"Don't be Confused, Just be Excited!" - Cruising Cuba Continues

'I'm justa sittin' on the dock of the bay, Waystin' tiiiii-i-i-i-ime.'

Well, we're still here! Cuba's a real piece of work but there's something about it that makes us not ready to give up on it yet.

Since returning for la segunda parte of our Cuban adventure, we're been quite speedy rounding the South West and making our way toward Havana. Cruising Cuba has been more enjoyable without the constant cold fronts that we experienced here in December and January. It's Spring and the marine weather has been gentle on us, allowing us to make way as we please. The food situation has improved as well. Our expectations were set to 'expect nothing' when it came to finding food between Cayo Largo and Havana (mainly since we're not permitted to go to shore many places between these tourist hubs) yet we unexpectedly found a source for fresh produce. Plus we're fisherman now! We're just delighted when we catch a fish that isn't a barracuda (but that's only 8% of the time - actual stat). People tell us the food shortages aren't as bad these days; the beat on the street is that even eggs are obtainable (though I'll believe that when I lay eyes on them). In any case, our boat load of Cayman groceries is holding strong so we're not worried about it.

Rounding the West.

This French lady is 71 (the one on the left!) and so full of zest and opinion - a real hoot to be around!

Another day, another barracuda (or twelve!)

Heaven is a calm anchorage!

Pictures don't do it justice - the colours were mind-blowing!

So You're Trying to Tell Me...Something...In Spanish...

After having been in Cuba for a few months now, we're able to have mini conversations in Spanish. I self-assess that we have the vocabulary of a three year old, which isn't terrible. After a couple drinks, Dave finds himself especially fluent in Spanish. (Sometimes I point out that he's filling the gaps with French words; other times I just let him soar.) The Cubans don't slow down for us; we just try to catch what we can which often leaves us wondering 'what just happened there'? We thought we understood our taxi driver, Jorge, say he'd bring us cake to the boat at 9pm. But later we questioned: "Why would he do that? Which word did we think meant cake?" When Indio (the man we hired to refinished our cabin floors) told us his brother died, we offered our condolences at length and understood that he would attend the funeral on Friday. But we clearly missed the mark because the following Tuesday we received a message from the marina manager informing us that Indio's brother died that morning. Another time, while biking, we came across a snack shack that advertised what we thought were buns, so I asked for a dozen. The teen working there seemed to understand me perfectly and disappeared behind the counter. Luckily I leaned in to have a look and was able to cancel the order - the kid was preparing 12 meat sandwiches for us!

Jorge to us: "For you, my amigos, it's $20."

Dave to me: "But that's the normal price."
Me to Dave: "Maybe if we weren't his amigos it would be more."

While this may look like a friendly encounter, it was not. This dog wanted to DESTROY Dave.
I can't believe the picture is in focus as we were all three moving like greased lightening.

"Where You From?"
-opening line of every Cuban ever who has something to sell us.

When a new boat comes around we grab the binocs to see which country flag they're flying (or which province in the case of cruisers from Quebec who think it's orthodox to fly the Fleur de Lys instead of the Maple Leaf on their stern...but I digress). Sometimes we're stumped and have to consult our flags-of-the-world cheat-sheet for reference. The Swiss are easy to recognize though - a big plus for their country flag. (Ba-dum-ching!)

One of the things we love about cruising is, in anchorages and marinas, having neighbours from all over the world. Like Estonia for example; we had never met Estonians before. They invited us over to their boat and we brought a bottle of rum which was given to us by a Cuban man. The label looked valid enough but the cork was ill-fitting and reinforced with tape suggestive of a 'backyard brew', though not absolute proof. I was pleasantly surprised that it didn't taste, as one might expect, like gasoline. The Estonians were too polite to tell us what they really thought but for the second round offered a fine bottle from their reserve. The difference was rumarkable.

