cuba2

3/16/09 N22o 44.046.830' W83o43.81' Dawn presented me with a spectacular view of the mountains that I had heard so much about.  Although shrouded in early morning mist, they rose abruptly, with shear sides up from the coastal planes.  Cayo Levisa itself, what I could see from my anchorage, was not much more than mangroves with a hotel /resort on the ocean side.  The guarda dock, which also served as the dock for the ferry, was also occupied by a couple of sport fisherman and the French boat I had talked with last night coming in.  Seeing the familiar figure in the green fatigues, I raised anchor and slowly motored in to check in with the guarda.  The young guarda wild waving of arms (the ones with hands not bullets) indicated that would not do as the ferry would be returning shortly so back out to anchor and dinghied in.  The young guarda, in his fresh pressed, although worn fatigues,  was very polite.  I had decided to find out how thorough the guarda were by asking for an immediate clearance to proceed on to Puerto Esperanza, 12 miles distant.  This request was immediately granted, the same copious paperwork once again filled out and I was underway.   I was starting to realize that other than weather the only thing that would hold up this trip was going to be the bureaucracy of Cuba.  It's not so bad but not conducive to efficient sailing in that your departure and arrival times have to jibe with the necessity of 'checking in' or out every time.  I'm told that on the south coast its not so strict.  We'll see. By noon I was approaching the wide and shallow bay of Puerto Esperanza.  From a distance it was very pretty, a small village on the water with the shear mountains of the Pinar del Rio, rising less than 10 kilometers beyond.  As I approached I was hailed by my friends on Sympatecho, a Canadian couple, that I had met and told me of this town in Marina Hemingway and who have come here almost every  year for 8 years.  They had been here enough times to have made quite few friends of the local people. They turned out to be not only great guides to the local area, but very helpful in connecting me to sources of provisions, fuel and just meeting some of the locals.  We did a walk that afternoon for my benefit to get a feel of the rural Cuban fishing village.  It was quite the tour.  The town is laid out in a grid pattern, bisected by a wide boulevard separated by a grassy strip with palm trees.  It was quite beautiful.  Every north south road held the vista of the shear green limestone mountains or magotes this province in known for. We walked around looking at the local Tobacco processing factory, bakery and the prerequisite baseball field.  Everyone we met greeted us with holas and waves, either knowing my friends from Sympactecho or just greeting the new visitors from the yachts from El Norte.  I was introduced to a woman who was the local source for all things that a cruiser might require.  I made arrangements for the purchase of some fuel, turning over a Gerry can that she could arrange to have filled at the station inland.  She was a true entrepreneur.  Further on in our walk we were invited into the home of a local fisherman, who greeted us warmly as we walked past.  His home, actually the home he maintained for his fellow fisherman, was a grouping of small huts within a compound.  In one structure fish was being cooked for lunch.  With my halting Spanish, and Phil of Sypatecho's more competent fluency we enjoyed the hospitality of this humble but quite gregarious man.  We talked of politics, music and of course fishing.  His friends and family crowded around as one rolled some cigars.  The method was a simple yet more complicated than that of rolling cigarettes.  Smoking one of several that he rolled for me, I found them quite good, considering they were made with the premium cigar tobacco from the factory across the street, some would maintain among the best in the world.   I told Georgie, as he was known, that I would return in the morning with some fishing hooks, as they are also hard to come by in Cuba.  Another house we passed in our walk was a family, who I was the home of local young artist they knew.   Approaching t he house, the artist herself greeted us and invited us in.  After meeting the whole family, including her Mother, Father, brother, cousins and of course the Grandmother, we looked at her wonderful paintings.  Her Father was clearly very proud of his daughter; tell us of her numerous awards and accomplishments.  She was clearly very talented even at only 17 years of age.  Some of her paintings showed a lot of talent in my untrained eye.  I was also told that she does tattoos real cheap.   Tempted, again, as many times before, shying away from such a permanent body marking, I declined. I returned to the Natie M. for a nap.  I had made some locals who invited me to watch the big game that night between Cuba and Dominican Republic in the World Classic (read World Series of the World).  Returning to shore that evening I was drawn to the community center where the festivities which were part of the national cultural festival were to continue that night.  Meeting up with 'Pappy' I found myself sitting in a crowded open air auditorium, filled with kids of all ages sitting before the stage on the floor watching some great dancers and singers.  It was like a talent show at the local high school.  There were also recitations of the poetry of Jose Marti, the national conscious of this country.  Every performance ad speaker was answered with loud applause and cheering.  I was especially impressed with the dancers, who combined African and Latin dance in a way that was really athletic and exciting.  