acubanadventure

A CUBAN ADVENTURE

(Continued)

Prior to leaving home, actually a couple of months prior, I checked the Internet for cheap rooms in Havana. The search turned up hotels as expected, nothing cheap there, and a house called Casa Blanca. Had a web page and email address for reservations. Pictures of the house, rooms, patio for writing and studying. I was pleased especially with the cost of a room for a night, $20. I emailed Jorge and his Mom and told them when I probably would be coming. He wrote back and said if he was full he could find a room in a friends house very nearby. So, I figured I was set as much as I could be without more concrete contacts in Cuba.

John Smoller and I enjoyed a great week of eating and drinking from Oct 3 to Oct 10, when he left to return to work to make money for the next planned journey to Austria for skiing and drinking. John left on Saturday the 10th. I spent the night in a hotel in Cancun getting ready for leaving the next day.

I was third in line for Aero Cubano the next morning. Wasn't sure how long the procedures of getting through Mexican immigration were going to take and what the heck, I had time to stand in line if it meant lessening the chances of problems. AT this point there were no Americans evident. A group of four very young and cute girls from South America and some other folks with very large shrink-wrapped boxes. Once past the ticket line and immigration I had another hour or so and mostly wanted to find the gate and sit and read and collect my thoughts. Everything from here on was unknown and I was trying to be open to the experience.

At the gate the seats began filling up until it appeared that there were more passengers than plane seats. Just so happened that another airline shared the gate, the one that used non-Russian planes. Did not hear any English being spoken. Sat and watched people and listened trying to increase my Spanish vocabulary. A couple of people caught my eye, one of them a very dark man with an incredibly deep voice. Fluent Spanish. The flight was announced and we got ready to leave the gate area for a bus ride to the plane.

The tail of the plane was dropped and that is how we loaded. Walked up a ramp with stairs in it. I had a preassigned seat, found it and got a laugh at the buckle. I started noticing that everything looked sort of like a regular airplane but was not quite what I was used to on what we consider normal planes. There was a sort of fog that looked like smoke coming out from around our feet. No smell so I assumed it was just moisture. We were in a humid climate and with the air systems I expected some fog I guess. Some of the other people, the four young girls for instance, jumped up and asked if everything was ok. Without smelling anything they instantly thought it was smoke and were ready to leave the area.

Who should sit by me but the gentleman I had observed in the waiting area. He spoke English so we talked the entire trip to Havana. Living in Miami, working for the Broward County Human Services Department, Bureau of Children and Family Services Refugee Services Lazaro Franco was his name. Educated, informed, interesting, full of questions and answers, we got along very well since I was alone and lonely and also had many questions about where we were going and what it was going to be like. He was in Mexico and had the opportunity to go to Cuba with friends who were from there and had connections and would watch out for him while he was there and sort of guide him around. The flight was an hour so we talked about many things and learned much about each other. His friends were more casual acquaintances and the arrangements they were promising him were nothing definite, so he asked me where I was staying, figuring a hotel like most of the tourists. I told him about the find on the Internet, Casa Blanca, and gave him the phone number and address in case he found himself looking for a place to stay.

During the flight, attendants went the length of the plane with a cart with liquor and chocolate and American cigarettes, all to buy to take into Cuba some of the small item we take for granted in our day-to-day lives. As I found out later during my stay, the Cubans also have severe shortages of lots of things including aspirin. Prescription drugs are almost nonexistent.

After arriving in Havana and disembarking, Lazaro and I sort of stayed together right up to the luggage area and the customs inspection area directly after the luggage retrieval. As I was standing there waiting for my bag to come around, I started up a conversation with a guy who spoke great English. Where I had one large duffel bag and my backpack, he had a couple of large carryon sized bags, a couple more very large almost oversized box type bags, then another one or two slung over his shoulder. He looked at my bag and asked if I had more. No, I replied. Would I carry one through customs for him since they were going to charge him a fee for each extra piece, especially the larger ones? I hesitated, realizing that to do so would put me a position of possible danger if I did so and they checked the bag and there was a problem with it. I made one of those snap decisions and said yes. It was red and looked like my large duffel, also red. I put them both on a cart and walked up to the customs inspectors, declared nothing, and was let through. He was sent to a window where he paid for the other pieces, then joined me on the other side, basically free of the process and free to go, as we had entered Cuba then.