We've met many 'internationals' by cruising this year: we spent four hours in a shared taxi with Brits, and then another ride with a couple from Quebec. We enjoyed wine and cheese onboard a beautiful Russian boat. We had beer, laughs, and second-hand smoke with the French. We joined South Africans for a buffet dinner. They noticed our dinghy on a beach and left us a message in the sand with the details. A German cruiser gave us two warm loaves of bread that he baked himself. We delivered shoes to a Cuban on behalf of a Grand Caymanian and a Brazilian. By coincidence, we got these two to reciprocate the favour as we had also purchased shoes for someone who needed them, and by chance they were sailing his way. We had a great time road tripping with Americans from Texas and Seattle and we hope to see them again someday. We befriended an American cook on a tall ship. How can you not instantly like the one lady who will dance with a drunken Cuban on the dance floor who no one else will go near? And on occasion we come across other Canadian cruisers who, coincidentally, live very near to us back home. It's neat to see who we connect with, how quickly it can happen, and how language has little to do with it. As we make our way North, however, I've been feeling the bummer of accumulated goodbyes.

If you want me, just text me...in the sand...near my dinghy.

Message received!  - Cayo Levisa Resort buffet.

Only Shanna would dance with Crazy Man!

Don't be Confused, Just be Excited!

When we got to Cayo Levisa, a little resort island where we're permitted to roam freely, we thought it would be fun to leave the boat at anchor and take the island ferry to the mainland. From there we could get a taxi into Vinales for a few days. We've seen a LOT of the Cuban coastline so the mountain town of Vinales was an exciting little getaway.

After we finished clearing in with the Guarda Frontera at the Cayo Levisa dock, the officer asked us to bring him to a Russian boat that was anchored nearby who had not yet come to shore to check in with him. We didn't love the idea of 'surprise delivering' the authorities to the Russian boat, but what choice did we have? We gave Guarda a lift over in our dinghy. On the way, I thought it polite (and good Spanish practice) to make conversation and I mentioned that we were going to Vinales for a couple days. This was a mistake. I should know better than to chit-chat with Guarda; Guarda is not my friend. The smile was wiped off his face and Buzz Killington proceeded to inform us that we were not permitted to leave the boat unattended in the anchorage. (Sigh) Really? Really.

After delivering Guarda to the Russians, we returned to our boat and sulked for a bit ("Guarda never lets us do anything!") but then we decided we could go to Vinales next week from Havana - a longer drive but at least within 'the rules'. The more we thought about it though, the less clear we were on what was permitted. We began to rationalize in our favour. When Guarda said not to leave the boat unattended, he must have meant overnight. And when he said not to take the ferry, surely he meant to go to Vinales. There couldn't be a problem going to the mainland for an afternoon, could there? Dave said: "None of it makes sense anymore. Let's just go."

We got our ferry tickets - we'd visit the mainland from 1pm to 5pm. In case our excursion wasn't well favoured, I switched up my hat and sunglasses to ones Guarda hadn't seen me in. "How do I look?" I asked Dave. "Like a tourist," he said. "Perfect!"

The 'town' at the end of the 30 minute ferry ride was nothing but farmland but we enjoyed the novelty. We came across a hut/restaurant where a man named Pedro made us sandwiches while we waited for an order of fruit and vegetables to be delivered! He sent a man to a nearby farm to get it for us. SCORE!

We returned to the boat loaded down with produce and super happy. The Russian boat had moved to our nook on the west side of the island so we dinghied over to tell them how we found food. They speak very little English (and even less French or Spanish) so with hand gestures and a bag of lettuce and cucumber given to them, we hoped to get the point across: -There is fresh food on shore. -Take the ferry. -See a man named Pedro. They said 'ya' a lot and seemed happy with the news. We left for Havana the next morning.

Cayo Levisa ferry to the mainland. 

(The real) Pedro making us drinks from sugar cane.

Pedro's restaurant.

Primary mode of transportation in the countryside.

Tah-Dah!  Peeling tiny onions is still way better then no onions!

Kianda and the Russian boat Galina.

Sweet!  (A gift from our neighbours.)

When there's no beach bar, Dave makes one! - Cayo Levisa

Unofficial photoshoot for our friend's newly published cookbook Eat Delicious!