After the show, the crowd spilled out into the neighboring park where with salsa and Cuban hip hop blared from large speakers.  Everyone was dancing, young and old alike.  I was the only gringo in the crowd. Poppy informed me that with the time difference the baseball game would not start until 11 pm.  As I planned my bike excursion at first light inland to the Pino del Rio I respectively opted out to get some sleep and returned to the Natie M.  3/17/09 By 0800 had the bike ashore, and to the amusement and with the assistance of some local fishermen, had the bicycle assembled.  I rode around town before heading out along the main road.  It was a clear morning and the mountains a short distance away were vivid in the sharp limestone cliffs and green vegetation, defying as it seemed gravity, clinging to the shear sides.  I road along agricultural fields filled with flowers, vegetables and the occasional Brahma cow casually grazing along side the road.  I would be passed by stake trucks filled with either produce, people or livestock.  In Cuba all state vehicles are required to stop to pick up citizens, who congregate at certain locations along the road waiting for the next vehicle.  The road had its rough patches but for the most part was in pretty good shape.  The topography with rolling but as I got further inland had some moderate climbs.  What was striking the most was the mountains.  The limestone "magotes" (haystacks)  rise abruptly, almost straight up, towering over the surrounding the green valleys of tobacco and pasture.  I passed small villages each with its own 'cooperativa' along with small rural schools, sometimes with children in their pressed blue uniforms and red scarfs,  playing in the adjoining playground.  The traffic and in most of Cuba was light, most people walked, biked or road in the busses or state trucks even in the rural areas.  As I got 15 or so kilometers inland I came upon the Parque Nacional de Vinales.  Surrounded by the shear mountains, the scenery was overwhelming.   I had to stop at numerous spots along the road for yet another picture.  The tourist industry became more evident with several resorts, roadside cafes and parks along the road interspersed among the ranches, tobacco fields and agricultural areas of the province.  I stopped along the road at what at first looked like a park at the base of a cliff.  I decided take a break and accompanied by two friendly stray dogs, parked my bike and walked along a paved trail which led to the base of the cliff face.  The trail ended at steps, some masonry, some carved into the limestone which climbed up and into a grotto in the face of the limestone.  At the top, barely 10 meters up, there was an entrance to a cavern, into which the trail led.  Accompanied by mis perros Cubannos, I entered into a subterranean cavern with beautifully eroded walls and ceiling, all lit by the discrete installation of electric lighting.  One thought that struck me, that although the trail was paved in concrete the ceiling came low enough that required one to at least squat, other sections opening to large caverns with higher convoluted ceilings, it was remarkably pristine insofar as being accessible to the casual stroller into the interior of a mountain.  Finally after a hundred meters or so the trail ended at, of all things, a boat dock. Waiting there, was a boston wailer with an outboard, floating on a subterranean river.  As I had not purchased a ticket I was denied passage, to where I do not know, and I returned along the way I came.  Back at the entrance I got back on the bike, bidding farewell to my new canine friends, who accompanied me for some reason, the entire excursion and got back on the road.  The scenery of this area of Cuba as stunning.  One of the best bike rides I have ever taken.  By 1300 I was in Vinales , a major town in the province, and the turn around point in my ride today.  Although kind of touristy, with a lot of casa particulars, it had its charm, with art studios, historical buildings and a bustling mainstreet.  I purchased a couple of souvenirs and began my ride back for the opposite point of view.  The ride was only interrupted by the occasional beer stand and the assistance I was able to render to some Canadian bikers in need of a chain tool.  I will definitely come back to this area for a more extensive visit.  The return ride was just as impressive, looking at some of the same views, only with a 180o point of view.  By  1600 I was back in Esperansa and hooked back up with Sympachteco who invited me to join them for dinner at the home of one of their local friend's.  Arriving with Sympatecho at the home of Dora, the matriarch of the local family that provides so much services to cruisers, Brad got a haircut while Maeve and I talked with various members of the extended family.  The house was modest though extremely c lean and comfortable.  The courtyard in the back where we sat around a table, had children playing chasing a chicken along with laughter and conversation.  I was extremely thankful to Sympachteco for including me in this experience.  About 1800, we were invited to sit at a table where we were served a delicious 'pollo' dinner.  Pollo is what I was told to describe this meal.  In reality it was lobster in a delicious tomato sauce.  In Cuba, fisherman are required to turn over all lobster caught to the state for export.  It is considered one their main cash exports, having, unlike the Bahamas, not over fished their lobster fishery.  As a result langosta , I am told, if you know where to look for it, is extremely plentiful.  The meal in simple terms, was delicious.  