Well hello there, hello.

Oh so much to tell, so much. Dead ship at sea, Communistic Cuban live shows, black market Gorilla cigars, import trailblazing, provisioning nightmares, stolen cameras, live music, jazz festivals, dirty girls, quality rum. Throw in a stray dog named Sheila, a stand off between Captain Boo Boo and my self and all finished off with Supa Stew jumping ship and a Gillybean/Cloggie hook up and your well on the way to getting your head around the last 3 hellish weeks. Before all that let us wiz back to the beginning. I believe we were leaving Key West down a 1st mate, a generator and a good dose of sanity.

So we steam away leaving the glorious Key West and what would seem the love of my life in our wake, bound for Cuba……….

Actually. Whoa up a damn minute! You really need to get this before we move much further.

As mention a blog or two ago I found myself enraptured with a yummy girl in “The Smallest Bar” in Key West. Two souls entwined for a moment, an evening, seemingly all eternity. It was a magical, struck by lightning kind of a moment. Alas, taken was this gorgeous girl, and rightly so. A band of gold chastising her finger, weighed down by a rock (that would feed the average developing nation for a year I might add) A chastising band of gold voicing a claim that had been staked, though not yet etched in stone. Band of gold or not we shared two nights, each leaving me intoxicated on her every word, my cheek pink as her every movement, gesture and smile slapped me to a realization. This yummy girl was more than any other. Never have I felt such an over whelming sense of clarity, humility, admiration……

and low and behold, there isn’t, One... Bloody... F-ing...Thing, I could do about it.

Cue and enter- "bull in a china shop" scene one, as Capt Boo Boo’s arrives, and simply goes about being himself, simply deflating the positive energy of an entire room and the evening in play. As is his mild super power, ill have you know....its a gift. He is the wolverine of social retardation! Lets face facts, you cant fit a Bouffe head into a tiny crowded bar without forcing a few hasty exits, and so exit we did! Anyone who knows the "Smallest Bar" knows the grand disappearing act one must perform to slip four persons out un-noticed. That being Gillybean, the newly discovered Yummy girl, her fiancé and myself. Gillybean's curiosity to see the crusty eastern European vag we sported nights earlier simply results in a bored quartet, staring blankly in a dark strip club, (with out the seething mollusk impression this time, which actually was a disappointment). The combination of Bouffe heads Bull/China shop impersonation and Gillybeans choice of seedy venue basically kills the romanticism of mine and yummy girls evening leaving us to do little more than stand in the street, eating pizza off paper plates before saying our premature goodbyes.

No! Not fair!

Its not supposed to end like this.....

there is more to be said, not like this, not so soon...



but no.

I hold Yummy girl longer than I should and she plants a delayed kiss on my cheek, turning to walk away, we both chance a seeming last glance back, like some bitter sweet film, (next time we meet you'll be married) I think to myself and we disappear into our separate nights.

It is at this moment I promise myself to say something. Not to sway her, not to have her want me, just to let her know that on a random evening, in a random bar some random guy found her absolutely extraordinary for no other reason than she was all that is herself. If she could carry the knowledge of this privately in her heart, giving reason for her to smile during times that she felt blue, than that, was good enough, for me….

In short, our two nights shared conversation and my e-mail of confession and she calls off her wedding, leaving her fiance and mirrors my words and sentiments. It is a surreal moment in two very different and separate lives. Giving life to what seems impossible, crazy leaving us assuming this is the beginning of something special, we cling to hope and begin a relationship 4000 miles apart.

Soooooooo, as stories go, not terribly bloody funny huh, so back to our passage to Cuba if you would. It was Shite!! Like real shite!! Like super dooper pooper scooper shite!! Allow me to explain.