He had friends waiting with a car and told me not to worry and just to follow him and he would give me a ride anywhere I was going. I was on edge being in Cuba by myself, not knowing what to expect, with all of the strangeness and newness of the situation all around me. I followed him and avoided the cabs that tried to charge $20 for a $10 ride to downtown Havana. His friends were nice, spoke no English, and drove a mostly running 1955 Chevy four door. What a sight that was. He asked me if I wanted to go directly to my destination, and trying to be polite I hesitated again so instead we went to his apartment. On the way they stopped at what looked like a tenement, my newfound friend and I were in the back seat so I saw the dealings that went on. He handed money over and they went into one of the apartments and returned with mango juice and bottled water. On we went to his apt, which was on the fourth floor, and we carried all the luggage up, including mine, about a 55-pound bag. They would not let me carry anything. I was a guest. I later thought about all this and decided that because I was an American and because I readily carried the bag through customs, they treated me like an out of town friend and wanted to show me their hospitality.

I learned lots through listening to them talk and discovered that he was the son of a senator in Columbia I believe. He visited his friends in Cuba often, bringing gifts (which I actually believe they sell because of the general lack of everything in Cuba), and he pays for the apt and the car. Car ownership is rare since cars are rare and the ability to fix them and buy parts is difficult. Money is the scarcest resource of all in Cuba.

We stayed in the apt for about an hour as he unpacked the goodies and showed them to the two friends. Soon, they tried to call the house where I was to stay but the phones did not work too well. The driver and I went down, after receiving instructions from the friend not to take any money from me, got in the car and he proceeded to take me across town to Vedado, or the new part of Havana, and actually found the address and the right house. I did have my doubts since I kept looking for street signs and saw none. I could not figure out how he was navigating and finding streets. Later I learned that the signs are blocks of stone about a foot high on each corner, often obscured by grass or trash.

I thanked him for the ride and managed to get a picture of him standing by his car before he drove away.

I ring the bell at the locked eight-foot tall gate and out comes Mercedes who is about 76 years old. She and her son Jorge live here and rent rooms to tourists. He is also a computer expert who sometimes works for the government. She speaks good enough English to talk to me so we go in and wait for her son who is out on an errand. When he returns he tells me that his rooms are all rented but that he has a friend around the corner about two blocks away who also rents rooms. Off we go, sharing the carrying of the duffel. The friend's place is nice. A full three bedroom two bath house behind a locked gate, with kitchen and sitting room. Behind it is his house where he lives with his wife and child and mother. It is under construction and he is doing it all himself, a small piece at a time. They are very nice, the place is nice, the neighborhood is nice the rooms are $35 a night. More than the $20 at Jorge's but little enough compared to what the tourists are paying at the hotels. I checked those prices on the Internet and saw $80 to $150 per night.

I am only going to be here for three nights so I take it because it is a safe place (I think) and I am here and would not really have an idea about how to find any other housing. There is the kitchen so I can fix food if I can find a place to buy groceries. I travel with my own coffee since I have learned early on that lots of places do not have good coffee and even if they do, it is more convenient for my habit of having a cup first thing in the morning if I can make my own. So I carry an electric teapot, one cup melita with a cloth filter, usually buy a very large mug for the collection wherever I go and am set for the morning routine.

