CUBA LIBRE REDUX  -  Eating (with) Raoul

          If you are not a film buff you will no doubt miss the irony of my title for this post.  I will get back to that in a moment but first… a reminder to all of you warm weather wusses on the West Coast…. There is life in Cold Country. 

OK, I admit that as time slips away, it is the first snowfall that captivates… the subsequent 25 snow falls…. not so much.  We will be heading south before Christmas to move AURORA further East and South during the heart of the Wisconsin winter.  It seems impossible that it will have been a year in January since the Cuba trip and I may have the most delayed travel reports every recorded.  Somehow it feels like yesterday but here is Roger’s Rant for today.  Take a close look at the photo below:

We are sitting a mere 300 yards from TALARIA

The view looks towards our slip about 300 yards distant across this small lagoon.  A warm January evening a little west of Havana and a delightful dinner at a local “paladar” is a small leak in the dike that is the Cuban Control Complex. Several years ago, due to hard economic times, the Cuban government finally allowed folks to open private restaurants operating out of their homes.  Called “paladars,” they are humble but pleasant places where one can actually converse with locals while enjoying well prepared but basic fare served mostly in their living rooms.  Of course the government does take 50% of their gross but regardless, a privately owned business is a rare occurrence in Cuba.

Not everything available every night, but prices are delicious!

We could have dinghy-ed to this lovely location in about 5 minutes from across the bay but Cuban rules prohibit us from putting our dinghy in the water while we are in the marina and had to keep it locked up.  Fearing a stolen inflatable and a wild attempt to cross the stream to Florida by a Cuban National, there are no dinghy rides allowed to explore the inner harbor or river by us boating visitors as of this writing.  Instead, we took a taxi for about four miles to get to the Laurel paladar restaurant that we could almost see from our cockpit on TALARIA.  Greeted by Jose and his wife (no Raoul to my knowledge) we were given the choice of eating inside their house or out on what appeared to be a public patio.  We chose the view of course.  During dinner, it started to rain and the entire family ran out on the patio to bring us back inside while profusely apologizing for the weather.  It was of little consequence as the food was wonderful (reminder to self... order fresh seafood next time, not the fried beefsteak.  It was my only "buyer's remorse" moment during all of our Havana stay) and besides, we were enjoying ourselves immensely.  The rain however was insistent on intruding and several leaks in the roof forced a few chair moves inciting peals of laughter when a new series of drops hit me on the head regardless of where I moved my chair so I simply put on my baseball cap.  A couple of hours later, (dinners are slow moving affairs when one is have a good time) we paid the amazingly low bill and added a generous tip because we were the only patrons that whole evening.  Unfortunately, we could not get a taxi to come pick us up and return us to the boat.  The still driving downpour had all the taxis calling it a day far earlier and not willing to come out to the “suburbs” for a short distance fare.  Walking four miles during a heavy rainstorm was looking like a horrible end to a spectacular day.  That was when the family put their heads together (none had access to a car that evening) and called several uncles and cousins until they found an uncle who would drive over, pick us up and take us back to the boat.  

Arriving in a tiny Trabant, (an East German disaster of a car often referred to as the worst car ever sold anywhere in the entire world) Mike, Mel and Kris sardine-d into the back seat and I squeezed into the front seat with my knees about 3 inches from my chin. No window handle to roll up the window next to me and no windshield wiper on my side of the car (why should there be, after all, I was not driving!) did not prevent me from squinting ahead nervously while the engine died twice on the highway and then started up again before actually stopping.  “Uncle” kept up a rapid-fire conversation with himself because I could understand nothing with the loud muffler-less engine, the constant rattle of loose metal parts from God knows where, and the hard rain on the thin tin roof of the car drowning out the few words I did know.  We arrived safely, however exciting the ride may have seemed, made sure Uncle was well paid (probably enough to buy another decrepit Trabant) and then ran in the rain to the boat only 30 yards away.  Yes we got wet but the experience and my opportunity to rant about it was worth every raindrop that splattered on my smiling and laughing face.  By the way, for those of you unfamiliar with the Eating Raoul classic film, Raoul WAS the main course.