|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
PUFA NEWSLETTER
 |
||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||
|
|
December 22, 2002
Fred Glasbergen, President
Walter Klatt, Vice-President
Sandra Clark, Treasurer
Daryl Hegyi, Secretary
Mail to: Pacific Ultralight Flying Association
102-16071 82 Avenue
Surrey, B.C. V3S 2L6
PUFA Newsletter published by Glenn Ursel
PUFA Website Version edited by Walter Klatt
From The President
by Fred Glasbergen
So another year comes to a close. We probably had some of the nicest flying weather this fall that I can remember, but it looks like December's rain and wind is making up for all that good fall weather. This year it seems that I have had a lot more enquiries from former students, from as far back as the early ninties, showing interest in completing their flight training for the ultralight pilot permit.
Airflow has just completed its first audit as a flight training facility. Two of Transport Canada's heavy weights went over the operation and made a few recommendations to follow Transport’s way of doing things. What I did learn from them is that the passenger carrying paperwork has gone through its course and they are looking for a startup date of April 1, 2003. April the 1st has been bandied about for the last couple of years and hopefully this year it won't be an April fool’s joke.
The instructors’ seminar this year is to take a different twist. It will be dedicated to what will be required and how a flight test is to be conducted for the passenger carrying endorsement. Another interesting bit of information was that the student ultralight permit would be reduced to being valid for only one year and cannot be renewed. So, for those of you still flying with a student permit, it would behoove you to sit down with the study manual and get that written exam done soon. There will be a new exam introduced when the passenger carrying gets started that will be similar to the current Recreational Pilot Permit exam but based on ultralight issues.
All the best for the new year and fly safe.
Editorial Note
by Glenn Ursel
As us retired folk do, I made another of my frequent visits to the local ultralight shrine; i.e. the King George Airpark, home of the largest ultralight flying school in Canada according to the Red Baron. Anyway I must have been caught in a weak moment by that wily salesman, Fred Glasbergen and succumbed to his sales pitch for an updated Vancouver VTA chart, new Canada Flight Supplement, landing light and strobe light. Am I glad I did with particular regard to the last two items! I just installed the lights and I am really impressed with their bright intensity. Now I am sure that those speedy conventional pilots will see me as I wend my way around the crowded skies of the Lower Mainland.
For the content of this newsletter, I have a seasonally appropriate Santa story set in the context of our aviation scene that was emailed to us by the BC Floatplane Association. I also have a story of the origin of the Hyperlight ultralight that you may have not been aware of before which I found on the Internet.
I also have a story of Cuba sent in to me by a recent tourist who wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons. While the events listed in the story may exist, some of us may not agree with the tourist’s assessment of the problem. For instance the deprivation suffered by the common folk in Cuba have been attributed by many sources to be due more to the American economic sanctions imposed over the past 44 years than the left wing political system under Fidel Castro. Anyway, the story is still interesting and I hope you agree as well.
Finally, fRed Baron has sent me another couple of his stories written in his inimitable style. I am sure you will enjoy his hilarious rendition of his attempt to rent his basement suite. The link of his new Zenair 701 to the historical German Fieseler Storch STOL is also interesting.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
Emailed from the BC Floatplane Association
The Hiperlight Story
One of the more interesting ultralights on the scene has quite an interesting
story as to how it came to be. The Sorrell Hiperlight has roots that
go all the way back to the 1940's when Hobie and Sylvia Sorrell moved to
Tenino Washington to set up a sawmill. Hobie had always been interested
in flying and it wasn't long before he began to design and build small
lightweight airplanes made out of wood which was a material that was in
great abundance in the area. Hobie came up with many different designs
and most were successful, the exception being a car towed glider that looked
like a large paper airplane. The reason that it didn't fly
was not because of the designer's ideas. Actually, the problem was
in the old Ford itself, which didn't have enough power to get the glider
airborne. Hobie and Sylvia, in addition to running the sawmill and
building little airplanes, also
raised a family of 4 sons and a daughter.