I settle in then go back to Jorge's to talk to him and his mother. I learn most of what I get to know about Cuba from him and his mother. The place where I am staying, we sort of speak to each other, but I always walk away wondering if we were talking about the same thing. I do that with the people I see day to day, but at least I know we were connecting. Jorge and his Mom, the family, had many houses and plantation land prior to the Castro takeover. The house I visited them in was the only one they were allowed to keep. You can imagine that they had a lot to say. They also must be careful because they are fairly captive there and there does not really seem to be any place to run to. They tell me I can have breakfast with them so I immediately say yes, for as many days as I am there if possible. It is a good thing they offered because I did not find food often, either to be cooked as in what might pass for the equivalent grocery store, or cafes or restaurants. I stayed in a neighborhood and did not see another American or European the entire time. The only people I saw and talked to were three Americans who came down from Miami nine times in '98. Stayed in the same place, Casa Blanca, got the same cab driver, knew where to get lobster and other items that the Cubans never ever see and it is illegal for them to even buy it if they could find it.

I did not hang out there but when I did stop by about three times, I stayed and talked for at least a couple of hours each time. When not there I would sit in front of the house where I was staying, propped my feet up, smoked a Cuban cigar and read a book, or walked and walked for miles around in the neighbor hood and down town sort of. I knew I would return to Cuba, so this time I just wanted to be around the people and watch how they lived. What they did and how they got there. Three days was not too much of an overload but coming from seven days of drinking and eating with John Smoller and hanging out in the sun by the pool smeared with oil and sliding five or six drinks down at a sitting, Cuba definitely got my attention. I know we have all read about other countries and their governments, but being there sure does get you up close and personal with the facts. I will return there and now know how I want to experience Cuba. I did not fear for my life, but there was this unsettled sort of feeling hanging around like a fog. They need the tourist dollar so badly that I am sure you can get away with a lot, but still and all . .

Found this little cafeteria where they offered a fairly solid menu; pizza with cheese, onion, or ham, and a small sandwich. Fruit and soft drinks and sugar water I think. I was dazzled with the variety on the menu so went all out and ordered a mango juice and the pizza with cheese and onion. NICE TRY. Not once when I went in this cafeteria, which was the only one I found in three days, not once did they have anything but the cheese pizza. They also had ham sandwiches, sometimes. The juice was great and I would get several. Oh yeah, the pizza was $1.50 American and wasn't all that bad. Nothing costs much, at least where the people buy, because the maximum salary that can be earned in Cuba, everyone works for the government, the max is $30 a month. Doctor, lawyer, computer expert, no one makes more than that unless they drive the taxis or sell on the black market. Everyone tires to sell you a box of cigars for $40, usually Cohiba Esplendidos, usually about $350 a box in Cuba where you buy them and know they are real, can be had for about $1200 a box in the US, maybe, might even be the real thing. Most likely not. Lots of counterfeit out there. Lots of people buying cigars that just plain do not know what they are buying so they can be sold just about anything. I actually bought a couple of boxes in Cuba, to have to smoke while I was there, and for the remaining time I had in Mexico when I left Cuba. They were supposed to be $300 or $400 a box and I could have them for $40. I knew they were not going to be the real thing, but here I was in Cuba and could get a couple of boxes of cigars cheap and I had nothing to do but smoke and drink and eat and just watch the people go by. The women in Cuba are outstanding. Beautiful browned skinned women. I was stunned. I did not even think about women in my approach to seeing Cuba. Mostly as the time approached for me to go to Cancun then on to Cuba, I was apprehensive because there was so much I did not know. I was not sure that the US government wouldn't find out and get in my face about it. I really resist being told I cannot go there, or anywhere for that matter. I was particularly concerned about how the Cuban government treated American citizens. I had lots to think about and was almost comatose from trying to keep up with Smoller. Just kidding. Slurred speech at 10am in not a realistic indicator that you might have had too much to drink. So anyway, sitting with a cigar and watching 30 40 women pass in an hour conspired to relax me.

