Ed Ewing tours the Caribbean island of Cuba, hoping to hook a ride in the infamous ‘Cuban Convergence’. Published in Cross Country magazine in 2008
From the other side of the city, the hills behind Santiago de Cuba stretch out in a line that goes for miles. They face southeast, slope down to the plain below, and are dotted with radio masts. This was my last chance as far as flying in Cuba was concerned. I had been to Havana’s unique city site – an 800 m long, low dam facing the lake in the city’s Parque Lenin. Topped with a road, you take off from the park beside it and soar above the traffic.
I’d been keen to fly here since seeing pictures of it on Ojovolador.com. But it wasn’t to be: three times in Havana during a six-week trip, flying had been thwarted by ‘winter conditions’ – cold fronts sweeping in from the northwest. The tail end of freezing storms on the USA’s east coast, they bring wind, grey skies and crashing waves to the city’s famous sea wall.
I’d also spent a couple of nights in an off-season holiday camp out at Playa Jibacoa, 60 km east of Havana, kicking bleached turtle shells along the beach waiting for a chance to fly the 70 m high limestone escarpments. It never came – the wind never stopped howling and I left disappointed. A return visit was even windier.
The weather in Cuba is split along the length of the island. In the north the wind blows in from the northeast. In the south it comes in from the southeast. Cross the country from north to south – the island is only 190 km wide at its widest but 1,250 km long – and the boundary between the Atlantic air and warmer, softer Caribbean air is noticeable.
On a clear day the sky on either side of the island is a different colour of blue and you can see the line where the air masses meet. on a classic day, the sea breezes converge and a single line of cloud marches down the centre of the island. (A neat, animated satellite photo illustration of this exists on the Wikipedia ‘seabreeze’ page.)
The trick to flying here, it seemed, was to find a northeast or southeast facing hill free of trees, power lines and thorn bushes, then launch and head west. The sky looked good regularly, with streams of dotted cumuli a couple of thousand metres above sea level.
But wherever I went I was thwarted. Out west, in the tobacco growing region of Vinales, famous for its limestone karst scenery of rocky towers and cultivated valleys, it was impossible to find anything clear or high enough to launch from. This, despite the area’s sheer walls – a ‘mini Yosemite,’ the guidebook calls it. In the morning, with still air and radiation fog blanketing the fields, it was easy to think of it as a paramotorist’s dream. But paragliders? difficult. This was confirmed by a guide at the national park office, who said, yes, someone had flown here several years ago, but from that hill over there, and pointed to a gentle tree-lined, bunny-hop style training field.
Down south, in the Escambray Mountains, the pre-revolutionary hideout of Che Guevara and captivating backdrop to the colonial town of Trinidad, I stood on the lookout and gazed down at the Caribbean in the distance and 700 m below. Through the binoculars this had looked promising, but up close the ‘grassy patches’ were simply waist-high thorns. The only place to lay out a glider was the concrete roof of the two-storey bar. the wingtips would drop over the side i mused, but… no.
Later we tried the hill above Trinidad itself, which is small and home to the town’s radio mast. Yes, said the man from Radio Cuba, two people flew here two years ago, but since then a pylon had been built on the only launch spot and cables strung across the hill. He offered me the roof of his shed and asked how much room i’d need – more than that, I said.
So this was it. Santiago de Cuba, the country’s second city; a 1,400 km and three day drive from Havana. To get there you take the Soviet built main highway, a six lane monster that runs out halfway down the island. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991 the building simply stopped.
Hardly anyone has cars in Cuba, so driving along it is like travelling in some weird post-oil world. People travel on bikes, horseback, in horse-drawn carts, piled into trucks or stand waiting for a lift. There are very few buses. We dodged cowboys, police bribes, 1957 Buicks, onion sellers and loping, lazy vultures. One didn’t make it, disappearing with a thud and a rattle under the wheels leaving feathers flying in our wake.
But the road gets you there – and finally the wind was on. It was perfect. But we were in the wrong spot – had driven too far and were being warned away from the radio masts by the army. “Parapente,” said one, and pointed back the way we’d come. By the time we got to the site – one of Cuba’s best – the sun was setting. Instead of flying we sat on take off in a warm wind and watched as night fell over the Caribbean, pollution from the smokestacks in the distant port streaking the orange sunset black.
The next day the wind blew hard from the northwest. Storm clouds towered over the hill early and an epic battle of Atlantic air meets Caribbean played itself out for the next five days. By which time we had driven east again, past Guantanamo Bay and its good looking but politically sensitive hills, past cactus-covered limestone ridges on the coast, and over the jungle clad Sierra del Puril to Baracoa, the most easterly point in Cuba. Dreams of cruising the Cuban convergence line for an awesome distance lay, like everything else, soggy and wet.
And then, two days later, as we rounded a corner in the north of the island, near a place called Yaguajay, we found it – the perfect hill. It was only small, but it was clear of forest, faced northeast and had charming fields all along the valley floor.
