How We Received the Bahamian Border Guards
With no engine, Lady Mary spent the rest of the night bucking through a strong close-hauled wind, making 3 miles an hour. The captain was considering waiting out the headwind on the so-called Bahama Banks (that’s when you’re sailing in the open ocean, with not a single light or little boat anywhere around, and then—hey presto!—the bottom is 10 metres down and you can drop anchor).
Anyway, by the time we reached the Banks to wait out the headwind, the wind had switched off. We had to wait in any case—the engine had given up the ghost. We anchored under sail, with nothing but water in every direction, all the way to the horizon. The territory probably belongs to someone, but since clearing out of Saint Martin we hadn’t visited another customs office. We rustled up dinner and spent a peaceful night at anchor in the open sea.
In the morning, the parents settled down to intellectual labour, while the children got busy drawing holiday cards. On the first one, Lada drew a five-coloured magic flower; on the next, she announced, she would create an as-many-colours-as-will-fit flower.
By noon, the radar detector gave a timid squeak and fell silent, and an hour later a dot appeared on the horizon, soon taking on the outline of a vessel belonging to unidentified armed forces, speeding towards us. Having put on civilian clothes, the crew raised the Russian flag (and whenever we do this, the children and I always sing the national anthem) and froze in anticipation.
The ship stopped about 50 metres away. A crane lowered an orange launch, and the valiant troops of an unknown country—in the persons of four soldiers encased in body armour and lifejackets—spent 20 minutes trying to start its 23-horsepower outboard. While the border guards (which was what they turned out to be) were coaxing the engine back to life, giggles began to ripple across Lady Mary’s deck:
“I bet that’s why they aren’t flying a flag—so their engines don’t disgrace the nation,” or, “Why don’t we row over and ask, ‘Guys, do you need a hand?’”
After 20 minutes, four Black border guards with inscrutable expressions came around Lady Mary’s stern to read the proud word Moscow, and climbed aboard. All four of them, in their lifejackets, would not fit into our saloon, so one stayed in the cockpit to cover the rear.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Russia.”
“I’ve never met any Russians before.”
“Well, that makes us the first :). And where are you from?”
“We’re Bahamian.”
The military vessel’s nationality had been established ).
The fellow politely asked when we had arrived here. It was fortunate that my answer was truthful and matched the captain’s. The visit lasted about 20 minutes, during which the servicemen established who we were, where we were sailing from and to, how long we had been anchored, and whether we had seen anyone else.
“Why did you stop, by the way?”
“We’re waiting for wind, Your Honour.”
Our guests carefully examined our passports and ship’s papers, then radioed the information back to their vessel, from which about a dozen friendlier faces were now peering at us. Ladunka waved to them from the stern; the faces smiled.
What are border guards interested in? Papers, weapons and drugs. No one asked how long we had been sailing from our previous port. But they questioned us rather insistently about weapons. Thank God we don’t have any.
On leaving the saloon, the woman (there was a woman among them) wiped the sweat from her face—which was hardly surprising, in full gear and a lifejacket, with +35°C in the shade—and even said, “Hi.” When they arrived, they did not yet know that we weren’t pirates or drug smugglers, so they weren’t saying hello to just anybody. But now it was allowed, apparently :).
The stern border guards proceeded with due decorum to their dinghy, its engine running alongside our boat. The whole family spent a good quarter of an hour seeing them off from the stern (how often do you get to watch so many military personnel on duty?), and then we went swimming.
Peacetime
While we were swimming, we discovered that the current preventing us from swinging bow-to-wind was running at no less than 2 knots. At any rate, it took the first mate and the younger junior crew member at least seven minutes to swim from stern to bow—a distance of 12 metres. Running on the spot.
More news
The last piece of pumpkin was eaten on the 17th day of the passage. We dug some dried Altai courgettes and pears out of the holds and moved on to making meals out of thin air. So far, we have managed to pretend they are vegetable soups and fruit compotes ). We were so delighted that we even baked a cake.
It’s an astonishing cake made from nothing, my friends! Chocolate, with custard. There are five basic ingredients: flour (ours is grey and coarsely ground), sugar, baking soda, powdered milk and cocoa. That’s all. Both the custard and the cake are made from those. If you have any spices aboard, such as star anise, cinnamon or carob, as well as honey, raisins or nuts, they will greatly enhance the dish. We even put ground dried orange peel to use.
A proper feast during a long nonstop passage, made with a minimal selection of provisions. If you’re interested, we’ll share the recipe ).
Meanwhile, by nightfall a favourable wind had come up, so we weighed anchor from the Banks and are once again holding course for Havana, under the occasional watchful eye of our friends the border guards from yesterday. On the horizon is a small Bahamian reef with a large white lighthouse, which we initially mistook for a sail.
The captain’s mighty strength tore the awning while he was setting up the backstay. We sewed it up standing on tiptoe, bending the needle many times; it now looks like a spring. They don’t know how to make needles in China. We’ll have to buy half a kilo or so back home.
About 300 miles to the Cuban capital.