The people of Cuba do not smile much, not that I could see, and they might even have a different way of showing their happiness, (overall the lack of food, money, freedom, transportation, work, reward for work, ability to achieve and build). So much that we take for granted. Aspirin. Sugar. Coffee. Thirty dollars a month is not a whole lot, and most of them are not top end professionals and don't make that sort of big dollar, or pesata as it is known there. There is a lot you can get there with US currency, places that won't take Cuban money. How funny that the most sought after money there is the dollar. Castro must just hate that.

Lots of motorcycles, at least one in five has a sidecar. Many more bicycles, a few cars, lots of vintage '54 '55 Chevys, Desotos, almost all used as taxis. Whole families on a bicycle. Russian cars. Russian motorcycles. American clothes. I had a guy on the street come up and try to buy my Tevas by saying, "I need for you to give me your shoes, yes!". Sorry, NO. There are doctors driving taxicabs because they make more. For $20 you could have a taxi of your very own for the day. Lots of things you could get for $20.

Jorge arranged for a neighbor who drove cab to pick me up for a ride to the airport. It is about 30 miles away I think and you get to see lots of Havana and surrounding area. I was at the airport 2 hours early, hoping for the best and wondering just how their scheduling held up. The flight was delayed, no reason, for a couple of hours. I had the time. Went through immigration. There is this wall with booths with buzz doors at the outgoing end, and you go into a captured space and talk to someone behind a glass window. Little slit at the bottom so you tend to lean over to talk to them. This guy tells me he is going to do me a favor and not stamp my passport, but he wants me to do him a favor. I think to myself, oh great, oral sex on a concert floor. Not really. I played dumb just to see what he would do to try to get the idea across to me. He merely repeated himself, word for word, so I reached for my wallet. He made sushing sounds and made like I should be very discreet. Like I am the one who would get in deep shit. I thought he was asking for money officer. Anyway, if I had had a $5 I would have been happy to offer that to see if that would be enough. Unfortunately all I had was a couple of ones and twenties. BUMMER. Adios $20. He smiled and stamped the Cuban Visa that was issued in Cancun for $35, part of the $190 for ticket and visa.

I was hanging out, checking out the Duty Free stores on the other side where they had tons of Cuban cigars and for good prices too. Best place to buy them, unless you want to smoke during the stay. I would love to go and buy a box of Esplendidos and stay for a week. Rum, cigars, black market lobster, and an 18 year old brown skinned woman KICKSTARTMEJESUS I'm not kidding. I am actually getting a select group together to make the trip this year.

So, with the cigar thing, I find out that you can take out 1000 Cuban cigars without the government of Cuba charging an export thingie. Going into Mexico, they allow you to enter with one box, the others they hold at the airport, issue you a receipt, and when you leave Mexico you present the receipt at the office where they are holding the cigars and they arrange to deliver them to the gate to you as you leave. No chance of bringing in cigars to Mexico for resale without the requisite import duty. The citizens of Cuba and Mexico and probably most of the countries in the world will do anything to supplement their income. I think of this each time I go to Mexico. Our poorest person, the guys who stand at the traffic lights and at the entrances to the shopping centers with the signs saying they are Veterans, unemployed, homeless, broke, God Bless thank you for anything, will work for food, these guys are rich with their several dollars a day income from handouts compared to the legitimate workers in other countries. When I first went to Cancun and stayed in the building that I eventually bought a timeshare in, I watched these workers haul concrete in wheelbarrows, across planking that was thirty feet off the ground, batch by batch to the block layers, all for $1.50 per day. I know because I asked. Then, at the end of the day, these same guys walked across the road to the jungle around a lagoon, started a fire and fixed their dinner of tortillas and rice and beans, and slept there, often without cover, usually on cardboard (the lucky ones). In the ensuing years I have asked about wages and some of the workers are now up to $3.00 a day. These are usually 12 hour days, sometimes backbreaking labor, no benefits, you break a leg and they shoot you, no job security, and I am sure they are sending money home to the families since most of the workers in the timeshare building industry come from other areas of the country when they hear of work.










