Today I cast off the last stitches on the Finnish Sweater with the asymmetrical cables, and racing down the last sleeve, the bind off came as a shock to me. I had no idea I was that close to done. I must’ve been knitting with blinders on.
I haven’t been doing so well the past week. Every time we’ve sailed I’ve been seasick, violently and gently. Gently is better, but let me tell you it’s still NO fun. Days are so long and mind-numbingly boring when I am seasick. I cannot knit or read, and although this seems odd, it feels better to have my eyes closed rather than open and looking at a horizon. So, for almost a week I spent most of each day looking at the images on the inside of my eyeballs. Really, really boring.
The night before last we had to make an overnight passage to get the to the western tip of Cuba, Cabo de San Antonio. We arrived there in the mid-afternoon yesterday, to find the dock where the Guarda Fontera expects everyone to tie up for signing papers, to be too rough for our tired and bedraggled souls and too risky for Pandora’s nice paint job. The dock is a big cement pier jutting straight out into the unprotected waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and choppy waves were crashing against this dock. Anchoring is dicey in this area because it is all rock–bad holding. But anchor we did, and Bob took the dinghy ashore in the rough chop. He did not want the Guarda Frontera coming to us in their typical scruffy skiffs, possibly banging into Pandora in the chop. Of course, they wanted me to come in, and they wanted to come out and see the boat. In Bob’s firmest voice, and with what Vulcan-mind-probe abilities he could muster, he said that I had to stay onboard to make sure we didn’t drag in the bad anchorage (real reason being that I had been seasick for more hours than either of us could count and was in no shape to take a rough ride in the dinghy) and that he’d rather not have them visit in such choppy conditions. They acquiesced.
My mood has been deteriorating for about a week. Most likely due to not feeling well every time we pull up the anchor, and frankly, not even feeling all that well at anchor. Yesterday I decided to try to knit, and it wasn’t going well as I could feel myself getting queasier and queasier. Those of you who knit will understand that I was just trying to get to a good stopping place. I have been redesigning a few things about this sweater to suit me, and the sleeves have the most changes. I was in the cabled area of the first sleeve and just wanted to make it to a place where I’d be able to pick it up and easily know where I’d left off.
Suddenly I’d had enough. Not only was I not at my best, I was pretty clearly very near to being at my worst. I had a meltdown of epic proportions, and the almost sleepless night of our passage added to days and days of mal de mer really sent me off the deep end. I felt volcanic, cyclonic, tectonic. I flung the sweater away from me, and that didn’t feel nearly violent enough for my mood, so I flung it around a bit more. I flung it at every hard surface I could find. I knew I’d done a fair bit of damage to the knitting, including breaking one of the various circular needles in use. I had a mad moment when I wanted to chuck the whole thing overboard. Luckily, it was remembering that some of my favorite stitch holders were in that sweater that kept me from deep-sixing the thing.
And now, just 24 hours later the whole sweater is finished. I really don’t know how it happened. Yesterday, in my fit, I was thinking that the whole thing was a miserable experience and that it would never be finished. And yet, this morning, I made repairs to the damaged knitting that came apart during its beating, and Bob repaired the broken needle, and suddenly that first sleeve was done. We had not even raised anchor by that point.
The sailing today was as easy as it ever gets. Instead of being buffeted about, Pandora sliced through the small waves like she was on a track. She also didn’t wallow side to side. She just made a bee-line for our destination, about 5 hours of sailing. I knit the whole time, and voila! Second sleeve finished. This sweater has no sewing or assembly. When you cast off that second sleeve you are ready to wear it. I have to say I really like it, although that’s really no surprise since I’ve been trying it on through the whole process. Sadly, I will always think of my crazy outburst when I wear it. Hopefully that will become funnier with time.
Yesterday, at Cabo de San Antonio, the marina manager was disappointed to learn that Bob and I did not intend to tie up at the exposed dock. He was hoping for our business and looking forward to having us visit the attached restaurant. That’s the thing we keep finding here in Cuba. There are some facilities where a lot of thought and planning and care has been taken to make something that will attract cruisers, but the big thing, the fact that the harbor is not protected enough to actually stay there, is something beyond their ability to tackle. Everything is owned by the government, and there is no money for building a sea wall or even improving the dock. It is rather sad.
