Cienfuegos
Cayo Cachiboca to Cienfuegos, approx. 130 miles. We left Cayo Cachiboca at 08:00 on April 26, 2007, with a perfect 15 knot wind from the SE, and a 1.5 knot following current; we made excellent speed for the entire trip, averaging 6.5 knots(!), although we did motor the whole way because of our mast problem. We used the mizzen sail for the first time, and gained some stability, plus an extra knot in the nice following winds. A pleasant overnighter.
In pre-dawn twilight we were motor sailing along the coast of Casilda, hang-jawed at the fantastic forms of the Escambray Mountains, where the colonial city of Trinidad is... we never got there, but we wish we did. Later that morning, we entered the Bahia de Colorados, and followed its winding path for the next hour to the marina at Cienfuegos. The bay to Cienfuegos is long and intriguing, with crumbling, sagging houses of wood and stone, boat docks, "wild lands" to port, wide expanses of water that open to view as you round small islands in the channel, and one of the coolest signs in Cuba...
We arrived at the marina, singing praises (and knocking wood for percussion) of our reliable Yanmar engine, which smoothly carried Sea Quill and her mushy mast foot another 130 miles. We were both worried about the water-rot, and weren't sure how big the problem was, so we were especially glad to see Australia 31, our new friends from Santiago and Marea, docked on the slip. We knew that Bernie and Yvonne, experienced full-time cruisers, with decades of live-aboard sailing behind them, would have good advice for us.
The dock lines were barely tied when the usual suspects arrived -- Customs, Immigration, Guarda -- plus the marina's Security Guards. They were as courteous as ever, and even more sociable, coming around often over the next couple weeks to say hello and chat. The Security Guards' primary work seemed to be keeping the kids at the beach next door from using the dock for a diving board. The beach was always packed, and there was an amusing, ongoing cat-and-mouse game between the marina security and the boldest of the boys.
The marina at Cienfuegos is also home to a motley pack of scruffy, plump, happy dogs -- super friendly, and well-accustomed to lots of snacks and petting from marina staff and yachties.
We celebrated our return to civilization and 'unlimited' water by immediately washing all the laundry. (You don't realize how fantastic clean, dry sheets and clothes feel until you've spent a month marinating in damp, salt water infused ones.) While Jen was elbows deep in washing buckets, Bernie and Yvonne trooped past. They had just returned from Havana, where, ironically, they had finally gotten visas for the United States, after having had zero luck in two other U.S.-friendly countries.
Before long, Bernie was on his hands and knees inside Sea Quill, gamely inspecting the mast foot. "Aa ah, that's nothing to worry about," he said, his face two inches from the gaping hole where the bottom of our mast used to be, "You could sail on that for the rest of your life, and it wouldn't budge." He pointed out how well buttressed the mast was from the cross beam on the cabin ceiling and the side supports. But since we were still a bit queasy about the hole, he gave us good instructions for the fix, and lent us tools for the job.
While Jen was busy weaving a web of clothes lines from the rigging, Ulf got to work planing the rough edges of the mast up to the solid wood; the harbor master ("el Jefe Flota"), with connections at the boatyard, hunted up a good piece of hard wood to fill the gap. Later, Ulf pounded in the snug replacement with a shmear of resin... and voilà... she was whole again.
Repairs to the bathroom floor would have to wait until post-Cuba, and better access to wood and supplies. We were so relieved that the damage was limited and easy to fix. The bigger lesson was how comforting it is to get advice and help from experienced cruisers. Bernie and Yvonne came to our rescue many times again while we were in Cuba, with valuable lessons on a multitude of cruising challenges; their advice was always delivered with a dose of humor. The good laughs we had, and their untiring enthusiasm for exploring, put things in perspective for us again and again.
Later that day, Yamana with Alice, Peter, Olive and Ruben, arrived -- friends with Australia 31 from last summer in Cartegena... and then, just in time for happy hour, Bleu Nuage arrived with Michelle and Claude. Suddenly, we had a social life: drinks on this boat or that, a delicious lobster lunch on Bleu Nuage (lobsters Claude himself wrangled in Cayo Rosario), a group trip to the agromercado for fruit and veg...
Plus a night out for music (although, we did not have half the stamina of our "elders" on Australia 31 and Bleu Nuage). Below: the adorable Claude, who pulled up a seat on the floor of the club, et la belle Chanteuse...
The primary mode of transportation in Cienfuegos is horse and carriage... one peso (about 5 cents) for a Cuban; the same or significantly more for tourists, depending upon your bargaining and Spanish skills.
There were more of those ever-interesting old cars and creatively altered bicycles... plus a lot of old army-issue motorcycles with sidecars.
Still, we were happiest exploring Cienfuegos on foot -- glad to stretch our legs after weeks on the boat. From the marina to the center of Cienfuegos, it's a mile's walk along the Malecon, with views of the bay and interesting people watching.
Cienfuegos is full of revolutionary murals and messages, even at the playground...
We were there for Primero del Mayo, Workers' Day. There were so many advertisements for the holiday, all the way from Santiago to Cienfuegos, that we assumed we were in for a big party. But Cubans we talked to in Cienfuegos were surprisingly unenthusiastic about it, in stark contrast to the plethora of posters promoting it. On May 1, the parade began at 7a.m. -- an early morning for a day off. We learned that participation in the parade was essentially mandatory: an expression of party allegiance, not a day off at all. By 9 a.m., the "festivities" were pretty much over; we snapped this picture of fishermen returning to the docks from their parade appearance along the Malecon.
We had been in Cuba for a month and it was time to renew our visas so that we could stay for another. We spent an entire, agonizing, illuminating day at the immigration office, participating in a maddeningly opaque waiting game. Finally, though, at the end of the day, we had our visa extensions and were headed off to the place we anticipated most: Havana.
