Enjoying Cuba

Marina Hemingway

Cuba is a big island, about 700 miles long. In order to circumnavigate it in 90 days, I knew that I could not stay very long in any one place. However, another goal I had was to video tape each of the official ports of entry for visiting cruisers such as myself, to include sights and places to visit at each stop. With this in mind, I was able to secure a research "license" from the US Treasury Department as a professional photographer.

But first I must get a despacho, a cruising permit to allow me to visit other Cuban ports. Using the Cuban publication, The Yachtsman's Guide to Cuba, I compile a list of the stops I expect to make. This I submit to the Harbor Master. When it is returned as I depart Marina Hemingway, I find that I have been denied entry to many of the ports on both the Gulf and Caribbean sides of the western part of Cuba, including one of the "official" Ports of Entry! "Navy exercises," I am told. Here is my original proposal, showing the handwritten changes made by the Cuban authorities.

While waiting for this approval, I engage Danilo to show me the sights and scenes of Havana. Danilo works for the marina's Old Man and the Sea Hotel. On off days he uses his ancient, Russian built Lado to taxi tourists around the city. Cuban law prohibits the use of private cars for this purpose, but it is largely unenforced in Havana. I visit and photograph the Malecon, El Moro, El Castillo, the open air market and other historic sights in and around Havana's Colonial Town. Also, I visit the Tienda el Navigantes where I buy a "complete" set of Cuban charts.

However, I am anxious to continue my trip. Bad timing. Hurricane Irene, although a few hundred miles away, is tracking a course straight for Cuba. Two days later it passes right over the marina. Fortunately, with the help of the Cuban dock workers, Sirius II is well secured and suffers no damage.

During this layover I am able to experience more of the culture of Cuba, both official and unofficial. The guards at the marina have become concerned that I have yet to experience the night life of Cuba. One guard does his best to persuade me to attend the nightly disco. At my age, any event that does not start until 11:00 p.m. and sports loud music is not much of an attraction.

The following evening the guard asks if it is all right if a lady friend stops by before the disco to personally invite me to attend. I must have agreed because 20 minutes later there is a knock on my boat and an "hola" in a female voice. Looking out I see a very pretty Cuban lady in her late twenties or early thirties and, languishing in the background, the guard. She invites herself aboard.

Now, the first thing to note is that in all my days in Cuba this is the only Cuban "civilian" (i.e., not connected with the marina nor the government) to set foot on my boat. The second thing is that she has a most difficult time negotiating the steep steps of the companionway in her high heels and a very tight, bright red skirt. Thirdly, I learn that for a $50 US fee I won't have to expose myself to the loud noise or the late hours of the disco. How thoughtful.

Having arrived in Cuba unprepared to deal with Social Diseases, I politely escort the young lady off my boat. While she accepts her dismissal gracefully, the guard comes over noticeably upset. What's wrong'? Was she not beautiful? Too old? Did she say something wrong? He was just trying to help me! By helping me, I learn later, he and the gate guard each would have been paid at least $5, about double their weekly earnings. Needless to say, I did not attend the disco that night.

The next day Danilo returns to offer me another opportunity. Actually, I am not sure that I want to ride in his old Lado again. On a typical drive of eight miles into Havana it belches, smokes and quits at least twice. So far, after raising the hood and working with the carburetor it has always restarted. Cuban car owners are also innovative mechanics. Replacement parts are difficult to obtain, especially for the many vintage 1950's and older American built vehicles still operating in Cuba.

"How do the owners of these old American cars get replacement parts," I ask, mindful of the American embargo against Cuba?

"Muy dificil", he responds. Very difficult.

Danilo's deal: For the price of a lunch he will take me to the farmers market in nearby Santa Fe, show me around a typical residential area, including a visit with a lady friend, Ernestina, and her two ninos. I ask about the Ernestina. Not a puta (prostitute), he hastily assures me, no doubt having heard of the incident from the previous night.

I accept. We go to the market and I buy fresh yuca, cabbage, bananas, cucumbers, bread, etc. We tour a residential area in the vicinity of Ernest Hemingway's house. We can't see the house but are led to a storage building off to the side. Here, there is a wooden fishing boat with the name Pilar on her transom. This is the name of Hemingway's boat and Danilo assures me that this is indeed the writer's boat.

