Posts in category: Cuba

Thursday May 16, 2013

(Photo courtesy of Rode Trip)

In the morning we set our alarms bright and early so we could enjoy the complementary breakfast at the casa particular before heading out to spend the morning on horseback. Getting a very quick shower under cold running water in, I ran down the steps to the restaurant to find a nice little spread waiting for us. Breakfast that morning was a mix of guava, papaya, pineapple, meat and cheese, and fresh espresso plus a very thick mango juice. I know a certain set of friends that told us the meals here in Cuba were the worst part of visiting (ahem, Tamarisk!), but this was really one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever had. Probably one of the most fresh, and definitely better for me than my usual bowl of Lucky Charms. We were going through it so fast that I even had to bring the coffee pot back to the kitchen and ask for ‘Mas cafe, por favor’.

Good morning sunshine!

(Photo courtesy of Rode Trip)

Our room at the casa particular.

True to his word, Daniel met us on the corner of our casa particular, sharp at 9 a.m. What he also had with him, and what we weren’t expecting, was for the horses to be joining him there as well. I guess we all assumed that we’d be caravaned to a ranch at the foot of the mountains where our caballos would be waiting for us, but nope, they were here at our door. Putting on our helmets and learning the Spanish names of our horses, no Buttercups here, so of course the names were promptly forgotten, we saddled up and were ready to go. Clomping down the cobblestone streets of Trinidad, I almost felt cool as we headed out toward the mountains, passing the locals on the street and thinking ‘That’s right. I’m pretty bad ass on my horse here while you’re down there using your two feet to get around.’ It was pretty damn awesome. Then the town gave way to a steep winding hill in which we tried to keep our horses from sliding down the sometimes slick cement, and definitely off to the side of the road from the trucks that came whizzing by us at lightning speeds. Soon though, we were on and open road, lazily ambling toward the mountains ahead as we watched farmers and crop workers leaving their little huts on the side of the road to start their daily work.

There were times we’d be moving forward at our lieserly pace when Daniel would crack a little whip, or whatever he had at his side, while yelling “Ya!…Ya!”, and the horses would pick up to a trot, making the ride a little bumpy and just a bit uncomfortable for most of us. Stephanie, an equestrian in her previous landlubber life, showed us how to stand up on the stirrups to give an inch or two between yourself and the saddle when the horse was riding like that. If it took a lot of bruising and possible future infertility away from me, I can only imagine the wonderful effects it had on the guys. Along the way we met up with another couple using a different guide, but all of us headed toward the same destination. They were from Australia, and taking seven weeks to travel around the Caribbean. Their children were out of the house, they had vacation time to burn, and this is a part of the world they hadn’t been yet. They swapped stories with us on great places to visit in the Caribbean, and we told them where they could find a good 5 peso beer in town. Merging our groups together, we chatted between steps and trots, and even a few gallops until we made it to a plantation where it was time to take our first rest.

Set under beautiful rolling hills, which there doesn’t seem to be a lack of here in Cuba, this ranch specialized in bananas, mangoes, and sugarcane. From the amount of animals roaming around though, I’m guessing there was a little bit of meat specialized as well. Once the horses were tied up, I took a quick moment to run walk around while playing my own version of ‘Old McDonald’ in my head. I think they contained a lot of the same things, as this farm came complete with pigs, a 7 day old calf, hens, chicks, cats, but this one was run by a cute little old man named Juan. I’m pretty sure his last name wasn’t McDonald. This wasn’t a resting break though, and soon all of us were put to work, getting the sweet water out of sugarcane. After watching the demonstration by the farm workers, each of us took a turn behind the crank, running a piece of sugarcane through once, and then bending it in half a sticking it through a second time just to make sure we got out every drop. This was much easier for most other people than it was for me.

Once all six of us had our go at it, the water was mixed with lemons and rum, making a sweet little treat for us to enjoy as we enjoyed some time in the shade. Juan played a few tunes for us on his guitar, seranated Stephanie a little, and then her and Brian danced along for a bit, turning and twirling to the beat of the music. We sat down down enjoy some more tunes and tried to decipher the Spanish words being played out. Brian, who has been building his vocabulary with Rosetta Stone, was able to pick up on the chorus that was being sung of “Mi casa es su casa, mi mujere es su mujere”. Which, if translated right, means, ‘My home is your home, my woman is your woman’. These Cubans, they really are a friendly and sharing bunch.

I may have had to put all of my weight into it.

Juan, trying to sweep Stephanie off her feet.

