January 29, 2016, Guantanamo, Cuba — Yuri had a subtle smirk on his face as he glanced at the Russian “Kozlik” we would be driving into the mountains. Compared with the rugged old Willys, it’s tiny, but we somehow managed to cram all of our gear behind the rear seat, piled to the roof, and climbed aboard. Yuri gave us a mock salute and fired up his car. The plan is he’ll meet us in a week back at Farallones, on the other side of the mountains. Our new driver, Yordi, is a wiry black Cuban with a calm, pleasant demeanor. (I guess you need that to drive the back roads of Cuba.) We were all in high spirits as we left Guantanamo, racing through the countryside. Although the road is steep, with long uphill and downhill stretches that tested the power of the Kozlik’s tiny 75-horsepower engine as well as its brakes, it is well paved all the way to Palenque. Yordi paused when we reached the end of the pavement. “This is the end of the good times,” he declared. “The...