Stardate V in Cuba- Part 2
[ Written by Willem H. Eickholt, April, 2006 ]
Now it is just me, tired but faced with a
terrible mess I start cleaning up the empty glasses, half empty beer cans, cigarettes
and cigar butts all over the place. Disgusting! But I cannot stand the idea
of waking up in such a mess. Besides, what will the Health Officials think
when they come to inspect tomorrow morning?
When the job is done about an hour later I decide to get some fresh
air. But there is none. The penetrating stench we had experienced all afternoon
was still there and the temperature was still in the high 80s. The air- and
water polution must be one of the worst imaginable in the Bay of Santiago
de Cuba.
SURREAL CUBA
Still I need to stretch my legs so I go for a walk on the dock towards a strange
looking Russian freighter. Strange looking because she looked hopelessly out
of place with her icebreaking bow in a tropical setting. There are floodlights
pointed at the ship and Cuban Longshore workers take a break unloading the
cotton bales. I am invited to join them in a game of domino, an old orange
crate will be my seat. Too bad no-one is around to record this ridiculous
scene: Captain steps off his luxury yacht, tries to take a breath of fresh
air, gets instead the stench of an open sewer called Bahia de Santiago de
Cuba. Finds himself under the bow of an icebreaker playing domino with Cuban
dock workers while seated on a rickety orange crate. A bottle of cheap
rum passes from mouth to mouth, mine included................
Could anything be more surreal?
Then my crew returns from their night out. Something is very wrong it is not
even eleven but they won't talk to me. I am dying to know Lucho finally
breaks the silence to tell me that they had a terrible time in downtown Santiago.
that the Cubans were inhospitable bastards and not at all as I had portrayed
them:Kind, friendly hospitable. Instead they had been ignored, common courtesy
service denied and even shown the exit door in some restaurants.
Fortunately everybody is dead tired and we all crash without discussing the
issue any further.
But it does bother me and it takes a while before I get to sleep.
The next morning we all wake up refreshed despite the heat, the stench and
the roaring fans and yet another surreal scene is about to start.
.
There is a knock on the hull of the boat and I get up to see who is there.
Two 6ft beauties introduce themselves as the Port's Health Service. Their
uniforms are immaculately pressed, their high heeled shoes have a high
gloss, their make-up impeccably applied. Aren't we supposed to be in poverty
stricken third world Cuba?
I invite the ladies aboard and regret it immediately. These women aren't dressed
to climb steep ladders or walk on sloping decks, not with those high heels
and tight skirts. But it is too late . One of them is already halfway up the
boarding ladder and receives a standing ovation from the crew for flawlessly
negotiating an impossible obstacle with charm and dignity.
The ladies ask if there has been any sickness aboard recently, they inspect
the galley, the heads and shower facities. Then announce that we are now the
guests of the Cuban Government and therefore entitled to the Health Service
of the country. For minor problems there are clinics near the dock's gate.
For more serious matters the clinic will refer the patient to a nearby hospital.
And it is all free of charge!
After the ladies have left the boat. The boys (my crew) had it all figured
out. Since the service was for free and the doctors mostly young and beautiful
women they would get a total check-up. They would have the time of their
lifes.(The crew that is)
It took me a while to talk the idea out of their heads. To abuse the system
in such a way would damage any goodwill we enjoyed.
Not long after the ladies had left, the Tourism Departrment stopped by.They
too are Government employees. Their job: To welcome the foreigners, to tell
them about the attractions of the city and to offer transportation to see
the sights, to go shopping etc. We take them up on their hospitality and soon find
ourselves in a grossly overloafed Russian Lada straining uphill towards
down town Santiago Our destination? The old Bacardie distillery.
Ours is a Royal Welcome. We are introduced to the plant's staff and get samples
of various kinds of rum. The workers announce proudly that they have renamed
the product Havana Club and that their quality is far superior to anything
the Bacardie family used to make before escaping to Florida when the
Revolution Triumphed in 1959. Of course we all drink to that and continue
to sample young and old, spiced and straight versions until we zig-zag our
way out of the building happy to have an old Lada and a driver to get us back
to the boat.
to be continued