Juan playing guitar in Trinidad, Cuba from Jessica Johnson on Vimeo.

Back on to our horses, before we could find out what else Juan wanted to share with us, we were on our way to the waterfall. This was the two hour rest stop we had been told about the previous day, and the $6 fee that was being payed by our leader and we had to keep our mouths shut about. Changing from open air and fields, we transitioned into a tree covered forest where the horses were tied to posts, we were pointed in the direction of the falls, and told to be back in two hours. When we came out to the falls and I saw there was a nice pool underneath for swimming, just like back in Jamaica, I cursed Matt for making me remove my swimsuit from the small backpack we both shoved all our things into for the trip. “When would you possibly need your swimsuit there?”, he asked. I don’t know why he can’t get this through his head. I am always.right. Since none of us did in fact have our suits on us we decided that underwear would suffice, or a tank top and underwear in my case. Stripping off our clothes we placed them down on the surrounding rocks and got ready to jump in.

The guys, taking cues from one of the locals that ran a drink stand just next to the fall, were quick to scramble up the rocks to make a jump in from dizzying heights. Watching them plop in one by one, I was pretty sure that the slick climb alone would kill me and I was much better off only jumping the three feet from next to the pool. The water was cool and fresh, and we divided our time between swimming beneath the trickle of a fall, and sunning ourselves on the rocks. When our time was up we hiked the trail back to our waiting horses and guide to begin the trip back home. Not however, without a stop at the ranch once more for lunch.

Thanks, but I’ll just watch from here!

Not part of the packaged deal, but still pretty low at only $10, we were served one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Anywhere. So much for crappy food in Cuba. (Ahem, TAMARISK!!) First was a bowl of veggie soup and a key lime on the side for an extra kick of flavor, and wow, just that little touch makes a huge difference! Then I was served a heaping plate of fresh salad greens, rice, and perfectly cooked and flavored shrimp. Dessert was fresh banana and mango, products of the very plantation we were sitting at. It was one of those meals where I should have put my fork down long before I did, but I could not keep myself from heaping all the delicious food into my mouth. One more tour around the grounds to say goodbye to all my little animal friends, play with a couple of kittens, and take what is possibly the cutest photo I will ever capture, it was time to leave once more. Ready to fall into a food coma, I was glad that the horses knew their way home by heart and I had to do little more than keep myself upright with my eyes open, which didn’t become very hard considering all the beauty surrounding us. Daniel also took it easy on us after our big meal and kept the horses at a walk, although after 20-30 minutes, Brian and I decided we were ready for some action and would command our horses into a gallop and race each other back and forth ahead of the group.

Too soon it felt like the horses were exerting themselves in the daytime heat, bringing us up the hill that led back into town and toward our casa particular. It was time to gather our belongings and start the trip back home. We may have only had the previous evening to explore the town that we spent a bit of time and effort getting to, but I think we were all very happy with how we ended up spending it. For an adventure that none of us initially wanted to take, our day on horseback out in the mountains and fields of Trinidad is now one of the highlights on our trip, not just in Cuba, but since leaving Michigan.

(Photo courtesy of Rode Trip)

Wednesday May 15, 2013

 

Of all the possible restaurants or casa particulars that Brian and Stephanie could have made it to while getting into Trinidad an hour after us with absolutely no communication of where we were going or even wanted to be, them walking into exactly where we were sitting was nothing short of a miracle. Giving them a few moments to catch their breath, we let them have a cocktail at the restaurant, run their bag up to their room, and then it was time to explore. Having to leave by about three in the afternoon the next day gave us just over 24 hours to experience this town, and we didn’t want to miss out on a thing. Walking back to our ‘official parking’ officer to see what the overnight situation for our bikes would be, the man indicated he wanted them brought inside where they would be safe from any rain or possible vandalism, although in a town like this it seemed very unlikely. And where was this indoor space you might wonder? In a garage, or a shed, or behind a gate and under a tarp? None of the above. The place where he was planning to store two motorbikes overnight, was his living room. Having Matt and Brian grab the back end while he used his brawn on the front, both bikes were lifted up the few steps and into the man’s living quarters. Waving, we told him we’d be back the next afternoon to collect them. Now we were free to explore the town, although we set off with no particular destination in mind.

