Trifecta of immigration issues
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Thu 17 Mar 2011 00:08
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17:18.834N
62:59.23W
Regular readers of this column may have detected an
uncharacteristic air of naked optimism in recent posts. In particular, those
regarding the bureaucratic apparatus of the Cuban Republic. If you are one such
reader, you were absolutely correct. Having been to the Cuban embassy in St
Kitts on Monday, we'd been instructed to return today to collect our tourist
cards. We'd prolonged our stay in an otherwise unremarkable island for this
reason alone. We waltzed in this morning to the new that they were unable to
issue the card.
"Why, in the name of Castro," we
asked.
"You must get the tourist card from your last port
of call before Cuba, which means the Dominican Republic, blessed be Fidel," said
the ambassador's flunkey in clipped, lisping Spanish.
"But if we have to stop there, it will add 500
miles to our journey, may the mighty leader's beard forever curl" I
riposted.
Muttering, then a quick conference on the other
side of the door with the Ambassador himself.
Moments later: "That's alright. You just hail the
border control when you enter Cuban waters, and they will ensure you get your
tourist card. Look, it says so here," he added, pointing to a passage printed
out from the internet where it clearly said, even to my beginner's Spanish, that
all tourists must arrive with a tourist card or risk being pelted with cigars
while listening to repeated revolutionary broadcasts on behalf of the
people.
We smiled weakly, thanked the fellow profusely
and left none the wiser.
Glorious. A little bit of Cuba in St Kitts. it was
a hospital pass from one flunkey to another in a long chain of hospital passes
that will lead us eventually to someone who is high up enough in the hierarchy
to make decisions rather than pass them on. The chief annoyance of the matter is
that we wasted a day here when we would much rather have been continuing west.
We filled the day with a 'rainforest tour' which may have kept cruise ship
passengers happy, but certainly didn't cut the mustard with us. The forest was
nothing of the sort, and a pale imitation of what islands like Dominica have to
offer. The tour, on the other hand, involved dropping us at the bottom of a
muddy track and waving a hand up the hill before parking the car and settling
down for a snooze to wait for our return. We duly marched up the hill, then
continued along a path that petered out into what looked like a ganga plantation
on top of the hill. It did rain, at least.
Earlier toay we'd been over to a 33 foot boat
belonging to an Irishman named Sean, who had also done the ARC. We'd only met
him the night before in a bar in Basse Terre, where he'd told us about an
American he'd befriended in English Harbour, Antigua. During a six week stay
Sean had got to know this fellow who turns out to be in charge of immigration in
the US Virgin Islands. Putting two and two together, we established that we'd
been moored up next to him in Nelson's Dockyard, where he keeps his boat Jaila.
Sean told us stories about other yottin' folk trying to get into the US who'd
been obliged to travel to Barbados to get their visas. We're still hoping we'll
be able to get our paperwork sorted out during a day trip from the British
Virgin Islands to neighbouring St John's in the USVI, but suddenly we're worried
about it...
To complete the trifecta of immigration issues, we
had problems trying to clear out of St Kitts today as well. Nevis and St Kitts
form an uneasy federation, and when you arrive you obtain paperwork allowing you
to travel throught the two islands. However, we'd indicated that we would leave
on Tuesday, which had been the plan before the Cuban embassy. In an undoubted
first for Caribbean immigration officials, some helpful soul had actually
processed us as having departed on 15th even though we didn't show up in person.
When we did go to immigration, then, a stressed looking local had to spend an
hour fighting her computer to let us back in so that she could clear us out
properly. It seems that people in St Kitts expect nothing but the worst from
those in Nevis. No doubt it's a mutual feeling. I can't see the 'federation'
lasting too much longer.
Meanwhile, we had an absolutely spanking sail
northwest to a little known island called St Eustatius which is still a Dutch
colony. It's another forest-clad volcanic cone rising out of deep, clear waters.
Unlike anywhere we've been yet, they use the guilder as their currency,
something even their colonial masters have given up. The island's claim to fame
is its unspoilt forest and sparkling snorkelling. We're anchored up in shallow
water on sand and star fish a few hundred yards from the beach, which is fringed
with collapsed masonry from a massive earthquake two hundred years ago. In the
meantime, fish, turtles and lobsters have taken up residence in the ruins and
happily buzz about their business in front of curious snorkellers.
We're looking forward to exploring
tomorrow...
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