We arrive at his lady friend's apartment, located on the second floor of a three story building. The concrete exterior is in much need of maintenance, likewise the stairway and door. The interior of the small, one and a half bedroom apartment is well worn but in good repair. The living room is dominated by a large TV, couch and two chairs, all in good repair. Throughout the apartment, the once brightly painted walls are fading, but clean.

Danilo brings one of the two straight-back chairs out from the kitchenette. We sit in the living room and get acquainted. Then, we all go out for lunch at a hotel that caters mainly to foreigners. Prices are in $US, but reasonable. I pick up the tab. We return to the apartment. Danilo and the two children disappear. Ernestina and I chat for awhile. In Spanish. Slowly. She wants to make sure that I understand some particular Spanish words. When it is clear that I do, she proposes. Marriage! Would I marry her and take her with me when I leave Cuba?

Both of the above situations are illustrative of the attraction that Cuba has become for many Americans, Canadians and Europeans: Convenient opportunities for companionship, permanent or otherwise. However, I was not quite prepared for the aggressiveness on the part of the Cuban women. Before I leave Cuba, I will receive three more proposals of marriage from Cuban women who want out of Cuba. Who are these women and why are they so determined to flee Cuba? Recall that on Thanksgiving Day 1999, it was Elian Gonzalez's mother who lost her life while fleeing Cuba. Elian's father was safely back in Cuba.

In retrospect, the only common denominator that I could detect is that they all had relatives already in the United States. Not only have they heard from these relatives about the "land of opportunity," but they have received proof as well: Gifts of clothes, compact disc players, TV sets, VCR's, and other household items that most Cubans do not enjoy. For these luxuries, symbolic of the America way of life, they are willing to leave family and friends and start anew in the United States.

There is one more reason that I learn later. Over the past two years, I have been to Cuba three times. I have not observed any poverty, nor have I witnessed any police state antics that prevail in many of the countries of Central America. The foregoing notwithstanding, I had not formed an opinion about whether the government of Fidel Castro and its experiment with socialism has done more harm than good for the people of Cuba. Thus, I remained apolitical. Events soon unfold that began to weigh heavily on my opinions.

All along I puzzled over why Cubans were not allowed to visit marinas and come aboard visiting yachts as invited guests. I wondered about the fairness of the government diverting certain domestic products and imports to Dollar Stores and selling them at fixed, higher prices. These items are priced beyond the means of most Cubans. One final incident toward the end of my trip in the province of Holguin served to firm up my feelings.

Here, a pen pal acquaintance, Marianne, and members of her family had driven over to Bahia Naranjo where the Sirius II was at anchor to see my boat. Afterwards, we planned to spend the day at a nearby beach. The map shows the general area.

Of course they could not come aboard, but were content with taking some pictures. The six of us then squeezed into the compact car, a newer version of the Russian Lado, for the short drive to the beach. In route we were stopped by the police in what appeared to me to be a routine traffic stop. Immediately, I detect nervous tension on the part of my Cuban hosts. All of us were required to produce our ID's, which for me was my US Passport. The police never said anything to me, did not even acknowledge my presence, but Umberto, the driver, received a citation for transporting a foreign national (me) in his car, a 500 peso ($25 US) fine. The fine, but not the ticket, was later suspended when Umberto appealed to the Area Commander. However, I could not ride in the car anymore. At the end of the day I had to take a taxi back to Bahia de Naranjo.

When I related this incident to my friend Bridget, a member of my crew when I first sailed to Cuba in 1997, she opined that this was not a routine traffic stop, as I had assumed. Most likely, someone at the marina had reported to the authorities that I had been given a ride in a private car owned by a Cuban National. Acting on this tip, we were stopped by the police. Maybe this is the way it happened.

What is my conclusion from all of this? Freedom. Cubans are anxious to leave Cuba not because of poverty or misery; rather, they want freedom, or at least an ideal that represents their perception of freedom. They want freedom to move about freely without police intervention. With my Passport and Visa, I had more freedom of movement in Cuba than the Cubans!

The opportunity to work at a job for which one is trained is another motivational factor. Two examples come to mind. Luis, a member of Marianne's extended family, and Estelle, Umberto's wife, are both Cuban trained medical doctors. Since receiving their degrees, they have worked in health related areas, but not full time nor as medical doctors. They are waiting for the government to place them in full time, well paying positions as doctors.

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