Selecting any random street to wander down, we strolled for a bit before happening upon an area with musicians playing. Stepping in through the arched entry way, we watched a group in front playing a variety of instruments and singing in very lovely Spanish vocals. As this group finished, another artist brought up his instrument to begin playing. None of us could be sure, because of the language barrier, but it looked as if there were some kind of contest or talent show being held. Even though we didn’t have much of a clue to exactly what was going on, we were just happy to be there and soak up a little of the culture while we were in the area. When the awards started to be passed out we left and continued down any street that caught our eye. Stephanie’s big goal for the afternoon was to find the church that we had seen from the roof top in our casa particular. We followed the steeple as we saw it poking up between buildings, until we finally stumbled upon it. Only, it wasn’t the church we were looking for. Turns out there are just a couple of them here. Stopping to check out this other church as long as we were there we found out it was mostly ruins, and the grass poking up between bricks in the open air center was now being taken over by children playing soccer. One church checked off the list, off to find the intended church now. Which, even though we could now spot the steeple of the one we had originally been seeking out, was easier said than done. Poor Stephanie must have a tattoo on her head that reads “I’m a social worker, please tell me all your problems”, because at each new street she was getting sucked into a conversation of someone asking for money, soap, shampoo, even the shirt off her back (literally), or just wanting to vent about their problems. The first few times we stuck around with her as she listened to their stories. After that, we just kept walking, thinking it would give her an easy out. ‘Oh, there go my friends, I should probably join them.’ But no. Often we were cemented down the street waiting for her for a good 5-10 minutes while she stood there and patiently listened to each person that stopped her. Stephanie, you are much more saintly than I.

I LOVED this guy’s outfit!

We found the church we had been looking for although this one we did not go inside. Passing by it we sympathetically smiled at the old men trying to sell pressed flowers, animals woven from straw, or the ever popular horseback tour. I think we turned down ten of them in the space of just two streets. From all our walking we were getting a little hungry at this point, and it was time to search out a meal. Matt and I remembered there were a lot of restaurants where we had first parked the bike when we came into town, and after checking the many maps that line the road since I had managed to store the street name in my head, made the necessary turns to get ourselves there. Getting dropped out a few blocks from the central area we were headed to, we began walking down the street and noticed they were becoming more filled now that it was evening and some of the shops were closing. Outside one restaurant was a long line of locals swarming around a small counter next door. Checking it out, we saw a young man pouring draft beer into little 8 oz plastic cups. A roadie was sounding pretty damn good at the moment so I went to order Matt and I one while Brian came up to take care of him and Stephanie. Having the glasses placed in front of me I was told the price was ‘diez’. As in, we could use our pesos here. Also as in, your two beers only cost $0.40. I honestly think I might never leave this place. For that price we sat right down on the curb to enjoy our first round, knowing that we’d quickly want a second. When our cups were refilled to the brim, we finally headed into the main square to search for food.

Although there were plenty of restaurants for fine dining or even just a relaxed social atmosphere, you might forget that we’re always on the search for things cheap. Our 20 CUC had exchanged over to 480 pesos, and they were burning a hole in our pocket, they needed to be spent! Locating another local pizza stand, we saw they offered a pizza especial with a good amount of toppings, but they also had many other items, one catching my eye in particular, the pan y jamon, or bread and ham. Each of us ordering one, we walked down to a park bench to sit down and eat. They went down way too fast, as also did our beers. Brian and I scooped up all the empty cups and made our way back up the street for one more fill. If we had been smart, we would have done what the locals have caught on to, and started bringing larger bottles from home to fill. Too bad the Nalgene bottles were back on the boat. Going back for yet another ham sandwich as well, we saw a guy across the street selling tamales. Just while talking to him a little bit about his life and explaining that, yes, we were from the states, it was enough time for him to sell out of one of his buckets of tamales, families coming to collect 10 at a time. We managed to grab the first few from the second bucket and make a quick leave as he was trying to sell us on horseback trips.  I’m starting to think that it’s all this town is known for.  ‘Come to this historical World Heritage site and ride horses!’

When our late afternoon snack was finished we wanted to make our way back to where we had found the second church, because there was also a nice little outdoor seating area with a stage for live music. There had been no one playing when we first stopped by, but now that it was evening, everything was getting set up. Taking a seat at a table just back from the stage, we watched as the band started and mamba sound came out of the speakers. The singer joined in with the music, and shortly after, people were out in front of the stage dancing. It was a great way to relax for an hour, plus it was one of the things I really wanted to do while we were in Cuba, catch some music being played out in the streets. The crowd made the show even better as the ones that came up to dance were amazing, and made me wish I had some salsa lessons under my belt. We didn’t stay too late though, Brian and Stephanie never had a full meal that day and it was time to search out some real dinner instead of a couple tiny sandwiches. On our way to our 5 peso beer stand again, we were once more assaulted by a slew of people trying to sell us things. Most of them were still stopping Stephanie because of that big tattoo on her forehead. When she finally got up the balls to tell one off, she looked back to find out it was actually a guy that her and Brian had run into earlier that day. Daniel had helped them find a gas station as they were puttering into Trinidad with only one flashing bar left on their tank.