Needless to say the business became a family operation geared towards aviation. The Hiperlight never really was supposed to be. The Sorrells had already developed a very successful negative stagger fully aerobatic biplane known as the SNS-7 Hiperbipe (HIPERformance BIPlane) which was the outcome of a long line of similar designs beginning with Hobie's SNS-1 (Sorrell Negative Stagger Number One). The negative stagger configuration was not invented by Hobie. The Beech G-17 Staggerwing had come and gone long before the SNS-1 rolled out of the hangar in 1964. Hobie liked the flying characteristics of the design which not only made a nice flying airplane, but also a low drag one which didn't require tons of brute horsepower to propel it through the air....which leads us back to the Hiperlight.
A Canadian named Ron Shettler is the person who the Sorrells give credit to regarding the original idea for the Hiperlight. Shettler had contacted the Sorrells and suggested that they come up with an ultralight version of the SNS-2 wooden Guppy which weighed over 300 pounds. Shettler, who was a Rotax engine dealer at the time, backed up his idea with delivery of a 28 hp Rotax 277. Despite having some reservations about ultralights, Tim Sorrell sat down to the drawing board and within six months, the prototype SNS-8 Hiperlight was flying. Word about the project soon spread throughout the ultralight community.
The Hiperlight, except in size and weight, has very little in common with the usual ultralight technology. The forward half of the fuselage is constructed of 4130 chrome moly steel tubing very much as any conventional certificated airplane of similar design would be built. The aft fuselage is heliarc welded 6061-T-6 aluminum. Wings are permanently attached and pins at the four corners of the forward fuse can be removed to separate the entire tail for transportation. Three more pins allow the control cables to be disconnected. The entire process takes less than 10 minutes to accomplish.
Hiperlight wings are based on formed aluminum ribs riveted to a U-channel main spar. Full span ailerons coupled to the elevators also act as flaps when aft stick is applied to lower the stall speed down to FAR 103's 27 mph minimum. The wing panels have a sheet aluminum leading edge D-cell and are cable braced with standard aircraft swaged clevises. In other words, the 103 legal Hiperlight is built as good as or better than, many contemporary certificated aircraft costing thousands of dollars more. Hiperlight's primary structures are fastened with standard aircraft rivets. The landing gear is made up of heat treated steel rods on which are mounted low pressure balloon tires. Heel operated hydraulic brakes are also incorporated, and the rudder pedals steer the tailwheel. Factory covering consists of dacron sails on the basic Hiperlight. A higher performance 377 Rotax powered version called the Hiperlight EXP is covered with Stits, the reason being to use the additional weight of the paint to help offset the heavier engine. There was also a 2 place Hiperlight known as the SNS-9.
Published on the Buzzardsrow Website at: http://www.buzzardsrow.com/
A lot of the preceeding material came from the informational booklet
that was available
from Sorrell and originally appeared in "Glider Rider" Magazine
Life at the Intergalactic Aerodrome
The morning started off with a glorious sunrise like a fiery furnace in the cloudless sky. This was going to be a fantastic flying day after a delicious, scrumptious breakfast of granola, raisins and bananas. I hurried to get dressed and stepped out to greet this beautiful morning. I had an ad in the newspaper to rent a basement suite at my Intergalactic Aerodrome but I did not feel like sitting by the phone waiting for a call. This was a day to get up in the air and go flying!
As I was heading to my hangar, I passed by the large Maltese cross painted on the roof, not to be confused with a swastika which a lot of people seem to have a problem distinguishing from. Although my last name is Baron, I am of Irish and French descent. To bring a little spice and notoriety into my life, I selected the Maltese cross as an aviation symbol. The cross is very noticeable by motorists travelling north on the Pacific Highway from the US border 1/2 mile south.
As I approached my hangar, my old body was warmed by the sun and the excitement of the coming flight. I was ready for a great day. Being a bachelor at this time in my life, I felt free as a bird during the day. But I must say the nights in the nest would have been a more contented place with a little chickadee to cuddle up to. I had been corresponding with a young lady bird named Precy who lived in Courtenay, BC. I sent her a picture of myself taken 10 years previously. You and I always look better 10 years ago, don’t we?