		A CUBAN ADVENTURE (Continued) Prior to leaving home, actually a couple of months prior, I checked the Internet for cheap rooms in Havana. The search turned up hotels as expected, nothing cheap there, and a house called Casa Blanca. Had a web page and email address for reservations. Pictures of the house, rooms, patio for writing and studying. I was pleased especially with the cost of a room for a night, $20. I emailed Jorge and his Mom and told them when I probably would be coming. He wrote back and said if he was full he could find a room in a friends house very nearby. So, I figured I was set as much as I could be without more concrete contacts in Cuba. John Smoller and I enjoyed a great week of eating and drinking from Oct 3 to Oct 10, when he left to return to work to make money for the next planned journey to Austria for skiing and drinking. John left on Saturday the 10th. I spent the night in a hotel in Cancun getting ready for leaving the next day. I was third in line for Aero Cubano the next morning. Wasn't sure how long the procedures of getting through Mexican immigration were going to take and what the heck, I had time to stand in line if it meant lessening the chances of problems. AT this point there were no Americans evident. A group of four very young and cute girls from South America and some other folks with very large shrink-wrapped boxes. Once past the ticket line and immigration I had another hour or so and mostly wanted to find the gate and sit and read and collect my thoughts. Everything from here on was unknown and I was trying to be open to the experience. At the gate the seats began filling up until it appeared that there were more passengers than plane seats. Just so happened that another airline shared the gate, the one that used non-Russian planes. Did not hear any English being spoken. Sat and watched people and listened trying to increase my Spanish vocabulary. A couple of people caught my eye, one of them a very dark man with an incredibly deep voice. Fluent Spanish. The flight was announced and we got ready to leave the gate area for a bus ride to the plane. The tail of the plane was dropped and that is how we loaded. Walked up a ramp with stairs in it. I had a preassigned seat, found it and got a laugh at the buckle. I started noticing that everything looked sort of like a regular airplane but was not quite what I was used to on what we consider normal planes. There was a sort of fog that looked like smoke coming out from around our feet. No smell so I assumed it was just moisture. We were in a humid climate and with the air systems I expected some fog I guess. Some of the other people, the four young girls for instance, jumped up and asked if everything was ok. Without smelling anything they instantly thought it was smoke and were ready to leave the area. Who should sit by me but the gentleman I had observed in the waiting area. He spoke English so we talked the entire trip to Havana. Living in Miami, working for the Broward County Human Services Department, Bureau of Children and Family Services Refugee Services Lazaro Franco was his name. Educated, informed, interesting, full of questions and answers, we got along very well since I was alone and lonely and also had many questions about where we were going and what it was going to be like. He was in Mexico and had the opportunity to go to Cuba with friends who were from there and had connections and would watch out for him while he was there and sort of guide him around. The flight was an hour so we talked about many things and learned much about each other. His friends were more casual acquaintances and the arrangements they were promising him were nothing definite, so he asked me where I was staying, figuring a hotel like most of the tourists. I told him about the find on the Internet, Casa Blanca, and gave him the phone number and address in case he found himself looking for a place to stay. During the flight, attendants went the length of the plane with a cart with liquor and chocolate and American cigarettes, all to buy to take into Cuba some of the small item we take for granted in our day-to-day lives. As I found out later during my stay, the Cubans also have severe shortages of lots of things including aspirin. Prescription drugs are almost nonexistent. After arriving in Havana and disembarking, Lazaro and I sort of stayed together right up to the luggage area and the customs inspection area directly after the luggage retrieval. As I was standing there waiting for my bag to come around, I started up a conversation with a guy who spoke great English. Where I had one large duffel bag and my backpack, he had a couple of large carryon sized bags, a couple more very large almost oversized box type bags, then another one or two slung over his shoulder. He looked at my bag and asked if I had more. No, I