Since he had taken the time to help them earlier, we stopped to chat for a moment, until he as well tried to sell us on a trip. “$30 a person”, he advertised, “I pick you up, we go 50 minutes into the mountains, a stop for a snack, 20 more minutes, then a 2 hour break for swimming, and then an hour to come back.” Not only did we not care to spend that money, although it didn’t sound like too bad of a deal, we only had tomorrow morning and early afternoon to enjoy Trinidad, we didn’t want to spend all of it out of town on the horses. Telling him that we were only in town for a short period of time, he kept lowering his price. “Ok, 24 a person.” No thanks, we’re still not interested. “$20 a person, and I’ll pay your $6 fee into the national park.” Not trying to write you off Daniel, we’re just not up for horseback riding. He hadn’t even finished his last offer of $16 a person to let us get a word in when he pointed at each person and said, “Ok, $12, $12, $12, $12, and I pay the park fee.”. In an instant, Matt’s hand shot out as he yelled “Sold!”. We told Daniel where we were staying and he said he be by the next morning at 9:00 to get us. Looks like we’ve now come to Trinidad to take a tour on horseback. Continuing up the road, still in need of our food, we got our beer and went to try the pizza especial at the place we had gotten our sandwiches from. The toppings did make it slightly better, but it’s something about the cheese in this country, and I don’t think we’ll be seeking out pizzas any more.  It’s a good thing they still have $0.20 beer and ice cream to offer.

When the sky turned dark we weren’t exactly sure what we wanted to do next, so Matt and I suggested we try to find ‘ La Cueva’, a night club that Jason from Tamarisk told us about. It’s a club that’s literally held…inside a cave. Checking those abundant street maps we found La Cueva listed under Entertainment and that it was situated on the far outskirts of the town where there were not even roads leading to it, at least not according to our map. Pursuing the listed street that would take us at least in that general direction, we chased it until the cobblestone did in fact end beneath our feet. A dirt road continued ahead, and although a few people in our party were unsure of the route, especially since the lights ended with the roads, I was still determined to make it there. It had been built up so much to us that I was not going to leave without seeing it. Asking a few people on the side of the road, they would just point further up the street. I nonchalantly followed until this dirt road turned into a dirt path with only blackness lying ahead. Almost getting to the point that I was ready to turn around myself, we asked one more person, an old man sitting on the side of the road wearing dirty and ripped clothes. He made a motion to follow him, which we did, and as soon as we got to the terrifyingly dark area, a motion sensored spot light turned on. We followed the path up a small hill and were dropped out at the entrance of La Cueva.

Paying the man a few CUC for his trouble, we walked forward toward the club. The entrance had bars in front of it, locking it closed at the moment, but we could see a flight of cement stairs leading down below the earth. At just that point, another man walked up, one of the managers for the club. In some broken Spanish we found out that the club didn’t open until 11, and it was only just past 8 at the moment. Brian politely asked if we could be let in just to take a look around, and surprisingly, the man obliged. Opening the gate, we all filed down the stairs into a real effing cave. I don’t know what I was expecting. It was called The Cave. I told it was inside..A Cave. Yet, I thought it would be an Americanized OSHA approved version of a ‘cave’ club that we might have back in the states with drywalled rooms sitting next to a rock that you walked past. No, this was far, far better. It was literally a freaking cave that had a cement floor poured in, a bar standing off to one wall, and a DJ booth suspended above a dance floor. My first thought was, “We are so coming back here when it opens at 11”, but even then I knew I was already far too tired to make that a reality. We thanked the man and headed back out, ready to enjoy a beer or two at our casa particular before passing out for the night, at 10 pm. You can take the girl out of cruising, but you can’t take the cruising out of the girl.

