel, we discovered I'd selected special club service that included free parking, wifi and separate check in on our floor. There was also a club room, with snacks available; having long since forgotten breakfast and after the levels of adrenaline released into our systems in the last 6 hours had left us suddenly ravenous, we happily tucked in to the free food.

Once unpacked and clean again, we headed out of Santiago de Cuba town, in the direction of the airport and on to the Fort at Castillo de San Pedro de la Roca del Morro, which the Lonely Planet also billed as a pirate museum (rather overegging it vs. the actual display that was a few photos and paintings in a couple of rooms). The setting for the fort was spectacular though and we were able to watch the setting sun cast a glow over the bays and Sierra Maestra mountains that we had passed earlier in the day.

That evening we had dinner on the terrace of a local restaurant, serenaded by an amazing old guy on the guitar. The earlier stresses of the day faded away and we headed back to the hotel and up to the rooftop bar. Sitting outside, we sipped a mojito (our hotel was one of the few places in the South that actually had mint available), Jon smoked a fat Cuban cigar and we got chatting to a couple of EDF guys from Lyon in France… (as usual, when French people meet, the conversation mainly revolved around food and wine - a pleasant diversion at the end of a relaxing evening).