I checked the plane out - no water in the gas, enough gas in the tank for a couple hours in the air, oil in the oil tank, air in the tires, etc. I felt a little guilty now that I hadn’t tidied up the house. It looked like a mad hatter or a mountain man lived there but, when I remembered my friend Joe Schofield’s house, I didn’t feel so guilty. I polished the large Maltese crosses on the wings of my bird and checked the windsock. Polishing up my German goggles, I thought of my friend, Bob Riterman, who gave them to me. It is interesting how you attract a large array of German memorabilia once you gather a few items. It starts off a chain reaction of well meaning friends that give you German war memorabilia and, as I mentioned before, well meaning people don’t necessarily distinguish between the symbol of WWI and that of WWII. But, still, I appreciate all the presents and the thoughtfulness of my friends.
The inside of my house looked like a shrine to the Third Reich with a couple of full size German flags on the wall. I needed a woman’s touch in there. I wondered if I could entice that beautiful Precy to run away from home and come live with me at the Intergalactic Aerodrome. It would be a challenge! The house is an old farm house in the middle of nowhere with well water and no sewer line with the power going off every time a storm blew up. Oh well, maybe it is power of thought that might interest her more...
The plane is ready to go. I’m ready. After the warmup of the engine, I put the bird into the wind and, after a hop and skip, the bird was off to greet this beautiful, warm morning. The mist was in the low lands and the mountains were dressed in their new white winter coat and another new adventure was about to unfold. As any flight is a new adventure, I climbed up to 1000 feet and headed north to Airflow, the largest ultralight training facility in Canada. Reaching King George Airpark, I brought the bird in to wind and announced my intentions for landing on the aerodrome’s frequency of 123.5. I looked forward to a good, hot cup of coffee and chat with the air school’s owners, Fred Glasbergen and Beverly Lawrence.
Later, I bid adieu, fired up my bird and took off. As I climbed up through 800 feet, I received a call on my cellphone from my daughter, Shelley, asking me to bring her some lunch money at school. Her high school was next to the Langley Airport. I told Shelly that daddy was in his toy and was going to fly over to the airport to bring her some Canadian pesos. I got on my VHF, called the Langley tower on 119.0 and got the okay to land on Runway 25 across the road from the school. After landing, I switched to the ground control frequency 121.9 and requested permission to taxi to the fence by the school. There is a high fence between the school and the airfield. As I sat there on this beautiful day, the plane attracted some attention from the little high school cigarette puffers. A couple of the potential high school dropouts walked by and yelled out “Nazi, Nazi!” The little buggers. If I was only 30 years younger, I would have chased them and given them a lecture on WWI I and WWII. Don’t those teachers teach them anything about history? I was very indignant. After giving my daughter some lunch money through the fence, I slunk away like someone was trying to rain on my parade. Oh well, they were just kids and didn’t mean anything I guess. I shrugged it off, called the tower for take off instructions and away I went.
As I got to my cruising altitude, I noticed dark, threatening clouds on the horizon to the southwest. I figured I better get home and batten down the hatches for a stormy night. The weather was still good but there were ominous signs that spurred me on. Reaching home, I surveyed the runway from my lofty height and noticed deer grazing on the east side of the field. A large eagle circled over the Little Campbell River searching for a salmon. It is always a joy to see your own airfield form afar. A little oasis in a very mad world! Maybe I’m a little prejudiced...
I landed, put the plane in the hangar, closed the door and checked my watch. It was almost time to watch the Wheel of Fortune program. The dog, Snoopy, was so excited to see me. I tell you Snoopy knows my engine sound and would always come out of the house through his dog door to greet me. Any other planes he would not pay any attention to. Maybe I have a miss in the engine? Nah, couldn’t be! As Snoopy and I headed for the house to start supper, I was contemplating my choices for dinner - Turkey TV dinner or Chicken TV dinner? I have to try and get Precy over from the Island. I bet she is a good cook. I had a great flight. Now with my noble dog Snoopy by my side, a hot meal in the micro and Wheel of Fortune coming up on the TV, life is good. God is great!
My thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. I picked it up and it was a timid voice asking if I had a suite for rent. I was getting very few calls on the basement suite so I went into my sales pitch. After answering a volley of questions, I determined that I was talking to a male Tony and not a female Tony. So, after some giving of directions to my prospective tenant and telling him to look for the big, black cross on the barn, he, or I might say she, asked what the cross was. I told him that it was the same cross that is on the top of the Queen’s crown. He asked what Queen? I guess he, she, knew some other Queen. I told he/she your Queen Elizabeth.
So I awaited my new prospective tenant. Who knows. He might even be cute! Just kidding. As I waited his arrival, the wind started to howl on the flat Hazelmere Valley. The sky had darkened totally. It was going to be a big blow. Maybe I should rephrase that, a big storm. By this time, I had put on my dark black eye patch that I wear in the evening due to a BB Gun accident at the age of eleven. I must say I was not prepared for what was going to transpire.
Coming into the driveway as this 50 cc Honda motorscooter ridden by a pale fellow of small stature about 5 feet 4 inches tall and 120 lbs. He was about 20 years old with blondish hair and blue eyes. I greeted him at the door in my robe and hair all awry. Tony was very timid and seemed alarmed at my presence. I showed him and noticed him glancing at the German flags on the wall. I thought I should have taken them down before he came over. I showed him the suite in the basement which had recently been flooded and had a musty odour. Tony must have thought I was taking him down to a dungeon. The height of the suite is about 5 feet ll inches so it would be good for him. I should have taken the dead rat out of the trap before he saw that. I knew I was in trouble. I had just lost a tenant.
We went up the stairs to my front room to the sound of thunder crashing outside and rain pounding on the driveway. Tony enquired nervously if I ever had any trouble out here so close to the border. I thought I would have a little fun and said you always have to be prepared. Tony said “What do your mean?” I reached down by my chair and pulled out a starter pistol I had there to scare the coyotes away. His eyes became as big as saucers and then things started to happen quickly after that. I knew that my friend Tony was not going to rent my basement suite. With a big thunderous crash, the power went out and the dog leaped through his dog door. By the light of the fireplace, I saw Tony jump up and say “What’s that?” Being a bit of a joker, I said I don’t know but I’m going to find out. I rushed to a big window at the back of the house, threw it open and let fire with my starter pistol. Tony rushed by me headed for the back door, tripped and fell down the stairs. He scrambled onto his Honda scooter, fired it up and took off down the road with a look of panic on his face.
I bet he had a few stories to tell about the mad man on Pacific Highway. Oh well, it was all in jest. You have to find, or create, a little humour in one’s life. Otherwise it gets very boring. So I settled down to my TV dinner that was cold by now, fed the noble Snoopy and waited for the power to come back on. It did just in time to finish watching Wheel of Fortune and contemplate my mental health. I will call Courtenay and talk to Precy, tell her how wonderful it is on the farm. I won’t tell her about the smelly water and the power outages or the stinky basement or that I think there might be toxic waste down there.
The storm passed and the sky cleared. The power came back on and my dog Snoopy and my cat Minu are in bed with me and tomorrow will offer new adventures. I will try to keep the sunny side up and think of you. Check that plane well and fly safe!
fRed Baron
Zenair 701
This aircraft is a STOL or short take off landing aircraft. It will take off and land in 600 feet. The stall speed is 25 mph with a top speed of 100 mph. The aircraft engine is a 100 hp water cooled Rotax made in Austria with dual ignition. Note the full fixed leading edge slats. It has flaps and is a real fun plane, especially with the amphib floats. A similar aircraft to this was the infamous Fieseler Storch STOL aircraft of WWII that was instrumental in the rescue of the Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini, from a mountain prison. The Storch managed to land in a very short distance on a winding road on the mountain. It was a phenomenal feat of airmanship. The Third Reich of WWII managed to rescue their comrade. His life was short lived, however, as the Italians later lynched him in a public square in April, 1945 just before the Allied armies reached northern Italy.