The Wrong Pedro

We're back at Marina Hemingway and it seems that we're the 'seasoned' ones now. Word is out that we have the 411 and newly arriving cruisers are coming to us with all the same questions we had three months ago! We explain the dual currency system (how to tell your CUP from your CUC), the transportation options to Havana, and what lies ahead to the West. When they tell us about the state of the marina washrooms, we're like "Pfft - that's not news! Tell us when you find plumbing that does work."

The marina cats have multiplied since we were last here and are getting bolder around the boats. We sometimes hear them pitter-pattering on deck in the night. From our bed we bang on the ceiling to get them to scatter. (Doesn't work). But a marina full of cats is better than rats! Dave just loves them. He says: "They're all descendants of Ernest Hemingway's cats!", but that's a work of fiction.

We were pleased to see our Russian friends catch up to us at Marina Hemingway. We were eager to know if they had gone to shore to get food from Pedro. It turns out, in Cayo Levisa, they had understood everything we told them except for one key word: ferry. They were not aware that Pedro was on the mainland and had assumed we were talking about the island so they had gone to the island resort reception and asked for Pedro. The man at reception asked: "Which Pedro? Pedro from cleaning? Pedro from maintenance? Pedro from the kitchen?" "Ah! Pedro from kitchen!" they replied. So this new and oblivious Pedro was summoned and the Russians told him they wanted an order of fruit and vegetables. New Pedro surely wondered how he got a reputation with the cruisers that he was a food source, yet he came through for them! He told them to return at 9pm and had two large boxes of food for them! And no ferry necessary! 

The Only Salsa I know Is On My Nachos

At Marina Hemingway, we also hung out with a guy from Ontario for a few days. While collecting coconuts we all discovered (including him) that he's a seriously capable palm tree climber. Back at the dock, we put our coco water to good use. A marina security guard promptly arrived - to shut down the fun we assumed. But there was no problem, he just wanted a drink. When a second guard arrived, we thought it was surely to tell us to quiet down, but no, he just wanted a drink as well. And then a third security guard arrived and you could pretty much call it a staff party at this point. The harbour master made a beeline toward us across the grass in his golf cart. "Oh, here he comes" the security guys groaned. But he simply demanded a swig from the bottle, a puff of cigar, and was quickly off to tend to another matter.

It was interesting chatting with these guys - especially since one spoke English well. The Cubans laughed hearing about the harsh winter conditions in Canada - it's always a good icebreaker. And they also liked hearing us describe the flashiness of Miami (their obsession). They asked questions about Grand Cayman, their neighbours whom they seem to know little about. One of them asked us, in complete seriousness, where he should move to: Miami or Grand Cayman. Ummm... On a lighter note, they asked us which dances we do in Canada. (Does raising your arms and writing your name with your hips count?) Dance is huge in Cuban culture and many of them move like professionals (though not all of them - see Crazy Man picture for reference). Our Ontario tree-climbing friend did a wild (yet not inaccurate) demonstration of 'free form' moves seen on dance floors back at home. The Cubans were speechless and proceeded to flaunt a little salsa.

 

Kianda at Marina Hemingway.

He just shimmied right on up there!

Everyone to their machete.  (Future party site right here.)

Ah la Habana!

We visited Havana again with all its intensity and grimy beauty. I'm still struck by the incredible contrasts in this city (and country). For anything I would say about Cuba, the opposite seems also to be true. But this one is constant: after a day in Havana we always feel like we need a shower and a change of clothes asap.

Is Cuba winning us over? We've had some wonderful times and fascinating experiences. Some of my photos would have anyone believe it's paradise (next post on our road trip has some real framers). But... this place is bizarre! (Even the Cubans are quick to admit it!) Just when we think we're starting to understand Cuba, something so off-the-wall happens, we're not sure where to rank it on the Like-O-Meter. I think Dave and I are reasonably seasoned travelers - not idiots abroad for sure - but no other place has left us scratching our heads so much. Travelers who've been coming here for many decades have said the more they learn about Cuba, the less it makes sense to them. But, we're signing up for more: we're leaving the boat at Marina Hemingway to do some inland travel. This is a good chance to 'get in there' and get a good dose of culture before we shove off. 

The Capitolio, Havana

The day you lose your balcony is the day your downstairs neighbour loses his balcony.

Havana.