Cuba

tits and tobacco - hmmmm

An Accidental Cuban Interlude

Jan 2011, Havana Cuba

Leaving Savannah Georgia on Dec 18, 2011, and two crew changes later, Ketch 22 and I had worked our way south on the ICW as far as Ft Pierce FL, where a new crew came aboard and took things offshore and out into the Atlantic. An overnight run to just south of Miami got us into the Hawk Channel, an alternate and somewhat protected route through the Florida Keys. Approaching Marathon Key, I needed fuel and about the same time, the auto-pilot started behaving seriously erratic again. Thinking I had fixed it previously, I was somewhat disconcerted to find it mis-behaving. Focusing on nearby Marathon Key, I made the necessary course changes, steering by hand, to arrive at Marathon to take care of the business at hand. First stop was fuel, then the local boat yard to have the auto-pilot looked at. The yard lured me in with promises of immediate attention but then delayed any investigation till the next morning. I was already tied up at their dock, for which they then charged $80 for an overnight stay, but the delay gave me a chance to do some investigation on my own. Not willing to wait for them to get their mojo working in the morning, I went thru several manuals to try and figure out what went wrong with the auto pilot. After an hour or so of labor and a "eureka sensation" thinking about it while I slept, I was convinced I had solved the problem and told the yard just that in the morning. The night's slip fee was well spent, and I left as quickly as possible in the morning.

Florida Departure

We left Marathon Florida on January 6, on a near direct course to Cancun. Two long days later, we arrived in Havana. Better illegal than dead. Wind and current and finally a lack of wind all conspired to delay our progress. It was a bitter pill after such a glorious start in the Keys, where we left early morning with following winds and seas. Starting out with a wing on wing sail configuration, that gradually evolved into a broad, then beam reach, that somehow then further clocked around until we had winds and seas on the nose. Whoa there just a minute! How the hell did that happen? Extremely tired, the current in the Florida Straights now pushing us westerly and still somewhat suspicious of the auto pilot's behavior, I made the obvious diversion to Havana Harbor on the north of Cuba. I tried to check into Cuba via the authorities in Havana Harbor but were chased out by the Havana Harbor Police. They told us to continue west to Marina Hemingway, without being explicit about where it was, other than "west". We were all exhausted, but I was just coming off shift and wanted some sack time to think about what to do next. I asked the helm to slowly motor west about a mile from shore and "look for sailboat masts". At about 3 knots in very light winds but seas ranging to 6 feet, Ketch 22 slowly motored west while I slept down below. After an hours rest, I woke and tried to hail Marina Hemingway on the VHF. I finally got Jose (the harbor master) to respond. He gave us coordinates to an offshore buoy and directions to the marina from there. Following the directions took me on a course directly into the sun. The dodger was completely salt encrusted and I couldn't see thru the dodger due to the sun's glare. The crew (Pierre and Walter) were calling out warnings from port and starboard as we entered the channel in a narrow opportunity of calm water between breaking waves all around. About 15 minutes later on January 8, we arrived at immigration in Marina Hemingway at about 7:30 am. Forty eight hours to go 90 miles, as the crow flies. Not a speed record by any means, and since the Cuban refugees already had appropriated the "longest passage time" on their rafts and other floating paraphernalia, I wasn't even in the running for a slow speed record.

Cuban Immigration

At immigration, we talked first to the "Doctor". A perfect gentleman, who gave us a casual look over and asked to see my first aid kit. The immigration official was next who asked for our passports, which were then promptly whisked away, for who knows what reasons. Then a husband and wife pair from the marina inspected our on-board food supply and asked, very politely while down below and out of earshot of the other officials, for the first 'propina'. That one cost me $10 USD ($5 for each official). Then, a second immigration duo from the ministry of interior interviewed us and inspected the boat. While below-decks and out of earshot of the other officials, a second propina was asked for (another $10 USD). Interestingly enough, all our flares were taken by the immigration officials, to be held in "safe keeping" while we were in Cuba. Additionally, all extra GPSs and VHF hand held radios were sealed in a bag with official immigration tape and left on-board. We were then free to go to our slip in the marina. Total check in time was about 3 hours. By this time, I was positively "buzzing" from exhaustion and the effects of being at sea for 48 hours. Slowly trying to unwind, I was greeted by the marina official who had asked for the first baksheesh with "you look kind of tired". Yeah, you're right about that I wanted to say but a smile sufficed instead.

The Cuban Experience

There isn't much variety in Cuba. And prices are high for nearly everything. Things taken for granted in much of the world are effectively rationed in Cuba. Wi-fi for example, the cruisers lifeline to the outside world was limited to a few tourist hotels along embassy row that were reachable by cab in 15 minutes and $10 USD, or on foot if you had the time and inclination to walk that far. It was explained to me by the marina manager that the US embargo of Cuba includes an embargo on allowing communications traffic to enter or exit Cuba via undersea cables that are already in place under the Florida Straight. Consequently, the Cubans have contracted with Venezuela to build an undersea cable that will bring widespread landlines and wi-fi to Cuba, connecting them to the world. As of this writing, the cable is scheduled to be completed in February 2011. For the sake of the local Cubans, I hope it is a success both technically and commercially.