replied. Would I carry one through customs for him since they were going to charge him a fee for each extra piece, especially the larger ones? I hesitated, realizing that to do so would put me a position of possible danger if I did so and they checked the bag and there was a problem with it. I made one of those snap decisions and said yes. It was red and looked like my large duffel, also red. I put them both on a cart and walked up to the customs inspectors, declared nothing, and was let through. He was sent to a window where he paid for the other pieces, then joined me on the other side, basically free of the process and free to go, as we had entered Cuba then. He had friends waiting with a car and told me not to worry and just to follow him and he would give me a ride anywhere I was going. I was on edge being in Cuba by myself, not knowing what to expect, with all of the strangeness and newness of the situation all around me. I followed him and avoided the cabs that tried to charge $20 for a $10 ride to downtown Havana. His friends were nice, spoke no English, and drove a mostly running 1955 Chevy four door. What a sight that was. He asked me if I wanted to go directly to my destination, and trying to be polite I hesitated again so instead we went to his apartment. On the way they stopped at what looked like a tenement, my newfound friend and I were in the back seat so I saw the dealings that went on. He handed money over and they went into one of the apartments and returned with mango juice and bottled water. On we went to his apt, which was on the fourth floor, and we carried all the luggage up, including mine, about a 55-pound bag. They would not let me carry anything. I was a guest. I later thought about all this and decided that because I was an American and because I readily carried the bag through customs, they treated me like an out of town friend and wanted to show me their hospitality. I learned lots through listening to them talk and discovered that he was the son of a senator in Columbia I believe. He visited his friends in Cuba often, bringing gifts (which I actually believe they sell because of the general lack of everything in Cuba), and he pays for the apt and the car. Car ownership is rare since cars are rare and the ability to fix them and buy parts is difficult. Money is the scarcest resource of all in Cuba. We stayed in the apt for about an hour as he unpacked the goodies and showed them to the two friends. Soon, they tried to call the house where I was to stay but the phones did not work too well. The driver and I went down, after receiving instructions from the friend not to take any money from me, got in the car and he proceeded to take me across town to Vedado, or the new part of Havana, and actually found the address and the right house. I did have my doubts since I kept looking for street signs and saw none. I could not figure out how he was navigating and finding streets. Later I learned that the signs are blocks of stone about a foot high on each corner, often obscured by grass or trash. I thanked him for the ride and managed to get a picture of him standing by his car before he drove away. I ring the bell at the locked eight-foot tall gate and out comes Mercedes who is about 76 years old. She and her son Jorge live here and rent rooms to tourists. He is also a computer expert who sometimes works for the government. She speaks good enough English to talk to me so we go in and wait for her son who is out on an errand. When he returns he tells me that his rooms are all rented but that he has a friend around the corner about two blocks away who also rents rooms. Off we go, sharing the carrying of the duffel. The friend's place is nice. A full three bedroom two bath house behind a locked gate, with kitchen and sitting room. Behind it is his house where he lives with his wife and child and mother. It is under construction and he is doing it all himself, a small piece at a time. They are very nice, the place is nice, the neighborhood is nice the rooms are $35 a night. More than the $20 at Jorge's but little enough compared to what the tourists are paying at the hotels. I checked those prices on the Internet and saw $80 to $150 per night. I am only going to be here for three nights so I take it because it is a safe place (I think) and I am here and would not really have an idea about how to find any other housing. There is the kitchen so I can fix food if I can find a place to buy groceries. I travel with my own coffee since I have learned early on that lots of places do not have good coffee and even if they do, it is more convenient for my habit of having a cup first thing in the morning if I can make my own. So I carry an electric teapot, one cup melita with a cloth filter, usually buy a very large mug for the collection wherever I go and am set for the morning routine. I