Now let me tell you about the weather, NE 20-35knots seas 6-8 feet. "Island way" had by now, with the aid of an inflatable dinghy, removed one passenger who had a plane to catch, and taken them to Cayo Largo. This in itself was a nightmare to arrange as it is forbidden to have persons on board who are not on the crewlist. Cayo Largo, Puertosol Marinas, had in the meantime informed us via radio that a fee of up to 25% of the value of the vessel would be charged if they were to come and assist. (they also implied that other assistance (by us) was forbidden) Now the owners of Lhamy who were exhausted, and a tad frightened, were in no mood to receive this kind of information. We set up a tow rope as follows, a bridle from two cockpit winches, a turn taken around the stern mooring cleats, through the quarter fairleads, to a swivel at the apex. 200 ft of 4braid one inch, spliced to 30 feet of chain, which was terminated in a shackle and passed to Lhamy by a heaving line during a close pass. It took them 1.5 hours to retreive the towline, and make it fast and recover their anchor. They were really tired! We towed them into the relative shelter of Cayo Guano, and they anchored again. I went over to fix the propshaft and rudder.

We are now stuck here in 25-35 kts of wind, 4-6 foot seas, and feel very miserable. It is Christmas day, and I have just discoverd that the Yamaha 15 Hp outboard is now also seized, in storage, after being correctly mothballed! so the list of jobs increases, Florida is going to be a welcome stop, where I can fix all the things that need to be fixed. The list grows.

Happy Christmas from a rocky rolly pitchy yawy Gilana at anchor in the middle of nowhere.

Where were we? Ok We arrived in Cienfuegos, 1950 architecture, cars etc. We left there after finding the stop quite expensive, the dicotomy in the economy is quite an alarming fact. I had filled the diesel tanks by using a 20L jerry can strapped on to the back of Carols old bicycle, carted some 500l like this and saved a fortune. Funny that I rode right past the diesel pump on the marina jetty, each time I went to the service station. The difference in price was $0.20 per litre and the excercise was good not to mention the road to the gas station. It is a dual carriageway and is near the end of the main drag, the prom or whatever you would like to call it. The cars are polished, the axles greased (AND THE HAIR) and this is where you cruised in your 1958 Chevy if you wanted to be seen. The end of the road near the Palace de Jagua was a traffic circle built around a modern sculpture of some woman freeing a bird standing up to her ankles in a pond. If the lights and pumps were working this would have been a much prettier sight, but the embargo cuts in strange places. This was the background to the diesel trips on the bike, not a chore at all but a pleasure to work the leg muscles, and be part of the pageantry that is a Cub@n Sunday afternoon. The drivers are really good here and we felt no fear in allowing Liz to explore the surrounds on her own on the bike. The cars are so unroadworthy, with bald tyres, and brakes that skew the vehicles, that everyone travels really slowly. The sentences handed out by the authorities, are also scary so it is no wonder. So men riding bicycles, with baby on the dashboard (handlebars) and mommy sitting sidesaddle in her floral print dress, hairclips and red framed 1960 sunglasses, were my company, all smiling greeting and quite quite wonderful in all. One car, homemade, came past me squealing loudly as the right rear tyre was out of alignment, I was the odd one out, by being surprised.