It was the first lobster dinner that I had enjoyed on this whole trip including the Bahamas.  At the end I offered to pay Dora for her trouble.  She declined.  I made a gift of a bar of soap, the least I could do for such a wonderful meal.  The whole family, Brad and Maeve, and myself walked back to the harbor dock together, laughing and talking.  I believe I was promised to one of Dora's daughters at one point.  Maybe time to move on? I love Puerto Esperansa!  Yo quierro mucho Esperansa!  I definitely return there.  3/18/09 With a favorable weather forecast I decided to get around the corner of cuba onto the southern shore and start heading east again.  I was concerned about making my goal of Puerto Rico by mid April.  The east trade winds become more predominant in April which will make eastings a lot more difficult. After a quick and friendly clearance for departure from the guarda. (this time no boat inspection!) I had the anchor up and was underway by 0800.  I had a long way to go, having the goal of getting around the western end of the island, which is formed by two capes almost 40 nautical miles apart.  My goal for this leg of my circumnavigation of Cuba was the Isla de Juvedad.  The Isle of Youth.  The sailing was pretty good with a cooperative north-east wind.  As the sun set, I had the numerous lighthouses of the Cuban coast to give me reference, being no major cities or towns here.  It was a calm sail, doing mostly 4-5 knots, with the wind on my stern.  I kept watch for the occasional tanker or freighter that would pass by but as I kept between the shore and the shipping lanes I had plenty of room.   Trolled the line and caught two Barracuda, big teeth and all.  They put up quite a fight and once I got them alongside, carefully took the hook out without losing a finger.  Finally the third strike was a good sized Kingfish (I think) and it fed me for the next 12 hours.  This meal would come back to haunt me.  That evening, my stomach was bothering me some and I developed diarrhea  the next morning.  Thinking that I had eaten too much I ignored it, hoping that it would pass.  By the next afternoon I was feeling a lot better.  The following morning decided to make an unscheduled, or I should say stop not listed on my despacho or cruising permit and pulled into Los Moros, which is on the end of the northern most of the two western capes of Cuba, called the Penninsula de Guanahacabibes.  This would be the first test to find out how off my schedule on my despacho I could get away with.  My official next port of call was the Isle de Juvedad.  As I was low on fuel and water,  I radioed in and was soon hailed by the marina that yes it would be more than ok for me to come in.  As a matter of fact they were very persistent in imploring me to come into port.  I had been told that I could expect to be hailed by the marina as soon as they saw me as they were trying to keep the place in business.  Originally developed as a primary entry port for vessels coming from the US, with the increased enforcement of the embargo under our last president, it was mostly unoccupied.  I could see the it was also pretty exposed if there was ever any significant winds from the north or east, at least until they complete construction of the planned breakwater.  As I pulled up to the jetty  (no docks yet) I was greeted by the local officials.  They were very friendly, as usual, seemingly very happy to have a boat come in, almost ecstatic.  I explained that Los Moros was not on my despacho but desired fuel.  No problem, but I still needed to clear in.   Again, this is the only hassle in sailing the Cuban coast.   There was really no choice as perhaps according to their business plan, the harbor master disappeared with my passport and despacho.  Clearing in was no problem, but was talked into having lunch at the new restaurant at the marina.  I had a quick lunch and looking for the harbor master was informed that he had to leave for a short while and would be back so that I could clear out.  Ok, just meant sitting on the porch, enjoying the view, and talking with the chef and restaurant manager for three hours.  They enjoyed telling me of the extensive plans for this marina once American boats are 'allowed' to come and I could see that it would be attractive to vessels planning on cruising the south coast of Cuba.  Finally the harbor master returned, as I was watching an episode of the Cuban version of CSI with the local Guarda and I bid farewell to the employees of this lonely outpost.  It was almost 2300 when I rounded Cabo Corrientes the southern cape and started heading east finally for the first time in a long time.  My heading was to the northern coast of Isle de Juvetad. 3/20/09 N 21O58.390' W83o37.276'  1430  Decided to pull into an anchorage at Cayo de Juan Garcia, an uninhabited island in the San Felipe Islands to make a meal and get some rest.  Only a catamaran, who did not answer a hail, and a Cuban fishing boat which soon left, were the only vessels or signs of any other persons there.  Thought some weather was going to roll in but the storm clouds veered to the east.  That night had a slight fever and the itching on the soles of my feet, lower legs and palms of my hand, initially slight, were starting to really bother me.  3/21/09 1700 Ensenade de los Barcos N21o 56.004' W82o58.920' Woke to mild winds and the prospect of tacking my way to Nueva Gerona on Isle de Juvidad.  As is usual, the wind gradually built out of the east and made several tacks before giving up on making Gerona by nightfall.  I chose instead to make for an inland bay just to the south-west and turned in early.  