We are collected by a bus, which takes us to the resort. We are gob-smacked. It is one hundred percent luxury, at least as good as the brochure suggested! Our room is incredible, the swimming pool is the size of a small lake, and there are four separate restaurants, four bars, a disco/pub, language school, activities centre and not forgetting of course, the resort’s private beach! We stroll around the complex and then decide to have a drink at one of the bars. We are in Cuba so my first drink has to be a Cuba Libre, or rum & Coke. It was named such after Fidel, Che and their comrades, meeting in Mexico and planning their campaign, raised their glasses in a salute to their cause Cuba Libre they would shout, Free Cuba!

Having worked in a similar place (though not nearly so posh!) I am used to how the system works.

There is absolutely no one about and the water looks too inviting to miss...

It is all-inclusive, so it doesn’t matter how much we drink or eat; effectively we have already paid for it. I therefore am happy to keep ordering drinks and to eat as much as I feel like. Initially Emma is a bit concerned and holds back a little. This however doesn’t last long especially when, unlike other all-inclusives, this place actually encourages you to eat & drink more. Before our glasses are empty we are asked if we want another. As soon as our plates are clean we are offered more food. I like this place – Let the pampering begin!

Moose and Christina arrive on our third day. We decide to have a few drinks together and take it in turns to swim up to the pool bar, order four strawberry daiquiris and swim back trying not to tip the iced beauties into the pool! We talk about how this is much more relaxing than driving up and down bumpy mountain roads in Bolivia whilst relaxing, sunning ourselves and eating and drinking too much.

The last day at the resort we hire a moped and check out the rest of the key. There is not much to it, just a few kilometres long and a few hundred meters wide but it is nice to get out and about. We find ourselves at the western end of the key and a large white sandy beach opens up before us. Palm trees are dotted all over it and these provide welcome shade as we sit and relax here for a while. On the way back we ride past a small bay. There is absolutely no one about and the water looks too inviting to miss so we park up and take the opportunity for a little skinny-dipping. There is nothing quite so refreshing and liberating about swimming naked in a tropical paradise. This is how it would have been done years ago when clothes were for warmth and protection rather than fashion and modesty. It feels good and we leave relaxed and a lot cooler.

We stop off at a turtle sanctuary on the way back to the resort. It is a small affair, but Octavio the guy who runs it is very dedicated to and enthusiastic about the turtles that come to the island. He talks to us at great length about the different types of turtles that come here and shows us some of the work he has done.

...the turtles are either forced to lay their eggs in unsuitable places or can not lay them at all...

A few years ago a hurricane hit the key and took with it a lot of the sand from the beaches, this has adversely affected the turtle populations. It takes a lot of luck for a turtle to survive to maturity and when it does so, the female always returns to the exact beach she was born on. No one really understands how she does this as most of their lives they spend wandering the open sea. However, when her calling comes, she returns to the exact spot and at night climbs awkwardly up the beach of her birth, digs a deep pit and lays her eggs. She then covers the eggs with sand and returns to the sea to wander and roam again until next she becomes pregnant.

Because much of the sand has gone, the turtles are either forced to lay their eggs in unsuitable places or can not lay them at all. Octavio helps them out as best he can. At night, in the season, he goes out and watches for the turtles coming up onto the shore. Tonight is close to the start of the season and we are invited along to observe.

Emma, Christina, Octavio and I walk along the beach in the darkness, making sure we are quiet and don’t flash our torches around too much. Not far along the beach we see signs of turtles coming onto the shore. Huge swathes cut into the sand like massive tyre tracks leading out of the sea. Octavio is obviously an expert and can tell straight away how old the tracks are and what direction they are heading. Most of them come out, turn and go straight back in, either disturbed by something or someone or just because they are very fussy about where they lay their eggs. Eventually we find a track that goes high onto the dunes and we follow it to its apex. There we find signs of the sand having been shifted and very carefully with his stick, Octavio prods down into the sand to find where the eggs are laid. He soon discovers them and digs down with his hands to see the eggs. A metre down we can see them, packed together, safe under the sand, still soft from the laying. We are told that they are safe here, not too close to the sea to get washed away, not too shallow to get dug up and eaten by predators and not in a place where people are likely to tread all over them and kill them. These are the lucky ones.

It moves it’s flippers forward and, pushing them into the sand, heaves its huge weight forward.

Octavio marks the spot with a pole and a sign notifying people that there are eggs below and we move on to find more. Often eggs are found in totally unsuitable places and in these cases, Octavio carefully digs them up and takes them back to his sanctuary. There he buries them once more and leaves them until they hatch. Once hatched, he catches them, takes them to the spot where he finds them and releases them. It is thought that the returning to the sea of the newborn turtles is essential to their development and even at this point things can go wrong. The turtles see the starlight and moonlight reflecting off the waves and head for it. If there are other lights around, the turtles can be disorientated and head in the wrong direction, never finding the sanctuary of the sea. Lights from streets, torches or hotels can confuse them, thankfully our resort was built with this in mind and none of the lights can be seen from the dunes. This helps the turtles somewhat; however, they still have to run the gauntlet of birds and other predators that gather in multitudes for the free feast of hatchling turtles. Many will not make it to the ocean, and those that do then have a second gauntlet to run of hungry fish and sea creatures, again lining up to wait for and unexpecting baby turtle to flip itself straight into their hungry open jaws. Of the hundreds of eggs laid by mother only a handful will make it to maturity to start the cycle once again.

