The Ghost of Cuba

Sitting here in the still of night, on passage, alone with my thoughts, it felt like the right time to write.

Our last anchorage, Punta Frances, was nothing short of spectacular. Clear water, peaceful surroundings, the kind of place you don’t leave easily. But as always, the horizon calls, and it was time to move on. Our next destination, the well-known island of Caya Largo, famous for its beautiful beaches, lively hotels, restaurants, bars and cafes.

The Ghost of Cayo Largo

Even before arriving in Cayo Largo, we knew things would be different than normal.

With no way to reach the authorities via VHF or email, as power outages had seen to that, we made the decision to sail straight into the marina, unannounced. What we found was surreal, a complete shutdown. No movement, no noise. Just stillness.

Then unexpectedly the Port Captain came aboard. He carried out the usual paperwork, speaking excellent English, ironically better than what we had encountered in Havana. Formalities quickly gave way to conversation, and before long we were sharing a couple of well-earned beers with him. Out of uniform, he was relaxed, open and willing to talk. What he told us was both fascinating and deeply unsettling.

Cayo Largo, he explained, is typically a thriving holiday destination, drawing hundreds of American and Canadian visitors. The fishing here is exceptional, and the surrounding waters are some of the most beautiful in the Caribbean. Unlike many places we’ve visited, the coral reefs here are still healthy, vibrant and alive.

To support this, the island employs around 2000 Cuban people. Now only 100 remain.

Due to fuel shortages and intensified sanctions, the ferry that normally transports workers to and from the island is no longer running. Those who remain are effectively stranded, unable to return home, unable to see their families. Some have been stuck here for months, with no clear idea of when that might change. It’s hard to fully grasp that reality until you’re standing in the middle of it.

Despite everything, the Port Captain told us we were welcome to stay as long as we like. The marina would be free for both us and our buddy boat. With the town completely shut down, they couldn’t offer much, but what they could they did. Electricity and water, powered by a generator that runs each evening at 19:00 to midnight. A small luxury, but one we appreciated more than ever, especially when it meant we could run the air conditioner at night.

He told us he hoped we would enjoy what little remained, and that perhaps one day we would return when life here resumed. This was a generous gesture and a heartbreaking one at the same time.

The next day we set out to explore. We walked through what must once have been a lively, vibrant town. You could almost hear it – the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses spilling out from the busy cafes. But now, there was nothing. No voices. No footsteps. No movement at all.

Doors were locked and bolted. Bars stood empty. Cafes sat frozen in time. It felt less like a town and more like a memory.

Sea life & Kindness on a Shut Down Paradise

In the meantime, we settled into marina life, balancing a bit of “digital nomad productivity” with the equally important task of not taking life too seriously. Work got done and naturally we made sure to schedule in regular breaks for Story Telling purposes …. Otherwise known as enjoying life and living in the moment.

One of the first things you notice here is the water. Marina water, as a rule, isn’t something you get excited about, generally its murky and dirty. This was something entirely different, crystal clear and spotlessly clean as if someone was cleaning it overnight.

When you look down, right beneath the boat, it’s like your own private aquarium. Fish of all shapes, colors and sizes. Pufferfish hovering around looking mildly judgmental, barracuda cruising past with the unmistakable energy of being large and in charge. Not to forget the torpedo’s gliding past like submarines. If this is what the marina looks like you can surely imagine what the reefs look like.

At one point, we took the dinghy for a fairly long ride to a beach that, in hindsight, would have been much closer had we simply anchored there like sensible people.

The beach itself was stunning. Powdery sand, neat rows of cabanas, a bar right on the water’s edge, and a restaurant that must have once been full of laughter and music.  Now? Completely closed. Not a single guest. Not a single sound. Just the quiet reminder of what used to be.

