Cuba ch.1

3/13-14/09 By 0900 I had the bike loaded and started my trip to the city.  I checked in with the guard post at the marina entrance to let them who I was, where I was going and when I would be back.  This was not required, but I thought it prudent to let someone know where I was.  Turning onto the main road found the road very well maintained, good riding with only a few cars, and this was rush hour!  The only hazard, besides the multitude of vintage American autos chugging past, was the missing storm water grates.  Cubans love to barbeque and the grates make a perfect grill.  Compared with some of the 'rural' roads that I was familiar with riding to work in Maryland, the roads here were practically empty.  Which brings me back to the cars.  Everywhere you look you will see fully functional, some in incredible shape, some a little worse for wear, vehicles from the fifties and early sixties.   By my account, most are Chevrolets, but many Buicks, Oldsmobiles, and Fords and even a few Studebakers.  The only late model (80's) vehicles are the Russian Ladas, a soviet era vehicle imported in the thousands from Russia.  One thing that is interesting is that most of the powerplants of the older American cars have been replaced by foreign diesel engines.  The ingenuity of the Cuban people in the face of difficulties from the embargo is amazing.  I got to look in the hood of a couple of old chevys and whatever was under that hood was not born in Detroit!  I am told that it is illegal to export any of these old cars, considered part of Cuban culture and history, for many would bring a lot of money in the states.  Most Cubans get around on the big buses, most of which are relatively modern and very clean, having been recently supplied, I am told, by the Chinese.   Everyone, when coming up behind you will give you a polite toot on the horn to let you know they were there.    I rode past neighborhoods and a couple of resorts along with several embassy residences.  I took on detour to check out a neighborhood that was recommended to me and the home of the Cuban artist Jose Fuster, known as Cuba's Picasso.  This  modest neighborhood has several houses that have incredible mosaics on the concrete walls surrounding the front of every house.  Its quite striking, as you ride into the center of the neighborhood, these mosaic walls evolve into quite elaborate and beautiful sculptures, some very abstract, all covered in a brightly multi colored pixeling of pieces of tile or colored glass.  Coming upon the compound and home/studio of the artist (www.josefuster.com) I was stuck with the level of detail and work that had to go into these extensive installations.  Almost every surface and structure within and on the adjoining homes was the media for intricate and detailed mosaics.  I just got off he bike and just stared, just slowly turning around 360 degrees at least two revolutions just taking it all in.  My pictures do not do it justice.  I wandered into the compound of Senior Fuster's home and soon made the acquaintance of the artist son who was returning from a fishing trip with a lunch of two fresh bonitos for his family and workers there. The artist, besides his ceramic sculptures is also known for his oil paintings.  His sculpture is like a three dimensional representation of his painting, which is needless to say is abstract, his moniker of being the Picasso of Cuba is aptly named.   After my visit, and realizing that his art was way out of my budget I remounted my bike and headed back on the way to Habana. Most of the ride into the city was very comfortable.  My throat was starting to itch with the diesel exhaust and smog, but I was enjoying the ride.  The traffic also had a corresponding increase in density as I drew near the city proper.  Still it was a calm day on the road compared to typical American roads.  I passed embassy residences, schools (all kids in uniforms and school grounds neat and ordered), an amusement park, and several small shops and cafes with people lined up to get their lunch.  Every block and corner had a speed trap in the form of a police monitoring, with no radar, the speed of every car (and bike).   Just beyond him or her would be a motorcycle cop in case the waving over with the index finger was not enough to get the offender to pull over.  They are very serious about speeding in this country.  Some of the cars you would be hard to believe would be able to achieve any sort of speeds requiring enforcement, but, by the number of tickets I saw being written that morning, they are. I was very comfortable riding on this main artery, making good time and avoiding the occasional pot hole and missing stormwater grate (a hazard that would probably mean me disappearing into a gapping hole, bike and all) until…coming up to a stop light I drew alongside a motorcycle cop.  He glanced a couple time over his shoulder then turned and waved me to come alongside.  Oh-oh.   He was a young black man, in a starched and pressed uniform, very CHIPS looking, except with the Cuban Flag on his shoulder patch.  I moved up and started to unclip my feet from the pedals.  Just as I came alongside, I could not get the clip on my left foot to let loose.  I suddenly realized that I was going to fall over, and right into this shiny bright motorcycle and this very very serious unsmiling armed policia.  It was all I could do by reach out and gently and slowly as possible reach out to grab his shoulder so I would not fall into the motorcycle, all the while exclaiming "Lo siento, lo siento!  I remember his eyes getting very big, as if he was about to batton the hell out of me, my bike helmet not withstanding.  I explained quickly in my lousy Spanish just that,  and that I would pull over to the side street and try to understand what the apparent problem was. Making the turn, I, successfully and with a modicum of grace this time, dismounted the bike.  He pulled up and explained that I was not to ride on that road at certain times of the day, either that he was telling I would be a guest of the state if I ever touched a cop again.  Really, he was reasonably nice about a most embarrassing situation.  He allowed me to leave with a small smile and I road back across the road towards the beach to a side road.  As luck would have it, I had not ridden more than a mile before coming onto the office of tourism for Cuba.  