Monday May 13, 2013

Our first order of business now that we were checked into Cuba was to exchange some of our US dollars for CUC.  Fortunately our neighbor/translator Christine was back and was going to help us do just this.  Since there’s not much most Cuban’s can do with US money (remember, we’re not supposed to exchange anything between our countries) we pay a higher exchange rate than most countries and only get $0.88 on every $1 we change out.  Canada apparently has one of the best exchange rates at $0.96.  Christina, for today at least, was able to help us out with this exchange rate.  She hails from Washington very near Vancouver and travels around with Canadian cash on her just for stops like this.  She was leaving the next day and still had a decent amount of Canadian money on her so she traded us our US money at a 1 to 1 rate so we could get a better exchange while turning that money into CUC.  Then going above and beyond (as if just trading the cash wasn’t enough) she walked us out to a little exchange shop on the street, no only so we could locate it for future necessity, but so she could handle the translations and we wouldn’t be left there babbling and making wild hand gestures which would happen if we were left to our own devices.  In rapid fire Spanish that would leave my head spinning even if I had been studying the language for a few years (which I have…..15 years ago….) she joked and laughed with the tellers as she exchanged some last minute cash for herself and then separately exchanged the $200 we had paid her back at the marina.

We thanked her profusely while she replied that it was no big deal.  On our way back she asked if we wouldn’t mind quickly stopping off at one of the pharmacies so she could grab something.  I’m getting incredibly low on my hypothyroidism medication and since this may be our only time in a Cuban pharmacy with a translator I asked if she could request a refill for me.  It turns out they had exactly what I needed, but not knowing how a new brand would affect my system I only took two boxes of 20 tablets.  Christine paid for both hers and mine and when I asked how much I owed her she just laughed and said, “Well if you can spare it, yours came to $0.025”.  Yes, that’s right.  Six weeks of my medication cost me less than three cents US.

Second order of business was food.  We dropped off most of CUC back at the boat and took once more to the streets of Cienfuegos.  Wanting to have some more cash on us for the rest of the week we grabbed some USD and went back to the exchange shop we had just come from.  We converted another $200 to CUC, and once we had that we pushed $20 back towards the teller and asked for Peso Cubano, or local pesos.  For the most part, tourist, American or not, are not supposed to be spending with the local money and should only be paying for things in CUC.  The topic on dual money in this country is more than I could explain in this post, even if it were the only thing I was writing about, so if you’d like more information on it just click here.  So we weren’t supposed to be spending local money (ok, we weren’t even really supposed to be spending CUC), but one thing we did know about the local money is that if you can get your hands on it and take it to the right places, you can buy things cheap!  And the two things we heard were abundant and cheap here were pizza and soft serve ice cream.  We were now in Cuba, we now had Peso Cubanos in our hands, and we weren’t going to sleep until we had these two items in our stomach.  The mission was on.

Weaving out of the side streets back to the main Melecon we walked past the waterfront of the bay and towards the center of town.  It’s a lovely place with old French inspired Neoclassical buildings and a prado running through the center of town, lined with trees and benches.  The area was so beautiful and we were surprised we didn’t see more people out soaking in the ambiance, although it was still fairly early in the day.  We couldn’t forget about our mission and had an eye out for ice cream or pizza past every pastel building we passed.  After a good mile or two of walking we realized the main road was probably for tourist and we’d do better on one of the side streets.  Taking a random turn we walked passed groups of kids that we just getting out of school and I’d have to stop every 30 seconds to look around me and say “Oh my god, this is so beautiful!”.  I was so busy looking at all the buildings that I almost missed two school girls in uniform walking down the sidewalk with ice creams in their hand.  Running up to them I asked “Con permiso, busco dulce de leche”, and pointed at their cones.  They looked at each other, then and me, and then back at each other, thoroughly confused.  I pointed once more to their ice cream and asked “Donde esta?”.

Now, for anyone who knows Spanish, you’re probably about on the floor laughing.  What I had done was walk up to them and ask “With permission, I’m searching for sweet milk”.  The only part I may have gotten right was the end where I asked “Where is it?”.  Stupid high school Spanish.  I think I did get my point through enough though, since they looked back to the direction they had just come from and pointed.  We had a lead.  Following the street we saw more and more school kids with cones in their hands.  The further we got down the road the taller the cones were, meaning they had to have just purchased them.  Finally we spotted it.  Tucked into a small door with no sign indicating what lie there, was the ice cream shop.  I indicated to the guy passing out cones that I wanted 2, and handed him 10 pesos.  In return I was given two tall soft serves, at the grand total of $0.40.  With one of the two items checked off our list, we made our way back out to the main street to oggle the buildings and prado a little more.  People were beginning to get out of work and it was becoming more bustling.

