Lyn's Log, 28th January 2007
Santiago, Cuba

Santiago, Cuba.
N19º59', W75º53'
12,589 miles.

We arrived in Santiago marina on 24th January, and an armed guard was posted until we were officially cleared in. The first to board were concerned with health. One was interested in any livestock and checked our foodstuff for signs of cockroaches or weevils and was ready with his spray if we had said we had mosquitoes on board. Then we had the immigration guys filling in forms, peering at our ships registration card and the passports. A squad of customs officials followed them. The senior one brought a large tool kit that he unpadlocked at the quayside. Two were sent below to start in the forward cabin removing everything from under the bunks and the lockers and even one of the side panels of the cabin. ‘Don’t worry’, we were told, ‘they will put everything back as it was’. But they didn't. When they took the new cruising chute out if its bag it took an age to stuff it back in, and I doubted that it would come out properly. We had to do was to hand over our VHF radio, mobile GPS, and the flares. The Cubans were not allowed to own these items and we had to have them taped up out of use until we departed the country. They took the dinghy off the deck and took out the polystyrene floatation from under the seats. Then they started on the main cabin but they were getting tired and not so thorough. So two more of the gang were sent in fresh. One guys waiting sat idly by during this, going through the pockets of our jackets and looking through our binoculars, which was evidently a novelty. It took four hours for this search, and all the various officials left their bills which totaled £50 in all, leaving us to sort and tidy all our possessions back into place. At least nothing was missing or broken. Despite the thoroughness of the search, they found not one of our hiding places for money and valuables.

The day was nearly over but we chatted to the couple in the yacht moored just behind us. Hans and Dorly were from Holland, sailing ‘Happy Monster’, and we had seen one another back in Cascais. Portugal. They had spent nine months in Surinam working. They then sailed direct from Curacao to Cuba, arriving the night before us.

The following morning we shared a taxi to Santiago town, agreeing on a price with the driver and not to use the meter. In town we changed some US dollars to convertible pesos in a bank.‘Convertible’ pesos are the currency to be used by tourists. We aren’t supposed to have ‘local’ pesos, but they turned out to be essential for shopping for fresh meat and vegetables in the markets, and it seemed we could only get them by black-market exchange on the streets. The going rate is 24 local pesos for one convertible, although the 'official' rate is one for one.

Our first day was spent being tourists in Santiago, an industrial city and rather dirty but with some fine old buildings in the centre, many crumbling but some restored. We wanted food so visited a supermarket, which was priced in convertibles. Four aisles, one devoted entirely to tomato puree, another to mayonnaise, no fresh food at all! Tourists are supposed to eat out, not buy food. Heavy security watching our every move in case of shop-lifting. It was an introduction to how difficult shopping was going to be.

That evening we were talking about our problems in the marina bar. The barman, and his son, Emilio, offered to take us together with Dorly and Hans to the market in town. At seven a.m. we were waiting at the roadside for the bus. After half an hour we climbed into the back of a truck with steel benches down the sides and an awning over the top, an old wartime army truck - even older than me! Soon it was crammed with people standing, including some school children in immaculate school uniform. The bus ride cost twenty local cents each, about ½p, for five miles. (The normal taxi fare was £3, though we always had to haggle hard for this.) At the market Emilio had twenty convertibles changed to local pesos for us and organised paying for our vegetables, eggs and ham as we picked out what we wanted. I had not brought enough plastic bags but people were selling them for a peso each. The previous day I had bought a dozen bread rolls from a panaderia with one convertible and got ten pesos change. With this ten I bought some tomatoes from a man at the corner of the street, and got two dozen tomatoes! I received far more vegetables from the market than I had asked for, but they were all excellent quality and had not been chilled, so they kept very well. When we got back to the boat everying we had bought was checked by Customs. Later we thanked our barman and son, Emilio, giving them cigarette lighters, soap, and tee shirts with ‘Happy Monster’ on. We noticed how cautious they were about accepting. A Canadian explained that locals are not permitted to accept gifts from foreigners and with the Customs close at hand they feared being questioned.

Saturday night we went into to town to the main square where a local pop group was preparing to give a free concert. By the time the event was due to begin, it was crammed with people. A young couple made room for us on a bench and tried to make conversation, but the language barrier and the loud warm-up music made it too difficult. The young man showed me a well-used paperback New Testament in Spanish that he was carrying. Hans blew up a couple of Happy Monster balloons and played with some toddlers. Then their uncle talked to us for a long time in broken English and although we understood his words, his explanation of his life made little sense. Ultimately, as so often happened, it boiled down to begging for money when he was sure he wasn't being watched.

It was fascinating just watching the people in the square. Loud Latin American music came from the speakers and many young couples were dancing as if they were on a ballroom floor. Everyone was wearing their best clothes, the girls in slacks and posh tops or little dresses, the guys in smart slacks and shirts, combat trousers and tee shirts, or tee shirts with special logos such as ‘Elvis the Pelvis’. One guy wore matching yellow cotton slacks, shirt and skullcap. At last the group appeared and started playing but to our surprise no-one danced anymore and there was some jeering in the crowd. Evidently they were not popular. We tried to ask why but as so often in Cuba, explanations of odd behaviour were not forthcoming. "The lead singer is unsympathetic to the people" is the best we got. The crowd became more unruly - Andrew shoved away a would-be pickpocket and warned the rest of us, but Hans lost his wallet anyway. We left.