There are 800 Zenair 701 planes around the world but there is only one fRed Baron. Happy landings! Say hi to the owner. He is friendly.
fRed Baron
Cuba - A Tropical Island Prison
As I sit here as a wavering stranger, a lowly tourist, I try to grasp life in the totalitarian communist country called Cuba. It is a sad state of affairs. The government has an iron grip on the beautiful people of this historic island. The government wants to paint a picture of all is well here in Cuba but that is not the case. These poor, down trodden people are under the influence in everything they do in everyday life by Big Brother.
There are so many influences I hardly know where to start. First of all, a Cuban is subject to being stopped in any town to produce his or her compulsory ID card. If he or she is not from that town, he or she must have a good reason to be there or the grey shirted, gun toting police will gather these subjects up and hustle them away in the local paddy wagon. Their crime is being where they shouldn’t be! They will be fined 500 pesos and expelled back to their province. If they show up again, prison is likely. Road blocks on highways are frequent.
There is a ration card system although the government frowns at the word “ration”. But I lived during the Second World War and I used to take the ration card to the store to get our allotment of potatoes and bread. The name of the ration card in this wonderful communist totalitarian society of 44 years is called “Copy Book for Food”, an English translation.
Each person receives a monthly allotment of 3 kilos of rice, 3/4 kilos of beans, 80 grams of bread, 1/2 kilo of chicken, 1/2 kilo of ground beef mixed with soy and 1 kilo of sugar. Children get only powdered milk to the age of 7 years and consequently suffer bad teeth due to the lack of calcium. Naturally this is not enough to sustain life but, thanks to relatives in the US, Canada and many other countries in the world helping, a family that is fortunate enough to have such relatives abroad can manage to exist in this country.
The government doesn’t want any free enterprise or loose cannon selling anything to make a buck. The police search diligently for these counter revolutionary criminals who are subject to fines and/or prison. The police search persons in the street for such subversive items as contraband potatoes or liters of milk that result in fines and possibly imprisonment. But a dozen eggs or a bunch of bananas seems hardly a serious problem.
The underground economy is alive and well here as sales people scurry from door to door in the early hours selling their wares including meat, fish and fruit. It’s great! I love it! My hat goes off to those brave Cubans that are trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. Unless you have a way to supplement your daily rations when your monthly allotment runs out in about 2 weeks, you are in trouble but the strong survive and the weak are beaten down to a sad state. To speak a little more on the underground economy, such luxury food items as lobster and scrimp are available to a capitalist or any Cuban with money but these foods are not available to ordinary Cubans.
The cigar sellers are everywhere. A black market cedar box of cigars with counterfeit government seals sells for $20 to $25. At the airport government store, smokers say the cheap ones aren’t as good since they all smell like rope anyway. It would be a big fine if they are caught with this very illegal contraband.
Being a good guy, I brought some lobster home from one of my clandestine, shady friends, a man with 2 kids trying to stay alive. The landlady was very upset and told me not to do it again. I’m not joking! I’m serious, so I boiled it up with some garlic and butter and savoured every morsel. Maybe I would have been thrown in a dark Cuban dungeon for my defiant act of illegal activity.
I’m not trying to discourage tourism to Cuba. I just want people to know what it going on. If you come here as a tourist, come with an open mind, try to be objective and do your own little Walter Cronkite’ or Barber Walters’ type investigation. Ask questions but be aware that a lot of people are very afraid to talk to foreigners since spies are everywhere and their ration book could be revoked.
As I said before the ordinary person, that is not trying to rip off the tourist, is genuinely great. I have been here six times and every time I come I bring at least 80 lbs of gifts. You are allowed 40 lbs on the airline. I pay the excess luggage rate. I pay rotten Cuban custom government agents a duty for the kids’ toys, teddy bears, dolls and gifts. I sell nothing. I bring it as my gesture of making myself feel good, to give a lady who is pregnant a towel so she can bring her baby home with it from the hospital. She is 45 years old with two grown children and 8 months pregnant. To give her that lowly thrift store, washed towel and see her eyes swell up with tears, is my reward. You can’t buy that gratitude. I gave her baby shoes, clothes, etc. and told her to name the baby Wayne Gretsky which I’m sure won’t happen.
So when your come to Cuba, bring what you can leave here. Find an old suitcase. Fill it up with what you don’t need and make a family happy when you leave. When I leave here, I go back to my country with a carry on bag and my thongs on my feet. My shoes are now on some big, black guy who is just grinning from ear to ear. Maybe I’m crazy but I’m having fun.
The things and facts I write about are from the local people and not a figment of my imagination. For instance, 10 years ago if a US dollar was found in your possession, you would be sent to jail for one year. Two dollars resulted in two years imprisonment. Now the economy is based on the US dollar. A medical doctor makes $25 a month and his ration card. A grey shirted policeman makes $80. You can see where the priority lies. With all the doctors needed in Canada and the US, maybe they can trade doctors for food. Even the doctors have a little bit of larceny in them here in Cuba. I had an opportunity to visit a doctor and found that a $5 bill under the table opened up all kinds of doors. I also took an illegal alien who was sick from another province in Cuba to the doctor. A few bucks under the table and, voila, doors opened up, even a prescription was filled. Oh yeah, it is all available even here if you have a couple of bucks.
A neighbour near where I stayed was a member of the communist party (of which there are very few - approximately 5% out of a population of 11 million) and rented VCRs, very illegal. In case I did not mention, the government owns everything, businesses, hotels, even the house the people live in all their lives.
The system is a complete and total failure as found in Russia, East Germany and North Korea. With all the flaws in our western society, this system is a joke. Cherish our way of life as our national New Democratic party was a failure in Canada and our provincial version ran British Columbia deeply into debt. The New Democrats tried rent control which caused a zero vacancy rate which means there is no place to rent. Under the previous system, landlords would give you a free month’s rent to move in.
But, back to Cuba. Cuba is lucky they don’t have a whim for fast
ferries. We could sell them a couple. The illustrious dictator
of Cuba is a young 76 years old, not that I wish him any ill health but
Moses once said “Let my people be free or go!” Something like that.
If, for instance, I wanted to stay with a Cuban family, I have to travel
to the capital, Havana, with my host, wait in line for a few hours with
my passport and be interrogated by the local authorities. Maybe I
will be okayed, maybe I won’t. Can you imagine that you cannot stay
in someone’s house unless the government says it’s okay. Shame, shame!
The hotels in Cuba are a joint venture of the government and foreign
corporations. Cuba could not do it alone.
The inferior housing structures are and have been in total decline for almost 50 years. The houses in most places are in dire need of repair. As most everyone knows, the cars date from the mid fifties with General Motors Chevrolets being well represented. Not as many Fords. But all these cars are a sign of the times of Communism. The Russians put millions, probably billions, into Cuba but it is not the giving of money to the people that people need but a way for them to sustain life on their own. I was told Cuba now imports sugar. That’s like buying coal in New Castle. Things have deteriorated that bad. The Cuban people adapt to everything. They make their own parts for anything that breaks like car parts and household items. Very smart people.
If you do not attend a Castro rally, you could be subject to your ration card being confiscated. Everyone works for the government. There is no competition. No other government parties. The TV aerials in Cuba could pick up US programs from Miami and Key West until Castro figured out the prisoners in their Cuban island prison were getting too smart to what was going on so a new law - no aerials are allowed to pick up US stations. Police went around ordering residents to lower aerials or face a fine or? Try to bring a VCR to Cuba. It will be confiscated at the airport. I know it happened. You can’t even pay duty on it. Why? I guess they don’t want Cubans influenced. A brand new $75 WalMart VCR will fetch $250 US on the black market. Here, naturally, private aircraft are forbidden. Boats for tourists are given one hour supply of gasoline. As a pilot, wouldn’t it be great to do a freedom flight from Key West to Cuba with our free enterprise? You, the tourist, are picked up in a Mercedes bus and driven to your air conditioned hotel but you must know, if you don’t already, what is going on in the real world.
I don’t say don’t come to Cuba but do pray that some day the yoke of oppression will be lifted from the backs of these beautiful people.
Cuba Libreta! Free Cuba!
A Recent Tourist