Please fasten bikini straps as we make our final approach to Cuba...
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Wed 13 Apr 2011 18:22
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22:21.00N
77:51.36W
Another dawn, but this time the sun's rays greeted
us with the low coast of Cuba. There is a continuous barrier reef ten miles out
from the shore here, marked by numerous small 'cays', consisting of beautiful
sandy beaches trimmed with stunted mangroves and coconut palms. Occasionally,
there is a building, usually the ramshackle outpost of the marine police. We
crossed a shipping lane during the night - the first since we left Portugal. The
route threads its way close between the reefs of Cuba and the shallow sand of
the Bahamas to the north. To help keep vessels on track, a string of noble great
lighthouses - some still operated by hand - stakes out the coast.
Now, we're running up parallel to the coast, half a
mile out from the turquoise waters of the reef. The wind has completely deserted
us today after winding down during the night. So we're donking at a steady 5
knots towards Cayo Coco and its marina, where we have to enter Cuba officially.
It's touch and go as to whether we'll arrive before sundown. If not, our options
are to anchor inside the reef (not much fun in the dark and possibly not
allowed) or to bob about off the coast all night long until we can pick our way
in tomorrow morning. We're keen, desperate even, to get an uninterrupted night's
sleep. But there may be no other option for it.
We hailed a post of Cuba's marine police, the
Guarda, this morning to get permission to proceed into territorial waters.
Expecting a dour, punctilious border official at the other end of the radio, we
instead found ourselves speaking to a fellow who seemed dazed with delight at
our arrival. To numerous questions, his response was either "no problem, no
problem!", or, "please repeat". We're none the wiser about official clearance
procedures (our guide warns of sniffer dogs and turning out every crevice in the
boat), but at least we've tried to stick to the rules. Our Cuban courtesy flag
is flying high at the spreaders. And, it's the correct way up. Any mistake in
this regard is apparently considered a declaration of war, as the author of our
guide discovered from the deputation of police sent to meet him upon making
landfall.
Either way, by tomorrow, we should have made our
peace with officialdom and 'arrived' in the bureaucratic sense of the word. Only
then will we be able to set about exploring this strange island.
Postscript: just as I was preparing to send the
blog and today's batch of emails, there came a shrill buzzing from the fishing
reel on the stern. Leaping up onto the deck, I started reeling in a powerful
fish which turned out to be a barracuda. By the time he got to the back of the
boat, he was exhausted. These big predators are also considered unsafe to eat
here because of reef poisoning in them. With gigantic teeth and gaping mouth, he
was almost compliant as I reached in between his jaws with the pliers to remove
the hook. It took some doing. But finally, dazed, he floated to the surface
behind us then flicked slowly away into the depths with his huge
tail.
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