Entering the building soon was surrounded by 4 employees all debating the best route for a bicycle to Habana Vieja.  It was quite the scene.  Finally with committee approval a detailed map was drawn for my use and I was on my way.  The map was perfect and within a couple of miles I was actually riding on the Malecon heading along the ocean on that world famous road.  I stopped at what looked like a small craft show that had Cuban art.   Also got a chicken and rice lunch at a small café.  Exhilarated by the fact that I was finally here, rode a meandering route into the city.  This strategy soon got me completely lost.  But with the unobstructed view of the capital dome and the harbor could have a general idea.  The result of this unplanned circumnavigation of the city got to see some of the parts of the city, not typically visited by the tourists, and certainly not indicated on the pretty useless official maps handed out by the tourism board.  I realize that all cities have their underside, their run down areas.  Habana is different in that the level of decay or lack of maintenance is striking.  Some buildings have been reduced to gutted shells.  Indication of some of the magnificent architecture from the early 20th and 19th century is everywhere, but much of the city is in need of repair, some buildings, especially on the outskirts looking like bombed out hulks.  The roads where busy with trucks, buses, taxis of every form (cars, pedal, and little motor powered trikes) and some building were actually being worked on.  Everywhere there was activity.  I want to make clear that I was not in the tourist area of Habana, but near the commercial port.  Its not very pretty, but interesting. After a couple of hours of dodging the traffic and pedestrians, my bicycle course was pretty much circular around the center of the city and where I was supposed to have a room.   I started to head into the center of town where my room was waiting, near the capital and where the hotels were located.  I wanted a shower before exploring on foot what I had already scouted on bike.  The casa particular was about 4 blocks from the capital building but it could have been miles away.  It was in an area called Habana Vieja and was more residential insofar as the row house residences.  The road was narrow, choked with people walking on the road and sidewalk.   The streets were clean of debris, unless there was demolition or construction going on.  Most of the building though definitely had an air of disrepair, at least on the fascade.  Very modest buildings to say the least.  Many of the homes or apartments are wide open, in that as you ride or walk by you can catch a glance of a family watching tv or eating a meal.  Most of the interiors that I could see were actually very nice.  Its almost like the Cubans prefer to keep a modest outward appearance,  while in the private space of their homes is where they can enjoy the more comfortable space.  In other words you will see a rundown apartment building, beautiful with its arches and balconies, but run down.  The concrete façade will be kind of dingy and the paint pealing.  Catch a glance inside though, and you will see an immaculate clean dwelling, with nice furniture, appliances, tv etc.  I guess in this socialist society you don't want to appear too bourgeois?   I know I attracted a lot of attention as my bike, though a common vehicle on the roads, definitely was of a different animal than what Cubans were used too.  Perhaps my wide eyed expression proclaimed my foreign status.  Anyway I was approached by several people, some wanted to know about the bike,  if I wanted a room, some just chat, some asking for a convertible peso.  Oh yea, several young and cute girls wanted to know if I wanted company for the evening.  You don't have to look hard to run into the sex trade in this city.  It was a little disillusioning.  My overall initial impression, which held true was that Habana is a very vibrant city, a lot going on, even in the smallest streets or even an narrow alleyways, always talking, music, hustle and bustle and everywhere friendly people.   Around 3pm finally was able to find the casa.  As with the other buildings and apartments, grimy and rundown on the outside, but amazingly clean, comfortable and very stylish which was why the manager wanted 35 pesos for the night, about $40 US.  I brought my bike in and set it up next to the dining table.  My room was very comfortable and after a quick shower was back out in the street.  I hoped to get in a couple of sites in before I dark.  I wandered  back over the 4 blocks to the capital, an impressive building in itself to look for the Partagas cigar factory and maybe do the tour.  Finding it took a little while but once there I discovered that they were not doing tours this week.  I did get a look around the lobby and of course the small cigar shop with lots of pictures.  In the shop was middle aged woman rolling cigars.  It was fascinating to observe the skill to make such a fine product.  Headed towards the bay and the Museo de la Revolucion.  I asked for a ticket but the woman at the counter suggested that the hour remaining before they close was totally insufficient to get the whole revolutionary experience.  She was pretty emphatic so thinking that maybe I would not be able to do it justice, decided to come back in the morning.  With the day pretty much done at this point I headed back towards the street that the casa was on.  Neptuna street is a narrow city street with lots of shops, mostly empty, and a couple of sidewalk cafes.  I wandered around just watching people going through their lives and inquired as to where the music was tonight.  Most of the leads in that direction involved a good deal of walking and after my ride that day was ready to find a place to sit, listen to a band and maybe watch the Classico Mundial  baseball game tonight.  Eventually I ended up at the l'Hotel Angleterre near the capital.  The front entrance to the hotel lobby is a Spanish style veranda with high ceilings and archways surrounding.  It was a beautiful setting.  A quintet was setting up in the corner so I grabbed a table, pulled out a montecristo and ordered a beer.  Pretty much was rest of my night.  Around 11 walked the dark streets back to my room.  Had to make a couple of passes before I was able to find it, the street lights are few and far in between in this neighborhood.  