At 8 am sharp, we are in the lobby ready to load our bags onto the coach...The difference from a normal coach is immediately evident and it's with a mixture of excitement and anxiety that we note the seats removed from left side of coach to make space for the 16 identical black Trek touring bikes - our trusty steeds for the next week await us.

Even in Cuba, the Monday morning traffic is heavy during our drive out of Havana.After a two and a half hour drive with a quick stop en route at some services, we arrive at around 11.30 at the Cueva de los Pesces.The bay has crystal clear waters and excellent snorkelling directly from the shore.We enviously watch the divers heading out and make the most of the 45 mins that we're allowed for a pre-lunch swim and snorkel.We enjoy a pleasant lunch of fish & crab and salad, washed down with fresh pineapple juice.The moment we've been waiting for finally arrives and we kit up for the bikes - gel saddles, padded shorts, cycle gloves, helmets, sun block, water bottles - the list goes on.

Around 13.30 we set off for the gentle ride along the coastal road to the museum of the Bay of Pigs at Playa Giron (Cycle stats: 17.8km, 53 mins, flat, coastal road along Caribbean sea, some headwinds).We pass numerous memorials to those who died in the area in the opening skirmishes of the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion attempt.A visit to the Museum provides a Cuban perspective on this episode.Tanks and a plane guard the outside the museum, and we learn about the 'mercenaries' and the events that led to their overwhelming defeat within 3 days of their arrival in April 1961.

It takes a further 2 hour drive for us to reach Cienfuegos and we are dropped off in the centre, for brief walking tour.In the main street is the bronze statue of a famous Cuban musician, Benny Moré.Pedestrianised streets are bordered by French-influenced architecture, wrought iron balconies and elegant facades lead to the main square.The sun slides down behind the mini Arche de Triomphe and in the centre another statue of the revered José Marti holds pride of place.On one side of the square, in a municipal cultural building, a band starts to rehearse.They are simply amazing and soon a crowd has gathered around the front of the building.

A short trip in the coach takes us to our hotel for the night on the outskirts of Cienfuegos; it's already after 7pm and we arrange to meet for dinner at 8pm.The buffet meal is surprisingly good, and some of us brave trying some strange looking items in the dessert section; two kinds of crystallised fruits that none of us can identify.It requires a conversation with the waiter and hastily drawn representations on his notepad to learn that the large brownish one in flattened sections, which merely tastes sweet and slightly watery, is in fact the pith from a grapefruit stewed in sugar water.The other, which was small yellowish cubes, is papaya (made from green rather than red papaya).

After dinner we retire to the bar for a couple of mojitos and listen to the band outside.We have drinks with Melanie and Alan (who run a charity bookshop in Somerset) and Guy and Anna (Guy works for Trailfinders and Anna for Guy's parents' family jewellery business in Oxford).The rest of our eclectic group head off for an early night (Philippa (a physio who we met in Vinales), John and Christine (who run a B&B in the Isle of Wight and are Philippa's parents), Carla (a Canadian physio, sharing with Philippa), Greg and Kath (Kiwi, lived in London for last 23 yrs, works in CV cath lab at Kings, Kath is senior manager at the same hospital), Matt (an anaesthetist and triathlete in Bristol), Linda (a retired school teacher), Louise (financial professional trainer in London), Carola (an Italian vet living in Harrogate).

We have rooms next to the pool area on the ground floor; a poison chalice it would appear, as it's also next to the night club that kicked out around 3am....so not much sleep that night!

Cuban Rude Slang for the Day:

Telling a girl you like the look of her Papayas will get you a slap round the face (when you see them on the plant they look like they would be rather sad and droopy ones)...For a man, his mangoes might be a bit sore after a day in the saddle.It doesn't seem to matter which country you live in, we all find some kind of fruit to euphemistically refer to rude bits; for some reason melons and plums come to mind for us Brits - apparently ladies must be much better endowed and men much less if fruit sizing is anything to go by.