The Beach Boys and Girls in Cuba

When living on Marco, Goodland, and the Isles of Capri, it is always amazing to consider that the island of Cuba is only about 170 miles away from the shores of Marco Beach. This places the northern coast of the 700-mile-long island at the same distance as Marco is to Tampa.

Once upon a time, near the Judge Jolley Bridge which spans the Marco River and crosses onto Marco, a particular Marco Beach Boy was on a sailing excursion with a group of visitors from the Midwest. The Marco sailboat was heading out, but two strange-looking boats were heading inland and toward the bridge. The two boats were odd because they were crowded with passengers who were dressed in long-sleeved shirts and slacks. When the unusual flotilla came closer, it was obvious the two battered vessels were in terrible condition. The outboard motors were sending up a haze of blue smoke, the hulls of the boats were ancient, and the worried and staring expressions on the faces of the twenty-odd passengers were demanding attention. Later, the national news was reporting that the two mysterious boats were full of Cuban refugees who did land on Marco Island.

With Cuba always a nearby mystery, a group of Marco Beach Boys and Girls decided to investigate and take a cruise ship to Havana. The time was during a gap when visiting Cuba was easy.

The cruise began in Tampa, and after a full day at sea, the ship slowly began to enter the Havana harbor during the last hour before dawn. When the old fort—that looks very similar to the Spanish forts in Old San Juan and St Augustine—came alongside, the tabby stonework was ablaze in firelight. In the distance, a burn-off tower from a refinery was sending up a huge plume of flame that was casting firelight over everything in sight. Any other illumination in the harbor was defeated by the tower with the flame, and when the ship docked, she too began to bathe in the primitive firelight of a bygone era.

Because of the management in Cuba, the ship was on a strict schedule. Eight hours was the limit for the international tourists to venture into Havana. An intimidating visa was necessary to get off the ship, but when the Marco Islanders crossed over the gangway and entered the communist country, it became a visit into the bizarre.

Upon leaving the passport check and venturing into the cruise ship terminal, the Cuban security forces were not what we were expecting. The guards with automatic pistols on their hips and red communist stars on their berets were beautiful women. The gorgeous guards were wearing black miniskirts with fishnet stockings. They all were looking like movie stars and when the Marco Beach Boys began to feel the tug from the Marco Beach Girls to get the boys away from the beautiful Cuban security forces, a local version of Carmen Miranda was waiting around the corner and mobbed by virtually every man in sight. The young woman’s smile was unforgettable and her beauty extraordinary. The Marco Girls pulled even harder until everyone was out of the terminal and into the Cuban sunshine.

The streets were cobblestones from the 1700s. The air, however, was firmly rooted in the present because of a too-familiar smell. Random stray dogs were doing their business on almost every street corner and leaving stinky reminders to tread carefully. Also on the corners and alongside the buildings that were cracked and crumbling were locals dressed in colorful costumes. This time, it was the men who were looking like movie stars and the Marco Beach Boys began to be uncomfortable as the girls began to swoon.

After meeting and speaking to our tour guide, who could have easily made any female think of a romance novel, we learned that a tip was required whenever taking a photo of anyone from Cuba. Everyone from the ship was well prepared and had pockets full of one-dollar bills. We also began to learn that a tip was necessary for any bathroom visit, and that the reason for the poverty in Cuba was the American politics and embargoes.

As the stroll through the heat and the leftover dog business was beginning to take a toll, the political heat also began to rise with a lecture from our tour guide about the evils of capitalism.

Throughout our walk past images of “Che” Guevara - a hero to the communist Cubans - our tour led us to a church that was a testimony to the freedom of Cuba in the 1700s. The huge doors on the church were open to the sunshine and several tourists from other tours were walking around inside, but the font of Holy Water was dusty and dry—even though the tour guide was insisting all the churches in Cuba were always open, always.

When the tour left the cobblestones and gained a harbor view along a tree-lined street, a parade of American cars from the 1950s began to roll past. Unlike the crumbling buildings of Havana, the classic automobiles were looking like showroom examples of a time machine that slipped into Detroit.

While waiting alongside a two-tone Chevy Belair from 1955, it was suddenly very clear—with a sooty rumble and rattle—the standard issue Chevy did not come with a Russian diesel motor. Also telling the tale of the consequences of communism was a middle-aged woman who had been following our tour guide and group and was always close enough to eavesdrop on every topic of conversation.

When the tour ended after a rum tasting and cigar smoking adventure led to a seafood restaurant with more beautiful Cuban actors, our secret agent shadow—who had been listening and following—came forward and thanked everyone for visiting the Worker’s Paradise of Cuba.