Meandering through an undisturbed archipelago -
Cuba's northwest barrier reef

By Doran Cushing

The toughest part of writing about Cuba is the memories. Re-living the days anchored off pristine cayos (keys) and remembering the friendships acquired tends to halt the writing and spawn daydreams.
        In the first story, I talked of Havana's Old Europe charm, and how we came to visit Cuba. The second episode followed Panache, my Niagara 35, as we bounded from reef to cayo, passing through the small coastal town of Santa Lucia. Our westward trek turned around at Cayo Buenavista, 45 miles from Cabo San Antonio and the Yucatan Straits.
        Cayo Buenavista was too far inside the barrier reef. Margaret Keller, my bowwoman/school teacher/gourmet cook and sailing partner, was having fantasies of ice cold beer served with fresh-caught langosta (aka "bugs" to many gringos). The local reef rumors said there was beer at Cayo Levisa, two easy days to the east. The bugs were there also.
        Panache worked her way around Buenavista's northwest coastline, staying 300 yards offshore in 12 to 20 feet of opaque water. The bottom appeared to be sand and grass. The Cuban charts showed a deep channel (20' to 30' deep) at the northern end of the key, leading northeast to Cayo Rapido Chico, with Cayo Rapido Grande five miles further up the chain. We found the depths and details matched the charts, so navigating unknown waters was relatively safe -- the coral and reef were more than a mile away.
        A shack on stilts, with a dock and in-water cages, jutted out from the mangroves at Cayo Rapido Grande's west end. Meg later named it "Lobsters R Us" -- the cages were holding pens for hundreds of langosta, sorted by size and bound for the export markets of Japan and Europe. We anchored in 12 feet over a mud bottom. Mother Nature treated us to a 30-knot rain shower minutes after arriving. The CQR never budged.
        Several of our friends from Santa Lucia were there on their wooden fishing boat. They had speared a five-foot nurse shark outside the reef, and collected a bucket of bugs. They insisted upon sharing their bounty with us. Meg and I dined on sweet lobster and the last rations of our beer. Our quest for new beer intensified.
        Leaving Rapido Grande, the shoals immediately north of the anchorage were marked with slender sticks, confirming what my eyes saw as the deepwater route to the reef. A working light marked the break in the reef. The chart appeared to suggest a path east of the tower, but I saw nothing but brown, scrambled water. We exited just to the west with more than 15 feet of depth.
        Note: the crossings through this magnificent barrier reef are not for the inexperienced sailor. You must rely upon some local advice, and have some skills in reading the waters, as well as planning the entries and exits when daylight and sea conditions are favorable.
        Our search for cerveza fria (cold beer) pushed us on. Earlier, back at Marina Hemingway, one of the charter fishing captains had mentioned "una casa pequena," a small house, on Cayo Levisa that might have seafood and drinks. That house was now our mission. I'm not sure who was more surprised -- the Panache crew, or the locals -- when we appeared.
        Cayo Levisa has become a mini Club Med, of sorts. It's an all-inclusive resort with private bungalows, a modestly elegant dining area, and an open-air, thatched-roof bar serving icy Heineken. Heaven on earth to a thirsty sailor!
        The quiet was thunderous. At capacity, I doubt more than 30 guests would be there at one time. No jet skis. Access from the mainland came via a 45-minute ride in the resort's shuttle boat. Even the Swedish bikini parachute team couldn't add to the ambiance.
        Not used to "drop-in" guests, the staff looked at the two of us as if we had come from Mars. Over the first of a few cold beers, we explained about our sailboat, and the dinghy we came ashore in. Our hosts quickly became our friends, giving us a tour of the resort and an invitation to the evening buffet dinner. We declined the offer, but later mingled with the European and South American guests who had arrived from the mainland.
        Our planned overnight stay lasted four nights. Miguel, the bartender, took

photo by Margaret Keller

us to the hot dive spots. Paubel explained how he travelled to Europe to study resort management. Alejandro and I watched the Cuban baseball team on TV, playing at the Barcelona Olympics. They cooked my freshly-speared hog fish in the busy kitchen, served it with hand-cut french fries.
        In four days, we paid only for our drinks. We left with our hearts full of friendship, and the galley on Panache full of fresh fruits and vegetables. Everyone we met -- the managers, the cooks, the maintenance workers -- they all spoke openly about their love for Cuba and the problems they faced, as well as their determination to get through the difficult times. No one wanted to leave Cuba.
        Our time was running out. This teacher and sailor still needed to make a living back in the U.S. We felt compelled to visit Cayo Paraiso once more, so Panache weaved her way through the shallows between Levisa and Paraiso, skipping off the soft bottom on occasion.
        The long day's trip back to Marina Hemingway was against the trades and against the mild in-shore counter-currents. It seemed better to beat into choppy seas than to ride the Gulf Stream. Another American couple who had gone further out on their way back to Havana said it was terrible, the strong current bucking the trades. Take your pick and pick your weather -- the less wind the better.

Back at the marina

Clearance was a simple matter, and by now we were old friends with the officials. We stayed another four days, biking into Havana and through the suburbs around the marina. Each day brought an afternoon downpour, then the sweet smell of the tropics. It was now mid-August and muggy, but the afternoon trade winds kept the heat down and the bugs away. South Florida, in comparison, was more uncomfortable day and night.

Observations

Cuba is not for everyone. If you don't speak Spanish, there may be times when you will be frustrated. A dictionary and desire will solve most communication gaps.
        If you have preconceived notions about how the Cuban people feel about their own system of government, try to leave those notions at home. Their system, like ours, is imperfect. The Cubans we met were open about their lives, and openly inquisitive about ours.
        Most cruisers live their lives a bit differently -- most respect the cultural differences, and look for the pluses, not the negatives. The Cuban

The view from Cayo Levisa

people we met didn't have to worry about shootings, rape, child abuse, housing, or their health care. Freedom, like beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder.