There is no way in which to reader's digest this next part of my story, and yes, I did just make reader's digest a verb. So get really comfortable before you read this. I mean, throw on your favorite slippers and grab a cup of coffee. Get your game face ON. Is it on? Make your game face at the computer! Come on, no one is looking. Or are they?!
I awoke multiple times during my first night abroad, mostly due to insanely loud animal sounds, some of which may have actually been people. Eventually I threw in the towel on the concept of sleep, went for a brief run and then ate breakfast on the beach. Afterwards, Joel went off to get a massage and I fell asleep in the sun in the sand. Yes, I got burned with weird tan lines so now I look like a splotchy lobster. Big whoop, wanna fight about it?
Soon after, I headed to the airport and Joel to Tulum. I assumed we had parted ways forever. I gave him one of the "last looks" that I've given to so many over the years.
So, I mentioned in the last blog that part of my journey included an upgrade to first class (it was a side note in parentheses- if you are skipping my parentheses notes stop doing that. Although if you still are, you won't see this plea to stop). So herein lies that part of the story- my first class flights with Avianca to Cuba via Colombia. First class is pretty great, except when it's your first time in first class and you look like a total Buffon for not knowing that the TV is hidden in the armrest and that you have to open the armrest, push down on the TV, pull it up, turn it slightly to the left and then do the hokey pokey to get it to the right place. At least I wasn't alone in my confusion; it was clearly my seat neighbor's first time in first class too.
Right when I sat down the flight attendant asked me if I wanted some champagne or orange juice. I felt all cool asking for champagne, and then felt like an alcoholic because all of my other first class comrades got OJ. Oh well. I watched Snowden, and it was seriously awesome. That had always been a movie that I've told myself to see over and over and then never got around to actually doing. I'm glad I finally ran out of excuses and watched it.
I landed in Colombia rather late, so I just asked the cab driver to take me somewhere close. He seemed like a nice dude but I was a little creeped out when he kept calling me his queen. So another nice night's sleep, and I awoke at the butt crack of dawn for my flight to Cuba.
Right about now is when my problems really start.
Let me back track a moment, because without background info I will sound like an idiot in later parts of this story. So, I knew months in advance that I would need a tourist visa to travel to Cuba. I tried to obtain one in the States and never heard back from the Cuban embassy. I finally found out via my airline that you just buy them at airplane ticket counters. I tried to buy one in Mexico without luck, as they just told me to get it in Colombia. At my gate for my flight to Havana, they were selling the tourist visas for cash only and I felt hesitant to use any of my remaining cash, but had no other choice. I went to a Colombian ATM and couldn't get my cards to work before it was time to board.
The reason I didn't have a complete meltdown freak out right then and there over not bringing enough cash with me to the airport was that I had read in multiple reputable sources including my Lonely Planet guidebook to Cuba that all American debit and credit cards work at the ATMS in Cuba. You can probably see where this is going, and it's not somewhere good.
So I boarded the plane (little did I know it was the plane to hell) and enjoyed first class service again to Havana. I remember how jittery with excitement I felt when I arrived in Cuba. I felt like a little kid. I peered out the window our entire descent and marveled at how tiny the airport was. We didn't have a gate, so we descended a flight of stairs to the tarmac and followed some airport employee inside. I knew going to Cuba would feel like going back in time, and it really was.
Immigration was a breeze, but of course my checked bag was lost in transit (I guess I shouldn't be saying "of course" yet- it was far too early in the trip for me to start expecting things to go wrong. That time will come further into my series). Unfortunately for me, that meant the loss of a bit more cash as I had left some in a coat pocket and forgot and packed it. I was about to find out just how desperately I needed that cash.
I figured out my lost checked bag situation with the lost checked bag situation people and then moved on.
I had also read online and in reputable sources that Verizon works in Cuba, though the service is still a bit spotty. However, even with roaming on and all those lovely expensive options for getting service abroad enabled, I still kept getting the words "no service" at the top left corner of my screen.
This presented a problem in that the people at the home where I was planning to stay told me to contact them once I arrived and they could come get me (another reason I hadn't worried much about getting cash- I wouldn't need to fret over paying for transportation). Alas, without internet for email and without a working cell, I had no idea how I was supposed to contact them. Because the country has remained unchanged for so many decades, there are still heaps of phone booths in existence. There were no instructions on the booths; just the phones themselves with a slot to insert your credit card. Cash wasn't an option, and my cards weren't working. Great.
It was about that time when I figured I should probably hit up an ATM and get some cash. I approached the first of many cajeros automáticos and inserted my debit card. I entered the pin and selected my withdrawal amount. A message began blinking on the screen. My transaction had been denied. I tried again with a different pin. Same message. I then tried all three cards, each of which with every single possible pin I would use. No luck. I then went to the ATM right next to it. Same situation.
Anxiety began to swell within me, and I decided to go downstairs to see if by some magic my host family was waiting for me. They weren't. I was being hassled left and right by cab drivers, and finally I snapped at one and said I didn't have cash. He pointed at another cajero automático and told me to try it. I did, once again, with no luck no matter what card/pin combo I used. I told the cab driver who was anxiously waiting that it didn't work. He gave me the first of many "looks" that I was to receive in Cuba.
The "look" that I am talking about is very specific. It's the look that says "man, I really want to look like I care about your plight, but I don't want to actually put in the effort to pretend I care, and you are pathetic, and your sad little problems just don't matter to me." The "look" is usually accompanied by a shrug or the cocking of one's head to the side. You can also imagine the looker saying something like "bless your heart" sarcastically or "I wish I could help you but..."
So the cab driver gave me the "look" and walked away to pester someone else. Things were starting to look grim for me. I asked two people at two different information booths if they would let me use their phone to make a local call. What did I get in response? You got it, the "look." Around this time, I was fed up. I decided I needed to get out of there immediately, to somewhere where I could figure out the rest of my trip.
I glanced at the upcoming flights and noticed that there was one in two hours to Cancun. I knew Joel was there, and I knew it was a short flight, so I decided that would be best. I was in no way ready to throw in the towel on my entire trip and head back to the US. I hustled over to the Interjet counter and asked if there was space on the flight. "Of course," said the agent, "it will be $150." Instinctively, I handed him my credit card. I got the "look" as the agent responded that it was cash only. I laid my head on the counter and asked if he was serious. "Bienvenidos a la planeta Cuba" was all he said.
He was right. It was a planet. And on it, I was completely alone.
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