settle in then go back to Jorge's to talk to him and his mother. I learn most of what I get to know about Cuba from him and his mother. The place where I am staying, we sort of speak to each other, but I always walk away wondering if we were talking about the same thing. I do that with the people I see day to day, but at least I know we were connecting. Jorge and his Mom, the family, had many houses and plantation land prior to the Castro takeover. The house I visited them in was the only one they were allowed to keep. You can imagine that they had a lot to say. They also must be careful because they are fairly captive there and there does not really seem to be any place to run to. They tell me I can have breakfast with them so I immediately say yes, for as many days as I am there if possible. It is a good thing they offered because I did not find food often, either to be cooked as in what might pass for the equivalent grocery store, or cafes or restaurants. I stayed in a neighborhood and did not see another American or European the entire time. The only people I saw and talked to were three Americans who came down from Miami nine times in '98. Stayed in the same place, Casa Blanca, got the same cab driver, knew where to get lobster and other items that the Cubans never ever see and it is illegal for them to even buy it if they could find it. I did not hang out there but when I did stop by about three times, I stayed and talked for at least a couple of hours each time. When not there I would sit in front of the house where I was staying, propped my feet up, smoked a Cuban cigar and read a book, or walked and walked for miles around in the neighbor hood and down town sort of. I knew I would return to Cuba, so this time I just wanted to be around the people and watch how they lived. What they did and how they got there. Three days was not too much of an overload but coming from seven days of drinking and eating with John Smoller and hanging out in the sun by the pool smeared with oil and sliding five or six drinks down at a sitting, Cuba definitely got my attention. I know we have all read about other countries and their governments, but being there sure does get you up close and personal with the facts. I will return there and now know how I want to experience Cuba. I did not fear for my life, but there was this unsettled sort of feeling hanging around like a fog. They need the tourist dollar so badly that I am sure you can get away with a lot, but still and all . . Found this little cafeteria where they offered a fairly solid menu; pizza with cheese, onion, or ham, and a small sandwich. Fruit and soft drinks and sugar water I think. I was dazzled with the variety on the menu so went all out and ordered a mango juice and the pizza with cheese and onion. NICE TRY. Not once when I went in this cafeteria, which was the only one I found in three days, not once did they have anything but the cheese pizza. They also had ham sandwiches, sometimes. The juice was great and I would get several. Oh yeah, the pizza was $1.50 American and wasn't all that bad. Nothing costs much, at least where the people buy, because the maximum salary that can be earned in Cuba, everyone works for the government, the max is $30 a month. Doctor, lawyer, computer expert, no one makes more than that unless they drive the taxis or sell on the black market. Everyone tires to sell you a box of cigars for $40, usually Cohiba Esplendidos, usually about $350 a box in Cuba where you buy them and know they are real, can be had for about $1200 a box in the US, maybe, might even be the real thing. Most likely not. Lots of counterfeit out there. Lots of people buying cigars that just plain do not know what they are buying so they can be sold just about anything. I actually bought a couple of boxes in Cuba, to have to smoke while I was there, and for the remaining time I had in Mexico when I left Cuba. They were supposed to be $300 or $400 a box and I could have them for $40. I knew they were not going to be the real thing, but here I was in Cuba and could get a couple of boxes of cigars cheap and I had nothing to do but smoke and drink and eat and just watch the people go by. The women in Cuba are outstanding. Beautiful browned skinned women. I was stunned. I did not even think about women in my approach to seeing Cuba. Mostly as the time approached for me to go to Cancun then on to Cuba, I was apprehensive because there was so much I did not know. I was not sure that the US government wouldn't find out and get in my face about it. I really resist being told I cannot go there, or anywhere for that matter. I was particularly concerned about how the Cuban government treated American citizens. I had lots to think about and was almost comatose from trying to keep up with Smoller. Just kidding. Slurred speech at 10am in not a realistic