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I originally planned to go last January, when Pope John Paul II planned his visit to
the island. Cuba would be throwing out the welcome mat and, hopefully, would have no problem with unusual tourists. Just days before my flight, as anti- Castro Cuban-Americans continued to criticize
the Pope's trip, I heard from the man organizing my pilgrimage that the plane would not leave if my kayak was onboard. He blamed the FBI. The plan was shelved until, while planning a trip to Central America last summer,
I discovered a new route to Cuba Ivia Costa Rica), and folded the kayak into my suitcase. My first day there, I headed out of Havana to the Hemingway Marina where a
fishing tournament was taking place. It was comforting to see other boats from the US on the leader board. I followed them out to the open water, paddling past the guards at the end of the harbor. Dogs barked and the uniformed men looked on with indifferent stares. As I followed the channel through clear waves, this idea to paddle in a communist regime began to taste bittersweet. The water was crystalline and cold. A surprising contrast
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