Further down the beach Octavio suddenly motions us to be still and quiet, he has seen something up ahead. We strain our eyes hard but can see nothing. We look back to Octavio. He’s gone! We look around and see him stealthily scrambling across the dunes on all fours. He heads towards what looks like a large rock on the beach. He motions us to get down and crawl towards him. Not quite so stylishly we clamber forward and eventually can make out that the rock is moving. It is a turtle that has come up to lay its eggs.

We stay on hands and knees, transfixed as the turtle, making very hard work of it, struggles up to the dunes. It is easy to tell that this creature is not adapted to being out of the water. It moves it’s flippers forward and, pushing them into the sand, heaves its huge weight forward, sand spraying backwards covering its shell. It is perhaps a metre and a half long and must weigh 150Kgs. I’ve seen plenty of turtles in the ocean, swimming effortlessly and graceful, turning, rising and diving. It is one of the most beautiful sights to see close up, but to see this one now, out of it’s element shows how huge its natural drive must be to breed. It knows it is vulnerable, that it is no longer quite so agile and that any number of predators could now make a hearty meal from it.

We will the turtle onwards and watch as it selects it’s spot. Then the dig begins. It positions its rear flippers in place and with the same motion as before starts to scoop the sand out of the way. It seems to take forever. I remember seeing a turtle laying its eggs in Exmouth, Australia but then, it had already begun laying. At this point, the turtle can be approached and it will carry on regardless. Up to when it starts laying, any disturbance and it will make as rapid retreat as it can to the safety of the sea.

We watch and watch in silence. Eventually we hear a scraping sound and Octavio informs us that it has hit rock, one of the problems caused by the hurricane: the sand now is too shallow. The turtle continues for a bit and then gives up. We watch again as it finds a new spot and begins to dig anew. Once again it finds rock and this time it gives up for the night and returns to the sea.

We wander back to the resort, thinking about what we have seen.

The centre of Havana, at least the tourist centre is clean, smart and well organised.

It was a natural disaster that caused this change and in this part of the world, hurricanes are a regular occurrence. The turtle population will survive, even if depleted a little. With the work being done by Octavio however, more will survive than would otherwise. It is good to see someone doing something constructive to nature rather than destructive. It is because of man that turtles are on the endangered list, but because of this one man, the populations are maybe increasing ever so slightly in this small corner of the Caribbean.

Back at the hotel we thank Octavio for allowing us to experience this remarkable occurrence and retire to the bar to reflect about the wonders of nature. It has been an incredible night and we feel fortunate to have made such an encounter.

After checking out of our luxurious room the next day we have several hours to make the most of the facilities before we catch the afternoon flight back to Havana. We again make use of the pool bar as Moose and Christina tell us about the casa particular or private house they stayed at in the city. It is a lot cheaper than our hotel so we decide to give it a try.

We are dropped off in the centre of Havana and have to walk a few blocks to our lodgings. The centre of Havana, at least the tourist centre is clean, smart and well organised. The colonial buildings and houses restored to their former glory, or perhaps even, surpassing it. The squares have pleasant restaurants whose table and chairs spill out onto the almost manicured paved plazas. Music wafts from the inside, mixtures of salsa, Afro-Caribbean, flamenco, cumbia fill the air and mix with each other between bars. Menus are displayed and keen proprietors catch your eye and tempt you inside.

Here we see more tourists than Cubans, no one can afford to eat here - it is another world to the locals. Fidel and the communist government selling a “taste of Cuba” that Cuba itself will never get to savour. We walk past these places and through the plaza with a railed off fountain and gleaming hotels lining its side. We cross the road out of the plaza and immediately the mood changes. Outside the first building on the block is a pile of rubble, litter, an old skeletal sofa left to rot, and lingering in the air, a smell, not too pleasant to our delicate western nostrils. A small boy urinates against a wall.

It is a busy street, people are milling to and fro, kids playing baseball in the road without the use of bats, preferring to use their hands to hit a small ball or pieces of wood to hit bottle tops found discarded on the ground. In one doorway a huge speaker blasts out the latest Latin rhythms. It is late, but no one seems to mind, people lean against walls, chatting away, groups play dominoes or cards on upturned crates and shouts of greeting are heard as cyclists and pedestrians pass by. More than once do people say hello, or wave to us. We get asked where we are from and what our names are. There is an atmosphere here, very unlike that of the more stagnant plaza and tourist area, more vibrant, more like life.

If we had walked down a similar street in England, in South America, or virtually any other city in the world, we would have been apprehensive, aware, afraid even. But here there is none of that. We feel relaxed and safe, welcome even. We glance in the houses as we pass. They are sparse, a few cheap pictures, photos or advertising posters brighten up the drab walls and in some and old black and white TV might be playing old American movies.

