Narrow winding roads composed of eroding asphalt and random potholes large enough to swallow small animals, threaded their way through thick stretches of trees and shrubs of every shape imaginable. Miller desperately wanted to ask the driver about the different varieties but his location at the rear of the noisy bus prevented any hope over the chatter from the more comfortably ensconced passengers.

In general, he recognized coconut palms and banana groves, yucca plants and other cacti but there was a wondrous assortment of huge broad leaf plants resembling elephant ears and fine feathery fronds that grew in thick clusters as he imagined bamboo might. Everywhere he looked a different shade of green and a different shape of leaf or trunk; it was captivating. So captivating, Miller failed to notice that one of the pre-teens had opened his pack and was sorting through his cache of chocolate bars and fruit drinks.

Passing through some small settlements of shabby huts and lean-tos with ragged cloths for doors and window coverings and small children squatting in the roadside dust with chickens and bony, breed defying dogs, quickly swept the vision of an island paradise away. Miller found himself staring blankly at what moments before had held him entranced; this underbelly of the described paradise would be found nowhere in the travel brochures.

To match the chickens there were bony cows that observed the passing bus with bored, sad eyes, their feeble tails swishing at the squadrons of insects flying about their backs and faces. The engine coughed and vehicle shuddered uncertainly as it crested a steep climb and coasted to the side of the road, stopping and idling like a person suffering from tremors. Orlando stood in the driver's seat facing his cargo of confused, curious passengers.

"Theese ees one of the most famous vistas in all of San Paloma." He waved a majestic arm and thirty odd eyes followed obediently. "The peak you see in the distance poking through the clouds ees Great Tortuga, a living volcano. Een 1872 eet erupted and created the great plain you see below." Everyone rose up and peered downward into a canopy of treetops, which failed to reveal Orlando's proclamation; a few snapped pictures, no doubt feeling an obligation to having seen at least something record worthy.

He continued with his discourse. "Beneath the rain forest trees ees the Mocha Reever, theese runs from the ocean in the north all the way to the ocean een the south. Eet is a highway for the commerce of the people leeving een the rain forest." Appropriate oohs and aahs emanated from the group and when they settled back in their seats, Orlando nodded with pride and continued the drive to the resort, his running dialogue difficult to decipher over competition from the engine.

********

The first indication the excited passengers had of the resort was a faint sound of island style music filtering through the dense trees and shrubs, followed quickly by the blessed change from the pitted road to paved brick that wound down to the lavish entrance. A group of young, dark hair and dark-eyed girls with baskets of flowers awaited the bus, all smiling and twirling side to side so that their skirts flared.

Every colour of flower possible adorned the pink stucco façade of the building in pots big and small, hanging and sitting and all with precision placement. The impression was kaleidoscopic. Orlando tooted his horn and bellowed a cheery greeting as the bus shuddered to a smoking, smelly halt and several young men all in white raced forward to unload the luggage.

The young girls quickly handed small bouquets to all the woman and leis to the men, ushering them all inside to the reservation desk. Miller found himself amid a pile of various sized bags, along with the two objectionable children, obviously designated as baggage because of their location on the bus. The children immediately set up a rant comprised of ear-splitting wails and crocodile tears, which drew both parents like a vacuum cleaner on high.

"Teddy! Wendy! What's wrong? Did this man do something to you?" Miller looked up in astonishment but before he could respond, the mother snatched the children away and he was left with a glowering father.

"If I thought you touched my kids I'd plant you upside down in one of these pots."

"I never . . . I wouldn't . . . we were all off loaded like baggage because we were in the back. They were just scared for a minute."

"Be warned." The father tilted a menacing head, causing his lei to swing with emphasis, and returned to his family.

"Great start," Miller muttered, finding his pack and suitcase and hauling them into the lobby where everyone was lining up for the reservations desk. The driver ran up and handed Miller his lei-no fresh young thing with a welcome smile to place it around his neck.

The triangular island of dark stained wood and colourful ceramic tiles sat in the center of the high-ceiling lobby, festooned with tropical plants, brochure racks and manned by bright, cheery, uniformed resort staff. When Miller finally reached the counter and presented his reservation confirmation, one of the smiles seemed to set like concrete and with a raised finger indicating a time out, the young woman walked to the center of the island to whisper with a colleague. She returned a moment later and leaned confidentially toward Miller, speaking in perfect English.

"There has been a change in your reservation senor. Due to the unfortunate damage caused by a storm we had here last week, a few of the rooms in the Aerie Suites had to be closed for repairs. The resort apologizes sincerely and has relocated you to Casa Faro, a uniquely exclusive accommodation with private entrance and a magnificent view of the ocean and surrounding landscape. We also include, for the inconvenience, meal vouchers for all your dinners at our world class dining room, Fonda Anita."

"Uh, will there be any change in the price?" Suspicion reared its head.

"Oh absolutely not, Senor Hunt." She smiled brilliantly, vanilla ice cream teeth on a canvass of honey-brown skin, and passed across a sheet for Miller to sign.

Passing it back he received a large envelope described as holding all the information on the resort along with his room keys, meal chits, beach reservation card and invitations to the manager's cocktail party and the Fiesta el Toro to be held later in the week.