We kept going until the center walkway ended and decided to take one of the sidewalks back so we could get a closer view of some of these buildings.  There was a large group of people crowding the doorway to one shop and spilling out into the street.  Looking to see what all the hubbub was about we peeked in the door to find out….it was a pizza shop.  And they would serve you up your own double cheese pie for only 10 pesos.  Jumping in line I ordered one for each of us along with a couple of tamarind juices which were quickly shot back while we waited for the pizzas to cook.  Once they were done they were placed on small cardboard sheets and we walked out the door.  Taking a seat on one of the benches outside we dug into the pizzas only to find they weren’t quite what we were expecting.  The dough was very soft and the cheese had a distinct but strange taste that neither of us were very fond of.  Eating what we could, we sat and people watched in the golden rays of the setting sun.  When I couldn’t touch any more I passed my leftovers to a few of the dogs wandering the streets.  I wanted to stay in that spot all night and take in the city, but my eyes were fighting the fatigue I had been battling all day and it was time to go.  Taking in as many images that day as I still could, I made my way back to the marina, utterly exhausted and completely content.

Boat in repair at the marina.

Strolling the Paseo del Prado.

Monday May 13, 2013

 

*For many people there is a debate on if Americans are allowed in Cuba.  Most people think we are not.  It turns out that we in fact are allowed into the country, we’re just not allowed to spend any money there due to the embargo we have with them.  Which is nearly an impossible thing to do and for the most part Americans will just stay out, although there are new laws being passed to let certain groups or people in.  One way cruisers can legally get around this obstacle is by getting someone from another country to make the trip with them and be their sponsor, paying for absolutely everything and not being able to take a penny in return.  For legal reasons I will not indicate if that was or was not us.

Through our planning of this stop, I hadn’t been too worried about us entering Cuba with an American boat and being of American citizenship.  We weren’t making the trip from Miami to Havana where the US Coast Guard would have a watchful eye on us, and from what we’ve heard from other cruisers and general travelers, Cubans themselves are more than happy to have us visiting and traveling through their country.  I didn’t know much about what to expect from entering the country, just that a lot of other people claimed the high amount of paperwork was a hassle and the Cubans were sticklers for their guidelines.  Knowing this beforehand, I planned to have a full day devoted to checking in, if that’s what was necessary, so that I wouldn’t get impatient when the process wasn’t done in 30 minutes to an hour like it was in the Bahamas and Jamaica.  The only time I felt a twinge of anticipation about entering Cuba was when we were 15 miles out and I needed to hail the Guarda Fronteras to alert them we were now in their waters.  I wasn’t worried because I thought they would deny entry or because I barely understand or speak Spanish and didn’t know how I’d communicate.  I was worried because just before I made my call out on the radio I heard the US Coast Guard talking with a vessel in distress.  The call moved to channel 22 alpha, which I am unfortunately, a little too familiar with, but that didn’t keep me from thinking that someone else from the US Coast Guard might be listening to me on 16.  I even debated using an English accent to throw them off my track, but I figured if they were close enough to hear me, they probably had me on their radar already and knew I was an American vessel in Cuban waters.  Should they give me any trouble, I could always try playing dumb.  “What do you mean I’m not supposed to be allowed in Cuba?”

Luckily the US Coast Guard did not break in on my call to the Guarda Fronteras, but there was also silence on the end of the Guarda Fronteras.  I figured I’d try again in a few hours once we were closer and went to wake Matt up for his shift.  I was only down for about 90 minutes when I was rustled out of bed and told we were just an hour away and could I please try the GF again.  After two more calls there was no response from them, but I did have another cruiser who was making their way out of Cienfuegos respond and tell me that they had never gotten a hold of GF on their entry and had just continued on into the bay.  I wasn’t about to wait around all day for someone that wasn’t going to answer me, so we did the same.  Having gotten a lot of helpful information from this cruiser along with waypoints to the marina, we came through the channel and into the bay.  Both of us were very excited and even a little giddy as this is the number one place we wanted to visit on our travels and now we were actually here.  Even though there was terra firma in front of me I had to hold my excitement in for the fear that however unlikely it was, I would be just like Tom Hanks in The Terminal, getting to my anticipated destination only to be told that it was closed to me.  But as we came up on the marina we were guided into a slip and between some of my Spanligh and the help of a fluent American in the slip next to us, we were told that the check in process would start shortly and we’d be able to sit on our boat until the hoards of officials began making their way to us.