I have to say though that even though my radar was up full power as I walked around, never felt threatened or insecure.  Habana is definitely a very safe city.  The closest thing to a hassle was the gauntlet of prostitutes or chicas who offered services or just company.  Sounded expensive in more ways than monetary, so I declined.  Back in my room, sipped a rum and watched baseball till the broadcast failed and the tv died.  Outside my window the sounds of the city, the music, motors, talking laughing, yelling continued almost to dawn.  Didn't sleep much. The next morning decided to check out of the casa, and before heading back to the marina, walk the area where the tourists hang out.  This is a totally different part of Habana, with shops with designer clothing, souvenirs, and rum and cigar shops.  I'm not implying that it was Neiman Marcus but the 4 blocks were packed with tourists from all over the world.  There were street performers and music at every corner coming from the cafes.  The buildings here were better maintained, again that impressive colonial Spanish architecture.  If Cuba ever gets its economic act together and the embargo lifted this city is going to be a Mecca for American tourists.  The road led down to a park where I several stands had been set up.  Crafts persons selling intricately woven clothes, macramé or lace is how I would describe it.  Also were several antique book vendors.  I picked up a couple of old books of Cuban poetry, maybe I'll get around to translating it someday.  Leaving the park returned to the Museo de la Revolucion.  The building itself is pretty impressive.  Built originally as the presidential palace, it is a highly ornate, oversized marble edifice, complete with a room designed by Tiffany's, literally.  Marble and gilding are everywhere.  It was built by one of the earlier dictators as a tribute to his own vanity I would imagine.  The mirror room was amazing, where inaugurations and receptions for foreign dignitaries were held.  Now its dedicated to preserving and displaying the artifacts and history of the Cuban Revolution.  You generally walked from one room to another looking at displays, mostly photographs, describing the individuals and events leading up to the Fidelistas coming to power.  I was especially impressed with the detailed dioramas and displays describing key battles and the people who were instrumental at those moments in Cuban revolutionary history.   Many of the displays were also dedicated to the individuals that were key in the success of the movement.  It was pretty shakey, with some significant setbacks at first,  but with the dynamic personalities and leadership of Che, Cammillo Cienfuegos, Frank Pais, and of course Fidel, they pulled it off after a somewhat shaky start.  The museum is something the Cubans are very proud of.  The place was busy with not only school children but also individual adults wandering around, carefully reading the displays.  Of course there also tourists, and students there taking pictures of each other, next to Che's sniper rifle and other artifacts. As it was getting past noon and I wanted to be back at the marina before dark, did the ride along the  Malecon one more time, occasionally stopping to take a photo.  I want to come back again and do a more detailed tour but I was glad to have gotten a taste of Habana at this critical juncture in its history.  The local newspapers were full of articles about the visit of several American congressmen that were coming to possibly begin the negotiations for normalization of trade.  I was also anxious to get underway again, out of the marina and its associated fees, and onto Pinar del Rio province, further down the coast to the west. Arriving back at the marina, I started to make arrangements with the authorities for the despacho to my next destination, Puerto Esperanza, which I thought would give me good bike access to the famous tobacco and agricultural region of the western end of Cuba.  It looked like I was going to be able to pull it off until I was informed that the laundry that I had turned over to the nice lady at the marina, was not ready.  In fact it was even in the marina.  Even though they had laundry machines there, it was decided that it would be taken elsewhere to be cleaned.  Never did find out what that was about.  Resigned to a morning departure, made some dinner and turned in early. 3/15/09 It was fast approaching noon before I was able to get out of the marina.  Getting my laundry and some final purchases at the food store plus a couple of bottles of Havanna Club to stock up took no time and it was about 9 when I motored up to the customs dock for clearing out of Marina Hemingway.  More interviews, inspections, papers, stamps, some more questions about my grandfather, and with a final fairwell from the authorities I was off.  One wrinkle was that they would not grant me clearance to Puerto Esperanza, saying that there were no authorities there.  That was curious as I was hoping to meet up with some Canadian cruisers who left with clearance for there the night before.  I pressed it as far as I though prudent and relented with clearance to go to a small offshore island, Cayo Levisa, where there was a guarda post and a hotel.  I was wondering what could be the reason that they did not want me to go to a real Cuban town but to a state resort. The sailing was good, as the northeast prevailing winds were still with me.  I needed to make some serious miles before April as the trades would be more to the east , making it more difficult to head that direction on the south coast.  This leg in itself was almost 100 miles and I realized that I would be arriving sometime around midnight the following night, not my favorite time to be negotiating a strange and unfamiliar inlet through the shoals and reefs that surround Cuba. I arrived as I had calculated close to 11.  I carefully wound my way with the help of my chart plotter and a French boat that I was able to raise on the radio.  The depth sounder showed less than 4 feet at times, which was rather disconcerting, being totally pitch black and knowing that I was surrounded by reefs.  I made it though and the lights of the guarda post and dock came into view as I came around Caya Levisa.  Exhausted I set the anchor just offshore, and fell into my berth.