We motored a couple of miles to a safe anchorage, and shortly afterward we were approached by the skiff from a larger fishing boat, likely government owned and manned by numerous fisherman. Did you know that Cuba owns all the fish in the waters and that the fisherman must deliver all their catch to Mother Cuba in exchange for their salary? From what we’ve seen, I doubt there is any morehard-working group in Cuba than fisherman. That saying about ‘the workers pretend to work, and the government pretends to pay’ does not apply to fishermen. These guys deserve much, much more from Mother Cuba.
So, even though all the fish belong to the Cuban government, it’s very common for fishermen to approach sailors and offer to sell or trade something with us for lobster or fish. Yesterday evening, two of the fishermen rowed over to us, offering us four large lobster tails for $5CUC. That’s an amazing price…but that’s what they asked for. When Bob paid them, they began to ask for something else that he couldn’t quite understand. Then one of the fishermen pulled off his baseball cap and showed Bob a playing card, the Queen of Hearts. They wanted a deck of cards! No problem. I sent them our newest deck, still in it’s blue and white Hoyle box. I had used them a few times, and I knew that some of the cards had stuck together from humidity. At some point, when I pulled them apart, some of the cards got abrasions from being separated. But still, that was our best deck. When Bob handed over the box, both men clapped their hands and whooped! I was down below laughing at how happy they sounded to get this deck of cards.
Later the man with the Queen of Hearts in his cap came back with the deck and returned it. He could not explain why, but I’m certain it was because some of the cards were marked. I imagined how much he was looking forward to a game of cards with his cohorts, likely involving betting. Marked cards just would not do. So I gave him an older deck that didn’t even have a box, and were the small bridge size cards that I imagine Cuban men might find too ‘sissy.’ There were probably small marks on these cards too since they are not new…but I hope they found them usable!
These small interactions illustrate how enlightening it is for me to see how simply these people live, and to experience how friendly they are. When they approach our sailboat they are very cautious. They never let their rowboats touch Pandora. They seem happy to make contact with us, beyond just selling us fish, and they seem to enjoy our clumsy attempts at Spanish. We have stopped in some pretty remote places along this trip, and quite a few times we’ve been the only boat in the area. I don’t think meeting cruisers is a daily event for these fishermen.
Today when we anchored at the outskirts of a long maze of mangrove estuaries, another government fishing boat arrived and anchored nearby. Bob and I took off in the dinghy to explore the mangroves, which were delightfully full of herons, ibis and frigate birds. We chased a group of spoonbills, photographing them each time they landed and each time they took flight as we followed them down the winding maze of water and mangroves.
When we came out of the estuaries and were headed back to Pandora, one of the fishermen was waving madly to us from the bow of his boat and motioning for us to come to them. I thought it prudent that Bob go by himself, since—rightly or wrongly– I have a strong sense that I was not the proper company for a group of Cuban fishermen. It seemed like a ‘guy’ gathering. Bob went to visit and they were very excited to meet him. They invited him onboard and showed him around their very basic boat. Bob described it as looking like someone made a frame of bent rebar and then slapped on some cement by hand. One man showed Bob the shaved ice that the catch was layered in and a giant fish that they’d caught today. They did not try to sell Bob any of the fish, and they did not ask for anything. Their living conditions were very rough, but they seemed happy and were very friendly.
While I can’t imagine the life they must lead, I can also see that they probably have a good life that is rich in things I’m not even aware of. I wonder how much this will change, and how quickly when (if?) trade with the US starts up again. I keep referring to this because I cannot get it out of mind. On the one hand, it makes me sad how much the past two (at least) generations of Cubans have suffered and sacrificed. On the other hand, those who have lived well on so little might not be ready or willing for the culture shock that could be headed their way.
In Cheryl Barr’s guidebook, we read that the peninsula going out to Cabo de San Antonio does not even have paved roads. We read that we should keep a watch for a bi-plane that flies over about once a week to drop mail in a local field. There are no stores other than one shelf at the marina that mostly holds bottles of rum. Bob did buy one of those before leaving.
