177 The pearl of the antilles? 



once more, waved his hand vaguely toward the open gulf and 

 said that anywhere out there would do. Anywhere at all. 



When we had come around the end of the bank into deeper 

 water the sea was considerably rougher, and even at slow speed 

 we were pitching about most uncomfortably and getting wetter 

 and colder by the minute. El capitdn began looking off this way 

 and then that way, fidgeting and turning himself clockwise and 

 counterclockwise like some kind of mechanical toy on a spring. I 

 saw what was on his mind and was not the least surprised when 

 he proposed that we turn back. "In weather like this," he said, 

 "no contrabander would dare come near to the coast." 



So we were soon once more in Niquero, and, before el capitdn 

 could find his cronies again, Arturo located another car that was 

 heading back the way we had come. Two pesos each was this 

 chap's fare, and although there was quite a wrangle over this, we 

 paid it and I, for one, felt that it was well worth it. In spite of 

 the dust and the heat we slept all the way back 50 kilometers 

 and not a stop. After a rousing adventure such as we had been 

 through we needed sleep. Especially el capitdn! 



Although the difficulties of ornithological investigation in a gay 

 and freedom-loving country like Cuba were becoming painfully 

 apparent to me, I did not lose heart. There still being no boat 

 available for a trip into the Cauto Delta, I joined my imperturb- 

 able friend Arturo on an expedition to Puerto Padre on the north 

 coast. It was generally known, said he, that flamingos nest near 

 that place. We took a train from Manzanillo to Bayamo and then 

 went on by auto to Puerto Padre, arriving in the early afternoon 

 on the nineteenth of August. Then began the business of arranging 

 to go in search of flamingos, a process that involved, among other 

 things, lengthy discussions with nearly everyone in town. Between 

 these energetic conferences we sat in the hallway of Arturo's 

 uncle's house while various friends and members of the family 

 trooped in and out, remaining just long enough to stare openly 

 at me with what appeared to be morbid fascination. They had 

 never seen a flesh-and-blood American before! 



It was finally decided to take a large truck belonging to Arturo's 

 uncle and drive to Jeibara, a fishing and salt-raking village on the 