The ship is rolling around like a marble in a soda can tumbling down a flight of stairs end over end. Alarms blare, the ship blacks out, then flickers back to life as she re-boots herself, generally followed by Cloggie running past the Galley full of apologies en-route for the engine room, hitting with a hammer what ever faulty piece of equipment Cloggie prays needs hitting. Things climb to a crescendo when at 3am we loose all steering gear, stabilizers, radar and lights and turn beam on to a 30 knot wind in a short and sharp sea. Ahhh its almost like being on a sailing yacht again. I wedge myself into the corner of my bunk to find enough purchase to prevent me being thrown out of my bunk and across my cabin. It is the shittest night at sea I have had in years and the bridge is close to making a decision of about face and dash back to Key West. Captain Bouffe head Boo Boo strikes again. Alas Cloggie saves the day!! Despite the boat being in disarray, broken down and uninsured (lack of legal ticket holders on board) Morning comes and crippled, we crawl into Havana, Cuba. “It was a bit rough last night ja” the lady of the boat claims. Knowingly we wonder what spin Capt Boo Boo will have spun to cloud this new cluster fekk.

So here we are Cuba, the last strong hold of Communism. Now get your arses down here before it changes. Ok! Got it! Write it down cause I mean it! Oh to have seen this country in her “Hey Day” Italians suits, beautiful architecture, classic cars , Jazz and cigars. All washed down with a "daiquiri original" made with the finest rhum. This place would have screamed cool, stamped style and cried class with a double dash of damn dirty fun for good measure. I want to slap you with details of crumbling colonial architecture, paint with words the spirit, the color, the soul of Havana, but I would be rambling for pages. It is a giant of a place laying dormant, waiting, quietly to spring back to life and shout to the world with the soul she once had.

It is the opening of the Jazz festival and our owners see fit to drag us along to opening night on them, oh bless their short armed, deep pocketed selves.

Well in short, it fekking bloody, rocked!

A room full of old school heavyweights. No one on the stage was younger than 60 years and they banged the shit out of the theater. It was Buena Vista Social Club, high on the ultimate drug, known as living the shite out of life! This was our first night, this was our first taste of Cuba and we liked it. We liked very much, we want more of Cuba, we want more! So we dash for the club scene and get a glorious iron curtain awakening. Simply put, every evening begins with a floor show before the band and night of salsa and dancing kicks off in earnest. It is the most hilarious display of B-grade circus acts ever and entirely wonderful for its sincerity. I saw salsa show dramatizations, balancing acts, heck one guy came out in puffy sleeves and on a road bike and proceeded to entertain us by cycling backward on a stage the size of a napkin. Then upside down. Stopping on the spot for what seemed like an eternity, dismantling the bike as he rode, until a uni cycle was all that remained. Then the grand finally. To cycling a tiny winy bike doubling a beautiful Cuban lass on his shoulders through a ring of fire. A Homer/Krusty scene flashes through my mind....

Oh how we laughed….

Oh how we cried....

Ahhh "good-a-one” we cheered,

“give us another one” if you would, we prayed.

With circus acts put to rest then there is the dancing and always one more majito, and lets face it, Cubans know how to do both. You find such a scene at Casta La Musica. You'll have no need to ask directions, you’ll simply end up there in time, you wont have a choice. Rest assured once you do fun, shall be had, I promise you that. As long as you know how to have it, that is......

So do you?????

Do you know how to have fun, my friends. Ain't no room for your prudish self if you don't!

Alas, my job here is not to act as some lonely planet guide book holding your hand as you plan your next travel itinerary, but is to ram the misery of yachting down your throat. As for the glory of Cuba….well you can go Google that shite my dear friend!

So back to the truth of it shall we. The misery of yachting and oh how there was a many heaped spoonful of saline misery swallowed during this seemingly wondrous time in Cuba.


Well it pains me to bring you down while we seem to be having such fun, how about I leave you on this note before I bludgeon you with the reality of Captin Boo Boos intervention, as he goes about fixing all that functions efficiently.



Oh but shhhhh, hush now and worry not, I promise to bring the pain.....

and to bring it very soon :)




Ciao, Tschüse, Doei



"On my way I met strong currents, winds and storms, but I kept rowing. Exhausted, knowing that I had drifted away from my chosen course and that the island I was trying to reach was no longer on the horizon.

I can't turn back though"

The Zahir