"I will have Miguel take you to our island bar for your welcoming drink and then on to your accommodation." She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers, summoning a young man no more than eighteen wearing a uniform of white pants, white over-shirt and a cheerfully beaded vest with the resort logo. "Senor Hunt will be staying in Casa Faro, Miguel. Please show him down to the bar and then see that he is installed comfortably." She smiled again and handed the young man a sheet of paper.

"¿Por qué estamos esperando? Vamos inmediatamente."

Miguel bobbed nervously. "Si, si, senorita." He grabbed Miller's pack and bag and scurried from the lobby with Miller trotting doubtfully behind.

The young woman he'd admired on the plane strode past the cart carrying her suitcase and he smiled and lifted his fingers in a semi wave, thrilled and stunned to receive a nod of her head and a smile in return. Miguel tossed his luggage into the back of the golf cart-styled people mover and leaped into the driver's seat.

The ride was short and sweet as the cart stopped near a set of wide stairs leading down to the pool patio. At the foot of the stairs Miller could see a number of the people he'd arrived with all standing around chatting and laughing and holding huge pineapple shaped glasses of green liquid. He pointed to the group and Miguel nodded eagerly, waving him on like one would a shy debutant at her first dance.

The drink was deliciously cool and fresh tasting and he grinned happily as he nodded and made his way through the new arrivals. The father of the two children steered his family to another part of the patio as Miller approached, circling like a wagon train and giving him warning glares. He held up his drink in salute and headed back up to where the loyal Miguel waited. Settled in the cart, Miguel took off like a NASA launch, rounding a small crop of flowering hedge and onto an unused looking dusty track.

Casa Faro

Miller asked, "Where are we going?" Uncertain but eagerly anticipating his exclusive accommodation.

"No entiendo muy bien el ingles."

"Huh?" Miller tore his eyes away from the rugged landscape.

"No entiendo muy bien el ingles."

"Yeah, I heard that part. Something about English, but what does it mean?" Miguel smiled and shrugged as he steered the cart through an obstacle course of thorny bougainvillea and yucca plants.

"Okay," he said with resignation. "No English. I get it." Miller turned to concentrating on dodging razor sharp fronds from the various plants and trying to determine where the diminutive driver was taking him.

The cart rounded a sharp turn and suddenly went into a near vertical climb. Miller grabbed the side post and gaped ahead at the sight atop the hill. Rising at a precarious angle from a small forest of red and pink bougainvillea and huge plants with massive wide leaves, was a cracked and flaking cylinder of yellowing stucco with a red-trimmed turret roof surrounded by a frail looking metal platform. The structure leaned slightly as though listening for something not quite discernable. At the very top he could make out a dirty glass turret with a few missing panes.

"Is that a lighthouse?"

"¿Qué?"

"Casa Faro?" Miller pointed worriedly.

"Si! Si. Casa Faro." Miguel forced the cart up the last of the hill and pulled to a halt at the end of a foot-trodden path that vanished through the bushes leading to a worn, red painted door. He jumped out and grabbed Miller's bags and with a jerk of his head, encouraged him to follow.

The door opened without the benefit of the key and squealed as it tilted in on rusty hinges. Inside, a porcelain switch provided a weak yellow light that exposed white stucco walls with wires tracing the curved surface like veins. The room was large, round, empty and none to clean.

A narrow stairway curved up about twenty feet to disappear through a square opening in the wooden ceiling. Miguel clambered up the stairs, banging Miller's bags unceremoniously against the wall all the way up, and vanished. Miller followed; his head spinning with a million questions and ominous concerns.

Peering through the trap door opening, his heart sank as he took in the stark room with a single bed, jutting from between a drunken wardrobe and a rattan night table, against the far wall. The rough walls were whitewashed and showing some flaking in spots. At right angles to the baleful looking bed was a screen door that led out to the wire platform he saw from the ground.

Beside the door an ancient iron ladder climbed the wall to another trap door; this one leading to where the light, now out of use, was once housed. On either side of the door hung a series of garishly coloured paintings the size of dinner plates and on the floor was an incongruously square, patterned rug with tangled fringe.

He climbed the rest of the way and stood surveying the room with open-mouthed dismay. A huge black wrought iron wall lamp hung high above a round wooden table flanked by two leather chairs across from the bed. It was, he presumed, his eating table should he even consider eating there.

Miguel was stowing his bags in the wardrobe, placing one on either side to keep it from slanting further and when he finished he happily pointed to the wall-hung sink, turning on the sputtering tap and clapping his hands as if the result was an unexpected surprise. He rushed over to the door and beckoned a stunned Miller, who obeying robotically, stepped outside.

The startling change took his breath away as he absorbed the most eye-blinding vista he could have imagined. Azure blue waters sparkled under a blazing sun and rolling hills of verdant green forest dotted with the gem-like colours of the resort villas scattered down the slopes to the beige sand of the pristine beach.

Three hundred and sixty degrees of mind-blowing beauty as far as the eye could see. He could see the pink stucco of the main building peeping through the palm leaves and he could still hear the music sifting up through the palms. So taken with the vista, Miller failed to notice that Miguel had left until he saw the little golf cart below, blinking through the brush back toward the main resort.

He turned and went back inside Casa Faro and made a studied inventory of his 'uniquely exclusive accommodation with private entrance and a magnificent view of the ocean and surrounding landscape'.

A/N: Picture in heading was a thoughtful gift from   @ellefury