Phone alarm goes off violently. Mario, our casita owner, knocks softly on our side door, the aroma of Cuban coffee densely fills the air…time to pack our belongings and head for the airport.
We were moving in fifth gear as we needed to get to the airport three hours prior to departure. I was nervous! I was afraid of any glitch compromising our exit. We hurried into the familiar ‘55 Chevy. Luis drove, Mimita rode shotgun, and the girls and I settled in the backseat.
Traffic was good and a light sprinkle dusted the front window. I marveled at the Soviet and Colonial buildings on our route. Luis dropped us at departure and we scurried to check-in. The line was long! We inched our way forward ever so slowly.
Suddenly, Luis magically appeared and ushered us straight to the front of the line. I was slightly embarrassed but all the grateful for his remaining connections at the airport. Luis was the director of the Havana Airport for many years, only to have retired a couple of years ago. His authority within the chaos calmed me.
With bags effortlessly checked, off to customs and immigration we walked, closely together…but not without one last café Luis brought in his thermos. We stepped aside and enjoyed one last moment.
Hugs and besitos exchanged…the three of us filed into line. I maintained my composure in front of my girls but inside I was anxious. Long before I ever planned this homage I always worried I would not be allowed to leave Cuba. Don’t get me wrong, I had a plan in place should this happen, but prayed it would not need to be executed.
My eldest was at the front of the line now. No issues…she walked through the gate. My youngest was next, I thought it was best to sandwich her between us. Again no problem…she was waved through the gates.
My turn! I stepped forward and presented the female immigration officer seated behind a tall counter with my American passport and Cuban Visa. “Remove your glasses and look in the camera” she announced in Spanish. I quickly complied. She kept alternately glancing at her computer screen and me as if watching an intense tennis match. I was starting to worry.
Both of my girls were waiting on the other side of the gate. She ordered me to step back to the marked line. I started to perspire. I looked back to Luis and shrugged my shoulders. He must have seen the desperation in my eyes as he effortlessly scurried underneath the maze of ropes and was standing by my side almost immediately.
I whispered to him what transpired and faster than you can shake a lamb’s tail he summoned an airport official. I don’t know what he said but I was called back to the desk and waved through! A big thank you, one more hug with Luis, and past the gate I walked.
After we were safely through customs and patiently waiting for our flight did I ask my girls if they knew what happened. They informed me that my picture on the computer screen was bordered in red…not green. I did not find out the reason for the red until I was back in the safety of the United States and emailed with Mimita. Apparently, the address I used on my Visa for my residence while in Cuba and my actual address differed by one number! “Holy Bat Trap Batman!”
And just like that, I was once again 90 Miles and a world away.
Until next time…
· izzy
For 50 years I eagerly listened to stories about Cuba from my parents, family, family friends, and even strangers. With the passing of my Papi and my Mami I began to long for the connection we shared with our birth-land. After months of planning, myself along with my two daughters and a close friend traveled approximately 93 miles south of Key West to the Pearl of the Antilles.
We arrived to Cuba as a party of four…but we felt like a party of five as we carried a backpack with us always. The backpack became known as la Mochila and Mimita affectionately nicknamed it “la 70 kilo mochila”. Each morning I packed la Mochila for the day ahead.
Early morning wakeup call! We were chomping at the bit for our road trip to Viñales. The four of us walked to Mimita’s home where we were once again greeted with café. Today Mimita would stay home to care for her mother and Luis would drive and accompany us on our first road trip in Cuba.
I awoke in my bed to the familiar humming of my room air-conditioner. What time is it? There was not a clock in my room and our cell phones slept in la Mochila. Who else is awake? What are we going to do with our day? It was a leisurely morning for all of us. Because of our limited Wi-Fi access, weather was determined by opening the wood shuttered doors to our balcony. The day was a overcast. It felt right, like a comforting blanket, we were assimilating to Cuba.
Up at eight bells!
No time for our customary trip to el mercado. We need to pack our overnight bags. We are taking a road trip to Varadero Beach.
We returned to the open air establishment for café and pictures on the beach. The wind had settled, the surf had calmed, and the red flag had been removed allowing bathers to venture into the pristine water.
Time to hit the road.
We awoke to a leisurely morning…my favorite kind of morning.
We arrived at Mimita’s where she had a stack of photo albums for us to enjoy. The pictures in the albums made me melancholy. Mimita’s albums contained many pictures I had never seen. My parents only had a few pictures of Cuba in their possession.
Good morning Cuba!
The girls and I started the day with our usual stop at our mercado for fritas. Then, we continued to Mimita’s house where we were greeted with our usual café and a surprise treat of malanga fritas. We had developed new traditions.
Our last day in Cuba! How did time escape me? We had tasks to accomplish this morning.
We walked a few torn-up streets to Hotel Nacional to exchange a little more Euros for CUCs, and to purchase our Cuban cigars. Our research was unwavering in that if we wanted “authentic Cuban cigars” we needed to purchase them only at hotels or the airport.
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