The big jet plane took one last swoop down toward the long, bumpy tarmac as palm trees and lush vegetation came into view. Cuba. Am I really here? Does the U.S. government see me right now? Is there an agent on this plane? Whatever, nothing I can do about it anymore, I’m here; ready to take it all in as best I can for the next two weeks. I got off the plane, got my checked backpack with all my goodies packed away, made it all the way through security; almost. The Cuban equivalent of a TSA officer comes running at me from behind as I’m about to head through the doors to finally meet up with Kelly. “Necessito tu passaporte. Venga aqui,” says the officer as adrenaline starts wreaking havoc in my heart chambers.
I was interviewed by an officer alongside a fellow traveler from Brazil. Typical questions like, “Where will you be staying?” “How much money do you have with you?” and so on, were asked; all interspersed between long periods of waiting and watching the officers’ bro-nie-ism play out with multiple high fives and low-toned chuckles of, “we’re really going to screw over this newbie.” After about thirty adrenaline fueled minutes of pacing, I was given my passport and told to have a nice trip. At the gate, there was Kelly worried that I had truly been detained by the commies of socialist Cuba. All was well after a few tight hugs and a somewhat difficult currency exchange with the overworked woman behind the counter. Time for some cold mogeetoes.
Flying through hoards of classic 50’s Chevrolet’s, Plymouth’s, Dodge’s, etc., our cab driver made his way to our unexpectedly nice casa particular inhabited by our very warm-welcoming house mom Miriam. After a short while of unpacking, me and Kelly made our way into town. Somewhat overcast skies made for a rather serene first walk down the malecon, and cold mojitoes after a quick visit to the Hotel Nacional was a kickin’ fresh introduction to the time capsule that Havaanna is.
-Pat
Share Your Thoughts