Marea del Portillo
Santiago de Cuba to Marea del Portillo, approx. 80 nm west. The prevailing E/SE winds were reversed, with a moderate 10-13 knots blowing from the west instead. We left Santiago at 15:00 on June 14, and began to tack our way south and west under the repaired jib and main. Tacking, with our route set a very conservative 10 miles offshore for the overnighter, by sunset it felt like we were making more headway back to Jamaica than west to Marea del Portillo. As night fell, we again took in all sail and turned on the motor to make better way. By sunrise, we were motoring in a dead calm towards our destination.
We left Santiago de Cuba on a bright afternoon, with the wind blowing from the wrong direction; our destination was a small fishing village with an easy harbor entrance and a sandy smooth bottom (we were not ready for the challenge of anchoring near corals yet). In the middle of Jen's late night watch, there was a burst of loud flapping over her left shoulder. We were ten miles offshore, on a dark night, when this bird landed for some rest. After trying a couple of unsteady perches, it finally settled on the mizzen boom and sailed with us until dawn.
Later that morning, we closed with the shore, and entered the beautiful bay of Marea, a wide, mangrove-protected harbor fringed by a ring of grassy, upthrust mountains. We were the only sailboat there. The landscape of Marea looks a lot like Boulder, Colorado, if you add a few palm trees and an ocean....
We set our anchor, watching the villagers gather at the boat landing to meet the fishing fleet returning with the night's catch.
(Yes, that is the entire fishing fleet of Marea.) This morning ritual was repeated each day of our stay, with the exception of three days when the fishermen were not allowed to fish or go to sea. The reason given by the Guarda was that a package of illegal drugs had been dropped somewhere along the coast. No other details were given. During our travels in Cuba, we encountered other random restrictions, and oddball reasons, from the Guarda. More often, there was no explanation at all. It was remarkable that an entire community that makes it's living from the sea could be frozen from working for three days on the basis of the rumor of a floating package of contraband. Yet, the villagers did not discuss the situation at all, at least not with us.
Late on the evening we arrived, a woman with a beautiful smile rowed a teenaged Guarda officer out to the boat to check our papers. The Guarda in Cuba rarely have their own boats; instead, they rely on the fishermen to row them. Very few Cuban boats have motors. Everyone rows. And when a foreign yacht is anchored far from shore, the fishermen have a long, hard row indeed. The woman rowing, Josefina, became our friend. She spoke just enough English to patch together Jen's scraps of Spanish. There are no markets in Marea, or nearby, but Josefina and her husband Fredo, who also spoke some English, "adopted" us, and gave us heaps of fresh fruit and vegetables, and then invited us for a delicious impromptu lunch.
Josefina and Fredo were fantastically kind to us -- and so much fun. They are both fishermen, a trade that Josefina learned from her father. They have a lovely, simple house that they built from the ground up. They raise chickens, pigs and goats all together in their back yard (and some dogs too). Their front yard is caringly planted with flowering vines and fruit trees.
Other homes in Marea were similar: simple, semi-open buildings, with fruit trees and gardens in front, and small livestock out back. We asked Josefina and Fredo about walking in the mountains behind the town: could we go there? Sure, walk anywhere, they said. The next day was Sunday, and Fredo was going fishing that evening, would we like to go for a hike with them in the morning? Absolutely. When we arrived at nine the next morning, they had four mountain bikes waiting, two of their own, plus two more they borrowed from a neighbor. We rode a few miles into the foothills, past small farms and cottages. Along the way, we stopped at friends' houses to say hello, and to drop off a sack of mangoes, or pick up a sack of squashes.
At the beginning of the canyon, we came to Alfredo's cousin's house, left the bicycles, and hiked up a dry river bed to a reservoir behind the hills. The reservoir was built within the last 10 years, and has brought a constant water supply to the town of Pilon, five miles west, improving the agriculture. Fredo told us that farmers now row produce across the reservoir in less time, and with less effort, than it used to take to cart it through the canyon. From the ridge of the reservoir, we could just see Sea Quill anchored in the middle of the bay in Marea. Returning from the hike, we jumped into a refreshing, sweet-water pool, and floated there for an hour.
On the way back, we visited Josefina's sister, Belgi, who raises pigs and chickens on a small "ranch" outside the village. Like Josefina, Belgi is an amazing gardener, and has a wonderful flower garden in her front yard. She invited us to stay for lunch... an elaborate, multi-course meal that she and Josefina produced with a single burner hot-plate and a pressure cooker. We were astounded and humbled (again) by the generosity and graciousness of this lovely family. While Josefina and Belgi cooked, Jen watched and asked questions, learning how to make tostones, rellenos christianos, and a delicious squash and tomato saute. While lunch simmered, Josefina climbed a coconut tree and pulled down four coconuts for us. Over fresh coconut water, we had an interesting conversation with Fredo about life in Cuba now and during the Special Period, after the Soviet Union collapsed and left the Cuban economy and people in dire straits.
Belgi's simple, immaculate house, with the old Soviet TV set, and a few stray chicks wandering in and out the front door:
A view of Belgi's "ranch," with the hills behind, and a telling vignette of the food chain (the pigs and the pot are from Fredo's cousin's house, but much as we saw at all the homes we visited in Marea):
At the end of this great day, as we headed back to Sea Quill, we watched the French ketch, Epicure, arrive and anchor. Within the hour, Australia 31, another ketch we had met briefly in Santiago de Cuba arrived. We were now three ketches in the harbor. It was a lot of traffic for Marea, which only sees about 20 yachts per year. With the arrival of the other boats, Josefina was busy again, ferrying the Guarda back and forth from the boats.
After a few more days in Marea, we were ready to move west again. We said goodbye to Yves and Pierre on Epicure, which was heading east. But we would meet Bernie and Yvonne of Australia 31 many times again, as we were both heading west. Once again, Josefina and Fredo came to our rescue, giving us all the water we needed, plus more veggies and a big vexing bag full of tamarind pods (so, what do I do with these things?). We exchanged addresses, hugs, and goodbyes.
At 7am, our appointed time to check-out with the Guarda, Josefina again rowed him out to Sea Quill. She and the Guarda officer came aboard. Everyone was polite, but there was also an unfamiliar reserve. Clearly, we were not supposed to seem too friendly in front of the officer.
As we motored out of the harbor, we saw the village gathering to greet the fisherman coming home. It was the first day since the prohibition on fishing had been lifted, and most of the fishermen had gone out the night before. Leaving the bay, we looked back and saw Josefina back on the dock, waving for a long time as we turned the corner of the bay. To port we passed a last fishing skiff, with two men, returning from the open sea. We waved; they waved and hooted, proudly lifting a good-sized shark they had caught in the night.