Sailing with the Treleavens - Isla Mujeres, Mexico and Havana, Cuba
by Andrea and Ian Treleaven on 26 Feb 2010
Down town Havana.JPG Ian & Andrea Treleaven
Ian and Andrea Treleaven continue with their new tales of cruising the Caribbean: When we left the south coast of Cuba eight months ago, we asked a Cuban couple if they had one wish left in life what would that be?
The answers bewildered us as we had imagined freedom from suppression and travelling the world. Instead all they wanted was to live in Havana and now having been here, we understand why.
With Kevin Horne on board, we sailed from Isla Mujeres, Mexico and crossed the Gulf
Stream to Cuba, which was good, bad and ugly. It’s a mix of currents, wind direction and course over ground that doesn’t always work well together.
Marina Hemingway is our destination and little do we know how long we are here for. America is freezing over and we are having northerly after northerly hitting us and preventing us from leaving. Tied up very safely, we are able to enjoy Havana City and rent a car to visit the country side making this marina a fantastic and safe stopover; we are even able to leave our yacht overnight.
So what makes Havana so much more special when
compared to the rest of Cuba?
The old cars are in abundance, the architecture (especially the restored old town) is very special and the people are friendly but it does have more… Opportunity: where tourism is big, the young have discos to go to, the restaurants are more international and there are no horse and carts so we deduct that fuel is not a problem.
Our road to downtown Havana takes us past Castro’s compound where no photo signs line the area, not that you can see anything. The beautiful old Embassies also line this road commonly referred to as Mansion Road with every small country in
the world flying their flag. The only exception is the huge ugly concrete Soviet Embassy now flying the Russian flag.
The avenue is beautifully manicured and lined with manicured trees but what doesn’t change is the fact that we are watched 24 hours a day. There are rules for them and rules for us. In the marina we have many guards and they see to our security and that no locals come near our boats or take photographs. It’s not about them stealing or harming us it’s all about them seeing a way to escape.
Havana’s restored old town at night is dimly lit giving it an airy feeling with live Cuban music coming from every bar.
On our list is the Floridita Bar where Hemingway loved to drink mojito’s and, with the help of the barman, created the Daiquiri. Many more bars are visited and as the night gets longer so does the cigar until you feel quite ill from the smoke. The bouncer in one bar proudly tells us he was a boxer at the Sydney Olympics.
It’s time for a day in the country and to see how tough it really is for most Cubans. Vinales, 180km west of Havana, has a fertile valley surrounded by lime stone mountains. Our rental car is from China and, with few road signs, getting lost is all part of the fun.
At first we end up in a national park with hundreds of royal palms, ruins of a coffee plantation and lunch not knowing quite where we are. Back on the road it’s not uncommon to pick up people, grateful as they have probably been waiting for hours for the bus, and we feel perfectly safe. The Cuban definition of a bus is a truck with an open tray - standing room only. Directions they can give us; one old man wanted the block where he lived to see him get out of the car.
Vinales, with its beautiful red earth and tobacco fields still being ploughed by cattle, is very picturesque. We stay the night at the Jasmine Hotel overlooking the valley and,
venturing out at night, we drive behind a horse and cart with a flaming kerosene lamp for a taillight. Next morning we visit a tobacco plantation and Ian is in the barn hiding under overhead rakes of dried leaves, haggling with a worker about a black market box of cigar.
It’s not about needing a smoke, as we don’t smoke; it’s about giving and having a little fun. These people don’t know any different, times are tough and time has passed them by. The motorway back is less interesting but at least it’s a motorway. To the east of Havana are white sand beaches and turquoise sea for miles; whatever was here 60 years ago is now run down
and undeveloped.
We try and find Hemingway’s house but with no road signs it is impossible and we give up. We do however find his favourite sword-fishing bay and lunch at his restaurant overlooking his boat house. Photos line the wall as a very nice reminder of fun days.
In the marina there’s an interesting variety of boats and many are from New Zealand and Australia coming in to hide from the weather. From super yachts to small boats, we line the four canals that were dug out to accommodate the world sword-fishing tournament that still happens here. It’s a small world once again when friends
from Christchurch, New Zealand, pull in beside us. Peter and Robyn McDonald on ‘Sequel 11’ and friends Lindsay and Penny arrive from Key West and many nights are spent at the local Hemingway Yacht Club.
For Valentine’s Day a group of us are booked at Cafe Taberna with charming 30s decor restored to the original, high ceilings, dark timber, a mirrored bar; all that’s missing is Al Capone and Ava Gardener. The Buena Vista Social Clubs only living member is singing with his band and everyone is up salsa dancing.
Food: fortunately we were able to bring in our own
supplies but our length of stay has us needing more. In the marina is a tourist only supermarket but that’s limiting. A desire for fresh food sees us off to the local markets and what you get is also limited to season but everything is organic only due to the fact that they can’t afford sprays. Even the green part of the cabbage is gone so we pass on them. Tomatoes are fantastic as are the pineapples but no potatoes.
Eggs are bought on the black market and bread is my hardest find as these foods are limited to locals with coupons only. A leg of pork from a pig that never saw the inside of a refrigerator is a hit back at the yacht with
crackling to die for.
Unfortunately, its time to go back to reality and crossing to the USA and Key West is a night passage of 95 miles. Stories are somewhat disturbing while crossing as it is a fiercely patrolled piece of waterway due the embargo by the USA on trade with Cuba. Stories are told of being boarded at night by black rubber inflatable’s, scaring the hell out of you with no lights on. Others have had been heat x-rayed and others hovered over by helicopters until cleared.
We sail on in anticipation of something exciting happening and nothing does. In fact it’s Sunday on arrival and we are
referred to a hold phone line, given a number and told to report within 24 hours to the customs office. So much for securities, we berth, wander the town, go out for dinner and think this place is quite cute. Chalk and cheese compared to Cuba; everything is immaculate, federation architecture, shopping galore, swinging bars and food to make you sick and/or fat.
And then the heavy hand of misguided authority is upon us as we arrive in the USA, the land of freedom, all because we had cruised to Cuba.
...but more on that next time...
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