The water was pretty shallow going in, apparently having shoaled considerably since my charts were drawn in 1996.   This is not surprising considering the number of hurricanes that have come through the area since then.  Many of the fish camps, structures built for the fisherman, not more than shacks on poles in the shallows are gone, only the piers that supported them occasional poking out of the water as evidence of their having been there.  3/22/09 0600  The wind this morning still had not abated much, if anything it was coming out of the NE with a little more intent.  This meant I could look forward to a series of close reaches all the way to Nueva Gerona.  But first I had to sail back over the shoals at the entrance to this bay.  Sailing south along the course I had hoped I had taken the day before, I kept a close eye on the depth sounder.  Sure enough as I proceeded south and pretty much in the center of the wide opening to the open water, the depth sounder began to sound the alarm of shallow water.   It being low tide, it wasn't long before I slowly came to a halt in the shallows, barely a quarter mile from water 40 feet deep.  It wasn't too much trouble for me to raise the main and even unfurl the genoa to get the boat healed over enough to get the keel unstuck and was skipping across the shallows to deep water.  Now came the fun part of tacking in waves and seas  to get the short 20 miles to the Gerona river and my destination.  It ended taking up to 8 tacks before the lush mountains and famous marble quarries of Nueva Gerona came into view.  Cuba, I was later told provides a substantial portion of what is later exported as Italian Marble.  The mountains, similar in shape and size to the mountains I saw in Pinar del Rio, were right on the shore, bracketing the inlet to the river so it was a little difficult to spot the markers and correct course.  With the aid of my chart plotter and the opportune arrival of a Cuban Fisherman, I was able to get into the inlet with the wind blowing my stern quarter.  I dropped the main to reduce speed and was soon sailing down a muddy brown river, past the Guarda post, several of whom came out of the office and waved.  I also passed several groups of men and boys wading along the shoreline dragging their nets.  Aside from what was obviously very polluted water, it was very picturesque.  I could see the evident damage from the two hurricanes that blasted this area last year, gutted warehouses without roofs and passed the commercial docks with freighters and tankers unloading and loading.  Several of the warehouses showed considerable damage, with missing roofs and doors and windows missing.  By 1 pm I was tied up at a concrete pier with truck tires as fenders between a Russian made ferry catamaran and a Canadian cruiser, 'Inukituk'.  The Harbor master was very friendly and informative, telling of how the capital city of Nuevo Gerona was decimated by the hurricanes last summer and that they were still recovering.  I later met the crew of Inukituk with Captain Lee and his parents, along with friend Bruce.  Lee and Bruce were from the Cayman Islands and Lou and Sharron, the parents were from Ontario on their way to Cayo Largo where they had their boat, the Kirin.  Very nice couple and we soon made plans to explore the city that night.  I got the boat squared away and took a walk into the center of town a few blocks away.  I took along my gas jerry can in hopes of finding some fuel.  A horse drawn carriage, looking like a rickety trolley came alongside and offered to give me a ride.  The horse looked a little worse for wear and the wheels, judging by the angle they rode on the axel, looked to be about to snap off.  Nevertheless,  I accepted, not looking forward to carting the full fuel can back to the boat.  The driver gave me a quick tour of the city on our way to the gas station.   Modest in the size of the building the city was laid out in squares with a park in the center.  The buildings were very colonial with lots of arches and nice cornice work.  Not as run down as say Habana, though it was definitely showing the extensive damage wrot by the hurricanes.  As it was Sunday, only a few stores were opened, but there were a lot of people strolling along the street.  At every cross roads, one could see to the south the mountains rising up at the outskirts of town.  Lots of bicycle taxis and horse drawn carriages dodged the occasional antique Chevy.  Having purchased some gas,  I returned by the same carriage to the ferry dock.  I asked the driver what the fee was, and his reply was whatever I wanted.  I gave him two pesos, about $2.50 USD and he seemed happy. Later on in the early evening, Lee and Bruce hailed asking me to join them in a night excursion into the center of town.  Accepting, we walked into town to a boulevard where only pedestrians were allowed.   There were several clubs and restaurants there, some of them open, some of them without windows and closed from the storms.  By 8 pm the road was crowded with people, mostly young, walking talking and even dancing to the music spilling out into the street.  It was a lot of fun, drinking mohitos and talking with several of the locals.  Needless to say, three single men drew a lot of interest, especially from the 'chicas' who were looking for a rich Norte Americano to buy them drinks and food.  Of course they were willing to barter other goods and services, but we declined.   Beers were a peso along with the mohitos, all very strong.  I was getting pretty tired, having been up since 0500, and by midnight we were heading back along the dark streets away from the street party still going strong.