Cuba's Blackout Crisis Revealed Through a Sailor's Perilous Arrival
We thread our way carefully through the reef in pitch-black darkness. It's a new moon. Rarely have we seen a sky this crowded with stars. We can already smell land, mango blossom mixed with burnt garbage, yet there isn't a single light in sight. Somewhere abeam should be Marina Los Morros, Cuba's westernmost port of entry. But there is nothing. No glow on the horizon. Most likely another power outage.
Relief and tension arrive together. Relief after two punishing days and nights at sea. Tension because of what awaits us ashore. The political situation in Cuba has deteriorated sharply in recent weeks. And right now, more immediately, we're worried about something far simpler: according to the chart, several buoys should be right in front of us. We see none of them in the beam of our spotlight. Not one.
We fear hitting one of the steel monsters. Or perhaps they've long since torn loose. The state has neither the money nor the means to replace them.
And yet, despite the blind approach, there is something magical about entering the reef this way. With every meter, the violent sea calms. After 200 miles of confused cross seas, the Gulf Stream turning the ocean into a washing machine, the stillness feels like balm. The final 30 miles were the spin cycle because here, in western Cuba, the Caribbean meets the Gulf of Mexico. Two currents and weather systems collide. Simply uncomfortable.
And then we discover a single light. But not on land, on the water. The anchor light of our buddy boat, which arrived at Los Morros two hours earlier. We head toward it and drop anchor. We are back in Cuba!
Cuba has been the most fascinating country of our three-year Caribbean odyssey. With our boat, Dilly-Dally, we cruised the Lesser Antilles and felt underwhelmed. We sailed from Tobago to Venezuela, through the ABC islands to Colombia, from there to Jamaica, and our first visit to Cuba.
The warmth of the people captivated us despite everything: U.S. sanctions, but also their own regime, which suppresses dissent and crushes protests with brutal force. There is no question that the socialist one-party system is an autocracy. And yet, we fell in love with the country and the people who, every day, try to make something out of very little.
Since COVID, the country has been in the midst of the biggest energy and economic crisis since the revolution. We circumnavigated the island, the largest in the Caribbean, and sailed via the Bahamas to the Dominican Republic, where we spent hurricane season. We then headed back to Cuba with bags filled with clothes, medicine, rope, food - things we had collected for friends.
But this time, we knew, everything would be different. Cuba is in a chokehold that is tightening day by day. The Trump administration wants to starve the country with escalated sanctions and maritime pressure in an attempt to force regime change. On the ground, it is not the regime that feels the squeeze first. It is the people.
Cuba is on the brink of a humanitarian catastrophe. The UN speaks of a serious violation of international law.
Following the overthrow of Venezuelan dictator Nicolás Maduro, Trump set his sights on Cuba and stopped all oil deliveries. And without oil, Cuba cannot survive.
Tourism, once the country's primary source of income, has nearly vanished. Havana's airport has no kerosene. Planes that land cannot refuel.