We ponder what the inside of our casa particular will be like. We knock on the heavy wooden door and seconds later it opened by the smiling face of the owner, Eugenio. We are shown upstairs and are very pleasantly surprised. It is a second floor apartment with a spacious living area at the top of the stairs we entered by. The room has a small balcony overlooking the street, as do most of these old colonial homes, many with people looking down on the activities below or with washing hanging out to dry. Paintings and knick-knacks adorn the walls and just about every other available surface. A lot of these are religious, statues of the Virgin Mary, pictures of the baby Jesus. Most communist states do not allow religion, but coming from Spanish and Catholic roots, Cuba has had no option to keep these beliefs in place, it tried but failed to eradicate religion. As with any Latin country, the people here have a deep-seated faith that nothing will move, even if they do merge their own spiritualist religions with the Catholic.

The house is very clean and very well kept. Eugenio shows us to our room which is decked out in a very similar style, a painting of Jesus hangs over our headboard, eyes fixed on the bed to make sure we are watched over in our sleep. Or maybe to keep an eye on us and make sure we don’t sin in the night!

This room is a lot cheaper than the hotel and is a lot cleaner, tidier and liveable. We instantly feel more comfortable. Chatting to Eugenio, he tells us that he has to pay hundreds of Dollars a month to be able to operate this guesthouse. Whether he has guests or not, he still has to pay. This is so that money still flows into the communist coffers but people working in the tourist trade don’t start to make too much money and start getting even vaguely rich.

The average wage in Cuba is about US$20 per month, whether you are a civil servant, a doctor, a lawyer or a shop worker. Not a great deal! Tourist dollars are seen as an income for the country, not for budding businessmen and the industry is tightly controlled. They have even passed a law to stop Cuban’s from ‘hassling’ tourists. On the up side this is great and because the law is rigorously enforced and the penalties serious. It means that we are safe walking the streets. I am sure it stops some tourist-related crime and, as we have seen, ambling around the streets of Havana at any time of the day or night is a very tranquil affair. I am not so sure that this is entirely due to this law, because the majority of people are so friendly and want to just talk to us. Yes there are the obligatory cigar sellers and others offering various services, but it is not like walking the streets of Peru, Thailand or Africa.

This law goes further than this though. It makes it forbidden for Cuban’s to enter any establishment designed for tourists. This includes bars, restaurants and hotels. Not that any Cuban could ever afford to go in to a bar and order a rum & coke. It is sad that they must see us through a restaurant window, sitting eating a steak the likes of which they will probably never see in their life. The amount we eat on one plate is their families entire ration for a week and we eat bread rolls, not knowing that Cubans are rationed to just one of these per day. Are we so incredibly wealthy that we can afford to jet in eat and drink two years worth of food in just one of our annual fortnights breaks? To many of us in the western world, Cuba is an affordable vacation. To the people here we are like billionaires. But the tourist trade in Cuba is going up and up. Do Cubans really believe we are all the world’s elite? They have television. Do they not see that this is the standard way of life for most Europeans and Americans? Are they not getting restless in the thought that they can’t afford the things, even if they are available, that we take as everyday items?

It is happening though. Enough people can speak English and talk to the visitors. They ask the right questions, they know we are not nearly the richest people in our country. They understand that their way of life is below par. Many now clamber to get jobs in the tourist trade as a days tips for a porter or even a chalet maid can be more than a months wages for a lawyer, surgeon or a doctor. People are starting to get money, to find ways to beat the system but certainly whilst Fidel is still in power it is unlikely that these people will be able to tell even their closest friends or neighbours. The US actually gives out up to 20,000 immigration visas to Cuban citizens every year, when the time comes to apply for these almost five percent of the population apply. Those that are successful then send money back to their families back home. Many families in Cuba could not exist without these donations.

This island is home to the best diving in Cuba and I book on a boat offering two dives the next day!

But not everything is bad. Cuba is said to have one of the top three health services in the world even though many of the drugs and medicines are not available. Nobody here is homeless – everybody gets his or her legal 10 square meters of living space, nobody goes without food and nobody goes without education. Everyone is equal.

We spend the night in our new accommodation and the next day leave to head of to Isla Juventud. We can fly for about $40 but we have decided to take the bus and hydrofoil. We are lucky to get on the hydrofoil, it seats over 250 and there are only ten seats allotted to tourists – even if other seats are available no more than ten tourists can travel. The cost to the Cuban: 12 Pesos. To us 12 Dollars! This works out so the 10 tourists combined pay as much as the 250 Cubans. Ce’st la vie!

A lady who has a room for us meets us at the dock and we are driven to her house in a strange 3-wheeled motorbike contraption with an open box type back. Once again, the room is pleasant, clean and tidy. Once again, Jesus is there to keep an eye on us!

The main reason for being here is to dive. This island is home to the best diving in Cuba and I book on a boat offering two dives the next day.

The boat is modern and the equipment well maintained. The divemaster speaks in English and tell us our dive plan and an hour and a half from shore we are kitted up and ready to go down. The water is clear as crystal and warm as a bath. There is no need for a wetsuit here. We head down towards a beautiful coral garden...

 

 

©Ian Picken 2002