Saturday, December 9th 2017
Habana, Cuba and Los Angeles, CA
It’s 9am and sheets of rain are pounding on the roof and window. It’s my last day in Cuba. Due to American Airlines consolidating flights, Laura and Andrew departed 10 hours ahead of schedule. I silently curse the airline industry and praise Alaska Airlines for sticking to their schedule in the midst of declining travel to Cuba. My plane will leave, as planned, at 6pm.
My room is cool and it smells like rain. I opt to stay in bed for another hour. At 10am the rain is still pouring down.
I slowly start organizing my bag. I decide to leave behind a few items for our host, including my blue Nike hat. I take a quick shower. The water is cold and I wonder if it’s actually rain. While I am washing my face Yasmina surprises me by knocking on the bathroom door. She asks if I want coffee, but I decline.
Around 11am I lug my bags down the stairs and check in with Yasmina. She agrees to have a driver pick me up at 3pm and offers me her umbrella for the day. She is very nice, but I decline the umbrella.
My plan was to take a cab to Fusterlandia, an outdoor art installation and then to Cementerio de Colin. When I step outside the streets are totally empty and all of the gutters are flooding. Change of plans.
I jog between overhangs to Plaza Catedral and pick the fanciest restaurant I can find. I am the only one there, so I take the best table. The restaurant is beautiful. The ceilings are high and everything is made of marble, even parts of the chair. An extremely formal waiter approaches to take my order. I decide to order a beer and two appetizers. I know it’s unconventional but I can not eat anymore pork and rice. I order seafood stew and a side of mushrooms. The waiter looks confused, but I stand my ground.
I use our remaining wifi minutes to check in with a few people. At one point I try to log into my work email a few times, but my access is denied (later I’ll find out that I triggered a security event, which interrupted Saturday plans for at least 2 IT workers).
My food takes a while, so I end up ordering another beer. The waiter tells me that the beer is strong and I tell him that it’s okay, I am strong too. For a guy with one customer, he’s pretty judgmental.
Eventually my food arrives. It turns out that my side of mushrooms is actually a creamy soup. Now I have two very large bowls of soup in front of me. Luckily, I am drunk enough to not care. I take my time working through my food. I eat every bite and feel strongly this is the best meal of the trip.
After lunch I still have an hour and half to kill. The rain continues.
I dash from overhang to overhang around the square and land at the Museo Nacional de Historia Natural. I pay 1 CUC to enter and am immediately charmed. The bottom half is mix of information panels explaining how the earth was made and representing each of the main different geological periods. The top half is full of random taxidermy and nearly one fourth of the space is dedicated to the cockroaches of Cuba. All of the information cards are in Spanish, so I spend some time attempting to read them. I amuse myself by making up translations for some of the words I don’t know.
After the museum, I have time for quick cup of coffee. I duck into a charming, little cafeteria and order a cup of black coffee. A Canadian couple sits a table near me and I can hear them trying to figure out their agenda for the next few days.
As soon I arrive back at Yasmina's, my driver arrives 10 minutes early. He leads me to his awesome, vintage Ford; the engine is so loud that we can not talk. I am relieved to sit silently. At one point he yells over the engine that I will be leaving from Terminal 2 and I yell back that it’s Terminal 3. He feels strongly that it’s Terminal 2, but eventually agrees to take me to 3.
I arrive so early that the check in booth is not even open yet. After waiting for 30 minutes, I get through check in and security and have plenty of time at the gate. I order a few mini sandwiches and another beer. I spend my time reading and making laps through the duty free shop.
My plane boards on time and the trip back to LAX is smooth.
When I approach the customs officer I am feeling nervous. I was grandfathered into the People to People general travel license, but it no longer exists as of last month. I am legal, but I really do not want to explain myself. The officer views my passport and says “You’re coming from Mexico”. I think this is a trick and immediately correct him. “No, Cuba”. He lets out a small groan. After a long pause, he replies “okay, have a nice day”. This is not the first time that my compulsive honesty has annoyed customs officials.
When I approach the customs officer I am feeling nervous. I was grandfathered into the People to People general travel license, but it no longer exists as of last month. I am legal, but I really do not want to explain myself. The officer views my passport and says “You’re coming from Mexico”. I think this is a trick and immediately correct him. “No, Cuba”. He lets out a small groan. After a long pause, he replies “okay, have a nice day”. This is not the first time that my compulsive honesty has annoyed customs officials.
I easily grab my bag and make it through the last checkpoint into LA. I am feeling very accomplished and also glad to be home.