In the first step of the process, a young gentleman from one of the departments, immigration most likely, came and took our passports.  By this time our translator was gone and my Spanglish wasn’t working on him.  He was able to get out the word ‘passport’ which I gladly handed over, and without another word he walked away.  We were given no indication on when or even if he’d be back with them and left me wondering for a moment if we’d now become permanent residents of Cuba.  Luckily the Harbor Master, who spoke just a little bit of English, was by a few minutes later to confirm that our passports would eventually make their way back to us and then explained as best he could how the rest of the check-in process would go.  He also gave a run down of the expenses for what it would cost us to check-in.  We needed Visas to get in the country which would cost $50.  A $10 stamp for our forms, $10 for the cat, and $20 to customs/immigration.  He also explained that we would need to purchase health insurance there for the cost of $3/day since any medical claims could not be sent to the US to collect payment.  We told him we’d be happy to pay any medical expenses out of pocket, but he said it was non-negotiable and the money for this would need to be paid upon our departure.

Knowing full well that we wouldn’t have any CUC (or Cuban convertible pesos) on us to pay the officials for these fees, he said that he could exchange our money for us, but since he was not licensed by the government to do conversions, there was a small extra charge that would apply for this inconvenience, which was an extra 8% as we figured from the math on the scrap paper he was tallying everything up on.  We’d heard that normal US to CUC conversions come with about a 12% charge and this was costing us 20%.  He knew he had us since we couldn’t walk off the boat and exchange the money ourselves, and what was the chance that we had any CUC on us on arrival?  All in all an extra $12 in the mix which I was ok to pay even just for the ease of being able to hand him all the necessary money and have him distribute it appropriately between the officials.  From this point we were able to just sit back and wait for them to come to us, since they were delayed and hadn’t yet arrived at the marina.  I don’t know if waiting like this would make most people impatient, but we were just happy to have a chance to clean the boat up since even calm passages apparently turn it into a disaster area where we are too lazy to clean up our messes when they’re first made.

We had just settled ourselves into the cockpit with a bottle of ice water to combat the already dizzyingly hot day when the first group of officials came down the dock.  There were four of them in total, the doctor, the vet, quarantine and one other that I’m not exactly sure what she did. We filed down the stairs to the salon and after setting up the table I began looking over forms they passed me. Reading through a checklist for the doctor I signed it stating that no one was sick on board that we knew of, and luckily no one had died due to accident or illness on passage.  (That Ned guy that’s listed on our crew list?  I don’t know who he is, I’ve never heard of him before….)  For quarantine I read and signed another list stating that we did not have certain foods on board that we were not supposed to bring in the country, and Matt showed her all of our canned goods as she checked through the dates to make sure they were not expired.  I handed the vet Georgie’s paperwork and he verified she was vaccinated and luckily didn’t take take her out of her crate to question why there was a huge bandage around her neck.  (We still can’t stop her from scratching a few bug bites she got in the Bahamas and keeps opening the wounds.)  They were on and off the boat in 30 minutes and next we just needed customs and immigration to come.

While the first group to come through had a more relaxed apparel of jeans and button down shirts, the two gentlemen from customs and immigration had full military uniforms on and this made me worry that maybe attitudes would match the attire, and they would not be as easy as the last group.  The worry was all for naught because they came in with big smiles, firm handshakes, and I think tired to make a couple of jokes because they both burst into laughter, although I could only make out one or two words in the conversation.  The man from customs took a look at our crew list, asked for a copy of our passports, stamped a few forms and was on his way.  Immigration was there a bit longer and we initially thought it was because our translation skills were so terrible and every time he’d ask us a question we’d need him to repeat it about five times before the point finally came through.  Eventually we got through all his papers as well and I expected him to excuse himself like the previous guy.  While organizing all our new papers and putting them back in our folder Matt noticed the guy eyeing a bottle of Kraken rum we keep displayed in our galley and asked mimed if he wanted a taste.  The guy shook his head yes and Matt poured him a healthy shot into a glass.  It’s quite a strong and flavorful rum so Matt gave him a cold Red Stripe to help wash it down.