I flew. First negotiating with the farmer to climb the hill. Then nearly an hour to the top in hot, sweating sunshine, finally, beating down tall brush to make a launch. Out front was the coastal plain, and in the distance the white sand of the Atlantic cayos that lie offshore and make Cuba so attractive for fishing, sunbathing and diving.
Vultures soared overhead. Gone was their unstable flapping of windy days and windless highways. Instead here they were, steady, stately, gliding machines. It was time to join them. I took a step and took off, into that high definition version of our planet that only switches on when things go up.
Viva la Cuba!
MEET THE LOCALS – INTERVIEW WITH CARLOS OLIVIERA
I visited Cuba over winter in 2007/08. Six months ago there wasn’t much information on the web about flying there – I only found half a dozen sites listed. But now there are a lot more – 44 sites in fact. And that’s thanks to Carlos Olivera. A Cuban by birth he now lives in Canada but goes back regularly to fly. He was just back from a two-week April flying trip when I emailed him to talk about flying in Cuba.
What’s the flying scene like in Cuba?
We are about 130 pilots in the Federacion Cubana de Vuelo Libre. But only about one half actively fly, the others fly less than a weekend pilot. Becoming a pilot in Cuba is not straightforward. Paragliding equipment is not imported by anyone and the average income of a Cuban is $20 US a month. Almost no one has a car and we hitchhike for transportation to the flying site. About the ‘competition scene’, we are more friends than sport opponents. We try to meet once a year with the excuse of running a kind of competition, in which each pilot flies with the gear he has, regardless of the production year or the performance – at the moment 99% of the wings that are flying in Cuba came as donations from pilot friends around the world.
What are the country’s records?
The national (and unofficial) record for cross country is 45 km set by Sandy Salazar flying from Puerto de Boniato in Santiago de Cuba to a point near Guantanamo. The record was set on April 24, 2005 with an Airea tension. Actually, not many [local] pilots try to make long-distance flights, mostly because of airspace restrictions and other reasons such as transportation and communication.
But there is potential?
In the inland sites, during the dry season the base is normally between 1,500 and 2,500 m ASL. Last March a French pilot exceeded 2,000 m (1,700 AGL) flying at Puerto de Boniato, Santiago de Cuba.
And the convergence?
Yes, that event looks great, but paraglider pilots in Cuba are not using that convergence. Hang glider pilots are few, all of them living in the Isla de la Juventud, and yes, they fly it.
How many hangies are there?
About 15 to 20. the best pilot is Camilo Pérez. His record is about 30 km from santiago de Cuba.
What about sailplanes?
We don’t have any sailplanes in use actually; the sport was finished after the 90s with the economic crisis. [When the Soviet Union collapsed Cuba lost its main economic sponsor, leading to a decade of severe shortages.] in the 80s the sailplane pilots from the Aeroclub de San Nicolas de Bari did a flight from Las Tunas to Havana (about 500 km) using that convergence, but after the Soviets left Cuba the aeroclub closed due to a lack of equipment.
I’ve got two weeks in Cuba – where should I go?
I would try to rent a jeep and travel along the country in a kind of expedition, exploring as many flying sites as possible and sharing with lot of different pilots. For experienced XC pilots the best sites are in the east part of the country: Sierra de Boniato in santiago de Cuba, Pilon in Granma and others. For recreational pilots we have the best ridge-soaring hill in front of the beach in Havana (El Fraile) and there is another in the Isla de la Juventud.
You have a problem with the FAI, what’s that?
The problem with the FAI is that Cuba tried to pay [to join] but the transaction goes through an American bank and it’s not allowed because of the US embargo. I asked the FAi to let me [personally] pay for Cuba, but they didn’t let me. so Cuban pilots can’t be in any international competitions or record any records. How can I publicise this? [You just have.]
I had a great time in Cuba, but had trouble finding sites. Where’s the info?
Here: www.carlosparaglide.com and http://volarencuba.blogspot.com. Check the pics from my site – I posted photos from my 2008 tour of Cuba. Check the one of the Cuban home-made tow with a Russian car and the video of the accident.
POLITICS AND FLYING
Fidel may have stepped down, but Cuba is still run by a Castro. His brother, Raul, has started to make slight changes. He’s allowed Cubans to have mobile phones, for example, and lifted the ban on Cubans visiting their own beaches. But it’s still communist, and is still at the mercy of a US-imposed trade embargo. The result is a failed public transport system, food shortages, and a system that feels like it is constantly working against you. However, it is a safe place to visit, people are generous, nightlife in Havana is, ahem, good, and despite dropping to a near-whisper when talking politics, people welcome you with open arms.
Flying Cuba
Cuba lies on the tropic of Cancer, surrounded by the Gulf of Mexico to the West, the Atlantic to the north and the Carribean to the south. It’s tropical: sunny, dry and flyable in the winter and spring, hot and wet in the summer. Hurricane season is June to November.
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