Bribes are expected (and brazenly asked for) by the officials. The most brazen, was the tip at the marina itself, which I discuss later. The 'tips' have the effect that a sales tax in the US has on purchase price. The stated price is seldom the final price. The crew and I shared several breakfasts at the marina centric Cafe De Paris, a local breakfast bar. It featured some of the best coffee in the vicinity of the marina and we also had omelets and Cuban style bread. The Cuban bread makes Wonder Bread taste like "fresh baked". Like much of the bread in Central America, it was vaguely reminiscent of sawdust, thin sliced and with a distinct dryness that no amount of butter could make up for. The price for the breakfast was right however, and I'd go back again just for the coffee.

Marina Hemingway

It's a long walk to everything at Marina Hemingway. Electric golf carts for marina guest would have been a welcome addition. There is no wi-fi or internet, and the marina bathrooms were singular i.e, the mens was closed so the women were expected to share theirs, which they of course did, not having any choice. Sharing meant everything, including toilets, showers, sinks and lounge. There were five sinks, three of which were non-operational due to plumbing issues. The showers frequently had hot water, but usually not much water pressure. The lighting was dim all over the marina but particularly in the 'servicios' (as the toilets were called), and there was never any toilet paper making it necessary to remember to bring your own. Come to think of it, we never saw toilet paper anywhere in Cuba. The local soap that was supplied for free in the sink area left a greasy film on your skin. I was not quite able to interpret that, as I have never encountered it before.

Marina Hemingway suffers from aging infrastructure. The marina itself is largely intact and it is a testament to the Cuban engineering skills and work ethic that despite being built as the last large infrastructure project by the Batista regime, prior to the Castro government, most things still work. According to the marina manager, the Castro government has not put in "an additional dime" to keep it operational. The water to the docks was drinkable, and I filled my tanks before leaving without any ill effects. Water and electricity were appended to the slip fee by usage and were carefully logged in at arrival time and re-checked at departure time. Electric voltage seemed to be fluctuating aboard Ketch 22 after the 50 meter Spanish flagged SV Nirvana plugged in to shore power. However despite using the shore power to charge batteries and run ship equipment for nearly five days, it was provided to me gratis as I was told I hadn't used enough to get charged for.

Our Sunday arrival meant things were a little slow in the marina. Not to much going on aside from a few cruisers and marina guards walking slowly past. A short walk got us to an over-priced restaurant near the marina, where we ate lunch and had a couple Cuban 'Bucanero' beers. It was a lunch of over priced and only moderate quality pizza and beer. It was of interest in fact due only to the novelty of the situation. After lunch, we walked around the marina and became accustomed to what's available, before proceeding back to Ketch 22 for my second nap in Marina Hemingway.

Havana

The following day, Monday, we took a cab to 'old town' Havana. Havana is very old and very cool. European looking with streets too narrow for traffic were flooded with locals and tourists, enjoying life and drinking in the happenings. Ernest Hemingway, the author and somewhat of a local hero in Cuba has a plaque in his honor at the Hotel Ambos Mundos , where he wrote The Old Man And The Sea. The hotel is still very elegant looking, full of old world charm and a great place to spend an afternoon whiling away the time watching one of the busiest pedestrian intersections in Cuba where the hotel is itself located. We heard lots of "Cuban" music floating from within the hotel restaurants as we walked the streets. Music that could have been taken right off of a Buena Vista Social Club collection, if they were still making music together. Cab fare to town from the marina was $40 USD round trip. The trip was about 30 minutes each way. The road from the marina to the the city core went along embassy row, where every embassy or consulate in the world could be seen, except one. Of particular note, was the Russian embassy, a massive and imposing structure that had enough antennas on the roof to qualify as a Voice Of America antenna farm. In a somewhat interesting way, the apparent broadcast capability make it a rather loud voice of America, just not the usual voice you hear.

Everything was expensive in Havana, but then again, everything seems to be expensive everywhere we went in Cuba. Gasoline was selling in the $6.50 USD/gallon range, which influences prices of everything that moves. Diesel was a little more affordable at about half the price of gasoline, probably imported from Cuba friendly Venezuela. Locally brewed beer was $1/can if purchased by the case. More noticeable than the cost of buying everything, was the lack of things to buy and the bulk sizes of those things that were available on the shelves. Lunch meat at the marina was sold in lots of 5 kilos. When I asked if it was possible to buy a portion, the vendor suggested I buy it all and "split it with another cruiser". Grocery stores in Havana had lots of shelf space, but precious little to purchase. They are a mere shadow of the Mexican super mercados, just across the Yucatan Straights. The US embargo has been hard on the Cubans. The marina staff made an effort to point this out while at the same time clearly wanting to be agreeable as individuals. At a government level, communications are sleeping if not dead. At a human level, people are the same the world over.