Well almost no one…...There was one man there, a caretaker I guess, or perhaps the last man standing. Despite having nothing to offer in the conventional sense, he gave us something far better, genuine hospitality. Without hesitation, he shuffled some tables and shares around for us to sit and be comfortable before wandered off, and returned with fresh coconuts, expertly chopping them open so we could enjoy what felt like the simplest and somehow the richest treat imaginable. Well Eric really did not find this warm coconut water very pleasant however politely managed to get some down…. watch the video to enjoy a little laugh.

Of course, no good deed goes unanswered. A few cigarettes were shared, along with a generous pour of rum, because if there is one universal language around here it’s rum.

For a moment, in a place that felt otherwise paused in time, there was laughter, conversation and a reminder that even when everything else shuts down human kindness does not and should not.

Chocolate & Diesel Crisis

Both Dilly Dally and Intle Breeze were, by this point running on fumes, quite literally. Diesel tanks hovering near empty, LPG gas fading fast. Then of course morale took a hard hit when we realized the true crisis, we had officially run out of chocolate, totally out. A situation so dire that I resorted to attempting homemade chocolate, which, against all odds turned out suspiciously edible.

So, Eric and I made the call, a quick overnight dash to Grand Cayman. Not exactly hardship, given the promise of diesel, LPG refills and perhaps most importantly, the sweet sweet luxury of proper provisioning. Fresh produce, real snacks and of course chocolate that did not come from a galley experiment.

Jens and Arzum would have loved to join our short adventure, but in reality Arzum faced with the all too familiar visa obstacle, apparently traveling on a Turkish passport, is as bad as travelling on a South African one. Then there was the issue of Miço, who would have been denied shore leave.

Well, it was just Eric and me, setting sail with a shopping list not only for ourselves but also for buddy boat. Thankfully both of us carry European passports, which tends to open doors and borders with much less drama.

That little Cayman escapade is a story for another day. For now, I want to share something about the Cuban situation.

My View of the Cuban Situation

Being in Cuba again after more than 15 years has been eye-opening in ways I didn’t expect. The last time Eric and I landed here, the country felt like it was frozen in time. Beautiful, yes, but tightly controlled. Back then, Cubans had extremely limited freedom to travel, own a business etc. Leaving the country even temporarily, often meant risking everything. Property could be seized, lives uprooted control was absolute, and opportunities were scarce.

What strikes me now is how much has changed, quietly, almost discreetly, as if the world wasn’t meant to notice.

Miguel Díaz-Canel, the current leader, is the first since 1959 to run the country without the Castro name attached. That said, it would be naïve to think that the Castro era has completely stepped aside. Raul Castro still looms in the background, very much the man behind the curtain. In fact, many of the reforms we’re seeing today began under his leadership, particularly during Barack Obama’s presidency, when real dialogue between Cuba and the United States where possible.

During that time, the government began to recognize that change was necessary. A nudge and push from their northern neighbor did not hurt either. Since then, small and medium sized private businesses have been legalized and are growing rapidly. Cubans living abroad can now own property and businesses back home, something that would have been unthinkable in years past.

That said, let’s not get carried away. While the system has improved in many ways, it is far from perfect. Challenges remain deeply rooted; inefficiencies, corruption and limitations are still part of daily life.

Then let us not forget the pressure from outside. Recent sanctions, particularly from the United States, have made progress not just difficult, but in many ways almost impossible. Food shortages, lack of basic medication and nationwide power outages are everyday realities a struggle that is now getting progressively worse.

Still, change is happening. And perhaps more importantly it is happening gradually. That matters in my opinion. A country like Cuba can’t transform overnight without risking chaos. Sudden, uncontrolled change could easily spiral into a humanitarian crisis, something Cuba is already dangerously close to, given the ongoing embargo.

Real progress takes time. People need space to adapt, to learn, to build systems, and to understand what freedom looks like in practice, not just in theory. To me, Cuba feels like it’s slowly leaning toward a more socialist model rather than strict communism. Whether that’s intentional or just evolution, who knows, but the change is noticeable.