We’d heard through the cruising/forum grapevine that it’s common for the Cuban officials to ask for some kind of bribe, maybe a monetary one, or just a cold Coke or a beer.  So far no one had asked for anything, and since this guy had been so patient with our lack of his language, we didn’t mind offering a little something up (although I had also freely offered cold water to everyone else that was on before).  Right then a cold beer was sounding really good, so Matt and I also served ourselves and sat back down in the salon while the three of us tried to keep cool with beverages in our hands and fans blowing full blast.  Trying to have as much of a conversation as we could we found out the guy’s name was Yosani and he had two little kids at home.  We tried to ask him how long he had been working in the field and he tried to ask us how long we had been traveling, where we had been, and most importantly, if we had any kids.  (You know, I had a feeling I was leaving something behind in Jamaica.)  Then he began asking if we had pasta.  Pasta?  Didn’t we just go over this with quarantine?  Seeing that we didn’t understand he held his finger up to his teeth and made a brushing motion.  Oh….. Toothpaste!  I went into the head and fished out a fresh tube, wondering what to make of the question.  Presenting it to him he made the motion of putting it in his briefcase, his way of asking if he could have it.  “Si.  No problema”, I replied with a smile.  This gift may have made him a little more bold because then he started moving around and looking at other things.  I had a pair of sunglasses that were laying on top of the nav station and he reached for them to try them on.  I was not about to pass those over as a gift as well, but luckily he had picked up my prescription pair and soon found out he didn’t want them anyway.

By this point we had all finished our beers and were running out of conversation.  I motioned to the papers and questioned, “Esta bien?  Algo mas?”  He just smiled and nodded.  I don’t know why I thought it would help any more, but I moved to English.  “Are we finished?  Can we leave the boat?”  He smiled and said yes but made no motion to leave.  Huh.  How do you politely ask a person who does not speak your language to leave your boat so that you in turn can leave as well?  Matt and I may have only been going on 4-5 hours of sleep each, but we were ready to go explore town.  So we sat there for a few more minutes making polite conversation in which I tried to drop hints often that we’d like to leave the boat.  Matt may have thought I was being rude (and maybe I was), but my social etiquette begins to break down with less than six hours of sleep and I can’t be held liable for the results.  It was when I was seriously debating telling Matt that he could talk to the guy for however long he felt like while I lied down for a nap, when we heard a group of footsteps outside.  It was the Guarda Fronteras coming to do a search of the boat.  No wonder Yosani wasn’t leaving, we weren’t actually done yet!  Now I really did feel like an ass for dropping all those hints, although at least they all came out with a smile while I was saying them.

I don’t know why I had forgotten about this part of checking in to Cuba, or maybe I thought we were just lucky enough to escape it.  Maybe I had tried blocking it from my mind since we had heard so many horror stories about this process.  An account in our Nigel Calder guide where a boat was ripped apart down to the floorboards and the owner had to spend 6 hours putting it back together, to even our friends on Tamarisk, where they were swabbing seaweed stuck to the boat and testing to see if it was drugs.  I was glad I had a beer in me at this point otherwise I didn’t know how I was going to handle this invasion on our boat.  First came….the drug sniffing dogs.  Two little cocker spaniels that happily wagged their tails as they bound down the steps and began sniffing around.  As much as I wanted to give in to my normal response to bend down and scratch the dogs behind their ears I refrained from touching them as they did their job.  The only thing they seemed interested in was Georgie or places she had been lounging around the boat, and once it was apparent we were not hiding drugs they were ushered off back on to land.  The manual search followed and I waited for the boat to start getting torn apart piece by piece.  The head of the Guarda Fronteras was there supervising and we offered him our last cold Red Stripe as he oversaw everyone else do their work (there were now 4 officials on our boat).  I don’t know if it was the kind offer of the beer or Yosani telling him we were good people and to go easy on us, but search was the easiest thing possible.  The man conducting it opened a bag that we store extra toilet paper and paper towel in, rifled though my clothes without actually pulling them out of my bag, and pulled out an eye glass case and asked what purpose it served.  (“Por mi ojos.”  “Ohhh.  Si.”)

Taking less time than we thought imaginable, the search was over and the last necessary papers were signed and stamped. All the gentleman aboard shook our hands as they all made their way out of Serendipity. Our passports were returned (without a stamp), Visas placed inside, and we were told to enjoy our time in the country.  We were checked in, legal, and free to go.**  The excitement I had been holding down all morning was finally burst to the top.  Cuba was not closed to me.  It was wide, wide open.

Matt’s just as dumbfounded and giddy as I am that we actually made it here.

“We’re….in Cuba…”

**  Yes, as my friend Ron put it, this is the longest way possible to say ‘Hey American cruisers, guess what?  You can get into Cuba!’.   But I promise there were people that wanted to know the details, hence, the extremely long winded post on an otherwise mundane topic.