I went to Havana last year, July 7-11, 2019. I immediately wrote 25 pages on it, and never did anything with it. It sat there untouched, until now. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve posted anything, so it’s time to change that. My style when I started writing abroad was stream of consciousness journals that I’d send friends. It didn’t work so well when I did blog posts; instead I focused on one idea. For these though, I’ll break up the journal into posts, chronological but generally thematic. You can download the whole PDF if you’d like. Enjoy!
How it all started:
So my college friend Clemente is from Mexico City and for the longest time wanted all of us to go and visit CDMX for years and July 4th weekend in 2019 was apparently the year to make it happen. So 20+ or so of us Yanks headed south of the border (Mexico really should’ve built a wall to keep us asshats out), to go celebrate the birth of our nation. That can all be detailed in a forthcoming story I suppose. For now, let’s zoom through that portion like the move Click and airdrop Mikey in the CDMX airport.
Zoom.
So there I am, 3 hours beforehand. They asked for four hours, but I did 3 cause I’m a rebel. I also did 3 cause I’m a bitch. No one should be there that early. Or rather I thought I overcooked it.
But, in fact, I’m an American flying to Cuba during a time when our President is closing those pesky loopholes, like going to Cuba on a cruise ship. Or closing the “people-to-people” option to travel. No possible way anyone could circumvent those. No siree.
The biggest way Americans traveled to Cuba for years, even before Obama’s relaxation of the rules, was by first flying to Mexico or Canada and then going to Cuba. (I suppose you could go to any country with connections to Cuba but you get the point.) This was always viable as the issue was at American customs, not Cuban customs. However, with Obama loosening everything, flights opened, namely the Miami-Havana route and things became easier. And then with Trump, it’s now slightly more complicated. Just functionally making it ever so slightly more difficult.
So I sat in line to check in my luggage/check in to my flight. I wasn’t allowed to check in online, because…well because. (I soon discovered that was a consistent reason in Cuba…just because.) 3 hours before my flight quickly/slowly turned into 1.5 hours before my flight as the check-in folks took our documents at a pace molasses would’ve been frustrated with. My check-in process alone only took 10-15 minutes. As I waited “next in line” I watched as one of the workers simply left her post, chatted with another attendant for a looong while and then they simply exchanged spots and the new one took his time in getting over. We stood there waiting as they shot the shit. This just cannot be an efficient use of resources.
“Don’t accept items from strangers.”
is what they always announce over the intercom at airports. See something, say something. Don’t leave luggage unattended. Don’t accept weird shit. That’s par for the course, right?
I also figured the corollary was true. People would actively attempt *not* to leave luggage unattended and that you *wouldn’t* ask people to put your strange worn box in their bag for them. If you’re asking someone to take your belongings you’re putting them in a rough spot – you’re probably ignorant of the rule or actually asking them to bear the risk. But that’s exactly what happened.
I’m in line to board the flight to Havana from Mexico City. A group of four Cubans happened to seek out the gringo-est of gringos (that’s me!!) and be surprised that “tu no hablas español?” No my Spanish blows, I’m sorry. Como se dice, “I’m getting there and it’s serviceable but yeah my accent is subpar?”
So, I’m in line to board and four of them have backpacks absolutely filled to the brim, zipper teeth grinding, clenched as hard as they can. And they are holding a box evidently with a model car inside. The kind your dad would paint. There very well may have been a car inside. There was, in all likelihood, a blue, metal, model sedan resting in that cardboard box. There is also a non-zero chance it was something else. “Did you accept anything from a stranger?” I hear TSA asking me.
And as they screamed at me in Spanish, indicating that their bags were full and they couldn’t possibly bear the weight of “solo un carrito,” I had to kindly deny their requests.
I’m just not taking a random box from strangers at an airport. Especially as a gringo in CDMX going to Havana. That’s just against all wisdom, I’m sorry.
And in truth, you could just like…carry the carrito. In your hands. Like you did to bring it over to me in the first place.
Super slow.
Massachusetts is a fast place. The first time I realized that I grew up in a state, an environment that operated much quicker than much of the world, was when I played Emory University in soccer in college. We decided to go to the best fried chicken restaurant on Planet Earth: Chick-fil-a. I would soon realize, it was kinda mediocre. Sue me.
As I order my food in, what I thought, was a normal speed, the cashier urged me to slow down, and then proceeded to deliver my “fast” food in about 15 minutes in an empty restaurant. Uhh, you Southerners are slow. 15 minutes is eternity.
The second time I truly realized it, was when I went to China, and realized that both locals and foreigners alike, were going…dude you speak way to fast. My aunts and uncles and grandparents struggle to understand what I’m saying, apparently. Nah, nah, nah. You all are just slow.
Anyhow. Cuba made me realize just how slow a place can be. I think part of it is cultural. Truly I come from a super-fast environment. I don’t mean that pejoratively – moving about life slower has umpteen benefits. But also, just a place that has a ton of bureaucracy and inefficiency, you’re going to come across some absurdly slow moments. Buses that take 3 hours. Food that comes out after the waitress finishes her conversation with her friends. Phones that don’t work and so someone needs to use another payphone. 1G phone service means your text will get through by next year. Just take a few deep breaths and as the locals say: ehhh, Cuba has no es-stress.
Like what you’re reading on Cuba? Check out some other related articles in: The Cuba Chronicles!
Links to the other parts in this series: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
