Southwinds Sailing June 2004 - Southwinds Magazine

The entrance to Ernest Hemingway’s house outside Havana.Situated on a hillside with a distant view of Havana, thehouse is airy and open.marina and hitting several different offices in downtown Havana,I was at the National Press Center when I was told Ididn’t need a journalist’s visa. Upon my return to the boat, Iwas feeling kind of punk, when a female immigration officer,who spoke no English, showed up to tell me that I could notinterview Cubans without a journalist’s visa. The Cuban bureaucracyis just as complicated and as inefficient as any other.Before we knew it, it was time to go. Checking out of Cubawas far easier than checking in. Maybe because a 27-foot boatis not all that big, but no one looked for stowaways this time.Clearing out took 45 minutes.The trip back to Key West was nearly as tough as the tripdown. We couldn’t point in the seas and the wind. The blownoutjib had been fixed by a Cuban sailmaker, by the way, andit held up. We sailed with a double-reefed main and the workingjib. Hard going, and we came out miles west of where wewanted to be. We got to Key West by motor sailing up SouthwestChannel.Once in the harbor, with the sails down, I called the GalleonMarina on channel 16. The Galleon came back. Tired beyondreason and with a hearing problem to boot—I wear hearingaids that were stored below where it was dry—I nevercould understand what the guy from the Galleon was saying.I was also talking to him on channel 16, a no-no. I thoughthe gave me a slip assignment of 19A when he was telling meto switch to 19A. If there was ever failure to communicate,this was it.We putted in the Galleon a half hour later and looked for19A. When we found no 19A, I pulled into a slip temporarily,tied the boat up and—no kidding—staggered up to thedockmaster’s office. I had no equilibrium ashore. It was a badcase of sea legs, and I had sprained my ankle just before leavingCuba. It is possible that the people in the Galleondockmaster’s office thought I was drunk. In any case, the approachingtransaction was filled with palpable angst. Maybeit was my talking on channel 16 that set it off. My coming intoa slip that I hadn’t been assigned was probably another irritationfor the Galleon’s personnel.Tired as I was, I was doing the best that I could. Andtired as I was, I also knew when we were just plainway in over our heads with the Galleon. It was bad,and it wasn’t going to get any better. It was a hellof a welcome home.We cut our losses on the spot, ignored the wayout-in-left-fieldslip assignment we eventually receivedand motored over to Key West Bight Marinawhere the attitude was as sunny and breezy asthe weather. It felt good to be stationary. And as Iam writing this, 12 days after arriving in Key Weston April 30, it still feels real good.Clearing in with U.S. Customs was painless andefficient. They said nothing about the two openedbottles of Cuban rum sitting on the counter. Journalistsare allowed to bring back such things.In the end, though, the government got the lastword. Leaving Key West harbor for the last leghome to Bradenton, FL, we were passed by the Coast Guardcutter Monhegan, a 110-footer. The cutter threw off enoughwake to roll my Ericson, and the more expensive bottle ofrum rocketed off the counter and smashed on the floor.Hola!NEWS & VIEWS FOR SOUTHERN SAILORS SOUTHWINDS June 2004 27