Somebody's Watching

Purchased by accident, a bottle of a locally made liquor made from a derivative of the guava plant in Cuba was procured by me. Perusing bottles while on the hunt for a bottle of good Cuban rum, the sales staff looked me in the eye and said "Try this. It's what I drink." while showing me a bottle of Guaverna Del Pinos. If in fact she was telling the truth, I feel bad for her, as it was one odd tasting liquor. Intrepid sailors all, none of us were able to screw up enough courage to take a second try at that odd duck bottle of Cuban drink. Uncertain of what to do with the remainder of the bottle, I had left it in the cockpit for a couple days in plain site of all passersby, hoping one of them would think of a use for it. Still in plain site three days later, I hailed an individual on the docks who had helped us when making our initial docking arrangements. Not quite sure how to phrase it, I asked in halting Spanish while proffering the bottle; "Tu quieres?" You want? I was amazed by the response. Eyes suddenly wide open, he hurried towards me and snatched the bottle all the while looking furtively left and right as though in fear of being observed. Observed by who, I thought at the time. Surreptitiously tucking the bottle away in his outer garment, the marina dock worker made a beeline to the marina trash bin. When I realized where he was going, I thought I had mis-interpreted his initial reaction and started to laugh inwardly, thinking he had saved me the trouble of dumping the bottle myself. Then strangely enough, he bypassed the dumpster and went around to the back side where he apparently hid his the bottle, so he wouldn't have to share it with some other luckless local. After a very brief moment, he came back out apparently bottle less and continued on a trajectory taking him away from me and the bottle. I can only assume he went back later under cover of darkness or at shift's end, to retrieve his precious booty.

Things Are Different In Cuba

On Tuesday with the weather finally moderating somewhat, I had my laundry done and made arrangements to exit Cuba. The usual exit stuff, that included cigars , provisions, boat chores, fuel and water. The local marina entrepreneur Ariel, could be depended upon to procure provisions, do currency exchanges, make arrangements for fuel and could probably be asked to do much more if one had the time and imagination. He also seemed to have a lock on the local supply of a nice Spanish wine that sold for about $4 USD. You had to ask however, and the first purchase was by invitation only. Being an outsider, I was unable to ascertain who the authorities really were, but the locals and Ariel in particular had apparently learned their lesson well. The best transaction was one that was conducted outside the watching eyes of those who I was never quite made aware of, but procurement transactions through Ariel were a three step process. A first contact was made to discuss what was needed, a second step was the delivery of the goods, and a third step was payment. All three steps were made in discrete steps at discrete times and locations. Procurement of fuel was made more complicated because Ariel was unable to get the 40 gallons I needed, and had to make the delivery in two phases of 20 gallons each. When I questioned him about it, wondering if this was some kind of scam to fleece the tourists, he replied in a rather wry but resigned tone, "Things are different in Cuba".

I had hoped to leave the following day, but the weather did not cooperate. A fierce north wind whipped up the waves in the Florida Straight to a frenzy. Lots of white caps and short period waves that were 6 to 8 feet tall. The entire north coast of Cuba was battered by a heavy surf that caused the authorities in Havana to close the malecon to pedestrian traffic due to fears of waves crashing over the concrete seawall. The weather delay allowed us to make a brief stop in the Hemingway Yacht Club which was however, first class ( although still no toilet paper in the johns. What's that about? Fallout from the embargo? ). After a long day of boat chores, the intrepid three walked the mile or so to the yacht club, where we had a drink. A very accommodative waiter told us they "had everything" prior to ordering noted our drink requests. A Cuba Libre seemed appropriate for me given the time and place, while Walter and Pierre asked for respectively, a Pina Colada and a Mojito. Regrettably, after taking our orders, the waiter informed us that they had no pineapple as Walter watched his dream of a Pina Colado flying away on little wings. Modifying his request to a Mojito was a winner however and all three drinks were knock outs in all ways. Large, appropriately priced, delicious and all alcohol, we were done for the night after one drink.

Departure From Cuba

We departed Friday as early as possible, which ended up being about noon local time. I took one last look at the weather via a cab ride to a local hotel where I could get wi-fi and determined that this was departure day. The sea state was still unruly, but the winds had moderated and the next day's prediction was improving still more. Check out wasn't too difficult. The marina fees had to be paid, and this time, the marina official didn't even ask for a tip. He just added it to the bill and explained what it was when I asked. Workers of the world take note! With tip, the total came to about $180.00 USD for a five day stay. Perhaps expensive for the accommodations, but reasonable by world standards. After payment, I had to navigate out the channel to customs and immigration, where a few exit fees were paid, but on exit, no tips were requested or offered. The narrow channel from the marina led to the open seas, where we encountered a strong surge and breaking waves to port and starboard, but following the "bread crumb" trail that the chart plotter had made on the way in to the marina, I was able to get us back into deep water without any difficulty.

Our trip continued West, along the north coast of Cuba where we were largely exempted from the strong current in the Florida Straight, where the Gulf Stream originates. Leaving the western most Cuban landmark to our stern, we took the plunge across the Yucutan Straights and laid a course for Isla Mujeres, a Mexican port of entry in the state of Quintana Roo, which is a story for another day.