Update from Mckay Thomas | September 7, 11:30 AM EST
The glow was too strong to be anything but the sun, only it was coming from the wrong place. And there were two of them. It then dawned on me that it might be light pollution off Florida. It shined hundreds and hundreds of feet off the ground and looked like the early stages of a sunset, but it never progressed. It slowly sunk behind the horizon as we left it behind, but not before we picked up the distant glow of Havana. The two states a not so subtle reminder of the return voyage.Â
I laid back down, somewhat awkwardly, on top of two kayaks which had been strapped to the top deck of the ship. Davis was beside me. The cloudy ribbon of the Milky Way stretched horizon to horizon. Some of the galaxies above so clear and close their arms seemed to stretch out and welcome us. The vast universe above shrunk my identity to its most basic parts. I'm alive and I know I'm alive. That's significant. Davis and I lost hours to ideas and books we've read and truths we know. The gentle rumble of the ship was our only other companion last night.
The group was spit up between two ships, The Mirage and The Sunluver. The Mirage a 70-foot, one of a kind kayak mother ship, had one large ship hull and a second smaller hull about the height of a dock for entering and exiting kayaks. It's a brute ship, but spacious.
The Sunluver is a traditional catamaran. 44-feet, with two cabins, one in each hull. It has air conditioning and surround sound and TV. When the group was split, those on The Mirage knew where they stood. The one thing the Sunluver lacks is flat sleeping space. It's a lot smaller than The Mirage, so each ship had strengths and weaknesses.
I startled awake at six o'clock, as if night itself grabbed me, not wanting to surrender to the dawn. However, what met my eyes was confusing. I thought the ship was in a deep fog. There was nothing to see in all directions but the steady blue grey mist. As I adjusted, it wasn't a mist or a fog. The sky and the ocean were simply in harmony. The whole earth was a solid blue grey. Straight up and all around, it was all encompassing. There wasn't an end to the earth and a beginning to the sky. There was no depth, either. Everything was five feet away and 5,000 miles away. That moment lasted seconds, maybe minutes, and the dawn, when it overpowered it, somehow felt disappointing in contrast. I had met a new world that morning, one that didn't differentiate heaven from sea.
By seven o'clock Havana's skyline was in view. It was stout, concentrated. As it drew nearer, details emerged. The mildew stained buildings, the sun washed colors, and later, the music, and, as we pulled in to the marina, the dancing. Cuba was alive.Â
Border patrol and customs would be too long if it were five minutes, and this was certainly not five minutes. Hours passed.
The taxi carried us through streets I would have guessed were residential, but judging by the traffic, were main arteries. Passing us on each side were American cars from the '50s. Bright blue, dark green, bleached yellow and peach, Fords and Chevys, most of them. We were on a hunt through old Havana to connect to the Internet. We had heard that the first hot spots were opening up to Cubans, but could we use those? Where were they? How should we connect?
I first saw the laptop. I didn't notice immediately, but it just looked odd somehow seeing a young girl hold a big laptop outside in a town square. Flanking her were five, no 10, could be 15 others all on smartphones. As I looked around, there were hundreds. Most of them on phones video calling. The hands holding the phones were stretched out, just higher than their faces. They were animated. I imagined them connecting with friends and family in the U.S. and elsewhere. Multiple generations video calling and texting and emailing and instagramming for the first time.
The people had a very distinct look on their faces. Aside from happy and engaged and the precious other feelings that come from our closest relationships, they looked free. They were free.
The only Internet in the country is available in public areas, like the square we stumbled upon, accessible through cards they sell each morning. A card costs three dollars and is good for one hour. The freedom was real to those with these cards, but from a country who hosts a debate that Internet should be a human right, or the removal of it constituting "cruel and unusual punishment," it felt constricting, at best, and criminal at worst.Â
Bartering for 50 internet cards got the price down to $2.50 and we took it. I frantically and carefully typed in the 12-digit username and password and hit "Acceptar." My notifications cycled through the top of my phone. I was online.
