The Havana Cruise

With Havana Cuba closer to Marco Island than Orlando, Florida, the secrecy and mystery of a locked island nation so close to our own island home has always been a forbidden adventure.

During a sailing excursion a few years ago, two outboard motorboats appeared in the Marco River. The two boats were crowded, battered, and aging. There was little space available for the standing women and men who were strangely dressed in trousers and long sleeves. As they cruised by with smoking motors, every face aboard was searching the faces that were watching for a sign of reaction or surprise. This was when one of the passengers on our boat could not help but comment: “Wow, those folks don’t look like the other boaters from Marco Island.”

After the encounter was over and the overcrowded boats were cruising away and almost to the Judge Jolley Bridge, it was only a few minutes before a fleet of sheriff and police boats appeared with all lights flashing also in the direction of the bridge.

The folks on the two battered boats were 22 Cuban refugees. They made it to land before interception and because they landed and stepped onto American soil, they became official refugees and began the legal immigration process.

In the summer of 2017, a small group of Marco Beach Boys and Girls decided to make the reverse trip and head down to Havana. Our trip, however, was much different because we began in Tampa on a luxurious cruise ship when travel restrictions for U.S. citizens were relaxed and allowed Americans to visit Cuba.

The cruise from Tampa to Havana was calm and uneventful except for the unbridled speculation of what we would find in the previously forbidden city. The day before our arrival, our captain announced that we would enter the old harbor of Havana very early and under cover of darkness.

When we gained the top observation deck at 5:00 AM, a bright orange radiance began lighting up the horizon in front of the ship. As we passed the old Havana fort and slipped into Havana harbor, the entire waterfront was awash with the orange glow of a massive oil refinery tower that was ablaze with burn off gasses and torch like flames. The flames atop the tower rose into the last of the night and turned the water beneath the ship into a glowing mirror. On the land that rose up on either side of the ship, the firelight from the refinery was bright enough to cast shadows and eliminate the need for streetlights.

When the sun rose over Old Havana, our ship was at a dock and the decks were crowded with eager faces peering into a crumbling city. Almost every structure appeared to be stonework from another century, and almost every building was aging badly. Across the harbor and moving along the waterfront drive was a complete contrast to a city in neglect. Against the backdrop of coconut palms and rundown architecture, an endless string of colorful American cars from the 1950’s was a testament to the resilience, fortitude, and flamboyance of the Cuban people.

With the parade of two-tone American classic autos apparently always underway, our group cleared Cuban customs after purchasing individual tourist visas for the day. As we moved out of the customs bureaucracy and clearing house, every Marco Beach Boy stopped to stare and the Marco Beach Girls began to smile. Standing and smiling for tourist photos was a real live Carmen Miranda and she was one of the most beautiful women anyone of us had ever seen. She was elegant as she smiled and laughed. She was gracious as she took time with everyone she met and all who saw her knew she was a national treasure. On either side of Carmen Miranda and all along the welcoming promenade were security guards. The armed guards were another showstopper for the Marco Beach Boys. The guards were women and they were milling around in groups of two. Each of the Cuban security guards was wearing a short black miniskirt with high heels and fishnet stockings. They were all beautiful with long dark hair escaping from black berets with red stars. They were wearing tan military blouses open at the neck with insignia and rank on shoulder epaulets. Each of the beautiful security guards was also wearing an automatic pistol in a holster on their hips.

When the Marco Beach Girls finally persuaded the Boys to move on, it was their turn to stop and stare. Around the next corner, the walking tour guides were waiting and every young Cuban man could have been an actor straight out of Hollywood. Every Cuban we saw in the first ten minutes were all exceptionally attractive.

After our pleasing shock of welcome to Havana was complete, we began a walking tour of Old Havana. During the tour, we soon learned there was a price for everything. A price for taking photos of a man with his dogs dressed like humans. A price to use the restroom. A price for asking questions and a price that was communist propaganda, as a friendly but constant lecture began to be the theme for the rest of the tour. We soon learned there was no fee to attend the University of Havana. There was no fee for health care. We also learned there were no dogcatchers and that stray dogs apparently had equal rights to leave their droppings wherever was convenient.

After touring 17th century churches, rums shops, and cigar rolling exhibitions, a serving of grilled octopus and rice was lunch with Cuban rum and cigars for dessert. An all-girl band with more Cuban beauties was the live entertainment and we soon learned that because of the American embargo, all of the band instruments were handmade in Cuba.

All along the walking tour, we could not help but notice a very attractive woman following our group. She had a 35mm camera on a shoulder strap and from time to time, she would snap a photo in the general direction of the sightseeing Americans. She was always discreet and almost out of sight, but when our tour of Old Havana ended, she approached the group with a smile and said in perfect English. “Thank you all for visiting Cuba and Havana.”

When we voiced as one, “Your welcome!” We all knew at once that we had been under surveillance and carefully examined during the entire excursion by our own personal Cuban intelligence officer.