indicator that you might have had too much to drink. So anyway, sitting with a cigar and watching 30 40 women pass in an hour conspired to relax me. The people of Cuba do not smile much, not that I could see, and they might even have a different way of showing their happiness, (overall the lack of food, money, freedom, transportation, work, reward for work, ability to achieve and build). So much that we take for granted. Aspirin. Sugar. Coffee. Thirty dollars a month is not a whole lot, and most of them are not top end professionals and don't make that sort of big dollar, or pesata as it is known there. There is a lot you can get there with US currency, places that won't take Cuban money. How funny that the most sought after money there is the dollar. Castro must just hate that. Lots of motorcycles, at least one in five has a sidecar. Many more bicycles, a few cars, lots of vintage '54 '55 Chevys, Desotos, almost all used as taxis. Whole families on a bicycle. Russian cars. Russian motorcycles. American clothes. I had a guy on the street come up and try to buy my Tevas by saying, "I need for you to give me your shoes, yes!". Sorry, NO. There are doctors driving taxicabs because they make more. For $20 you could have a taxi of your very own for the day. Lots of things you could get for $20. Jorge arranged for a neighbor who drove cab to pick me up for a ride to the airport. It is about 30 miles away I think and you get to see lots of Havana and surrounding area. I was at the airport 2 hours early, hoping for the best and wondering just how their scheduling held up. The flight was delayed, no reason, for a couple of hours. I had the time. Went through immigration. There is this wall with booths with buzz doors at the outgoing end, and you go into a captured space and talk to someone behind a glass window. Little slit at the bottom so you tend to lean over to talk to them. This guy tells me he is going to do me a favor and not stamp my passport, but he wants me to do him a favor. I think to myself, oh great, oral sex on a concert floor. Not really. I played dumb just to see what he would do to try to get the idea across to me. He merely repeated himself, word for word, so I reached for my wallet. He made sushing sounds and made like I should be very discreet. Like I am the one who would get in deep shit. I thought he was asking for money officer. Anyway, if I had had a $5 I would have been happy to offer that to see if that would be enough. Unfortunately all I had was a couple of ones and twenties. BUMMER. Adios $20. He smiled and stamped the Cuban Visa that was issued in Cancun for $35, part of the $190 for ticket and visa. I was hanging out, checking out the Duty Free stores on the other side where they had tons of Cuban cigars and for good prices too. Best place to buy them, unless you want to smoke during the stay. I would love to go and buy a box of Esplendidos and stay for a week. Rum, cigars, black market lobster, and an 18 year old brown skinned woman KICKSTARTMEJESUS I'm not kidding. I am actually getting a select group together to make the trip this year. So, with the cigar thing, I find out that you can take out 1000 Cuban cigars without the government of Cuba charging an export thingie. Going into Mexico, they allow you to enter with one box, the others they hold at the airport, issue you a receipt, and when you leave Mexico you present the receipt at the office where they are holding the cigars and they arrange to deliver them to the gate to you as you leave. No chance of bringing in cigars to Mexico for resale without the requisite import duty. The citizens of Cuba and Mexico and probably most of the countries in the world will do anything to supplement their income. I think of this each time I go to Mexico. Our poorest person, the guys who stand at the traffic lights and at the entrances to the shopping centers with the signs saying they are Veterans, unemployed, homeless, broke, God Bless thank you for anything, will work for food, these guys are rich with their several dollars a day income from handouts compared to the legitimate workers in other countries. When I first went to Cancun and stayed in the building that I eventually bought a timeshare in, I watched these workers haul concrete in wheelbarrows, across planking that was thirty feet off the ground, batch by batch to the block layers, all for $1.50 per day. I know because I asked. Then, at the end of the day, these same guys walked across the road to the jungle around a lagoon, started a fire and fixed their dinner of tortillas and rice and beans, and slept there, often without cover, usually on cardboard (the lucky ones). In the ensuing years I have asked about wages and some of the workers are now up to $3.00 a day. These are usually 12 hour days, sometimes backbreaking labor, no benefits, you break a leg and they shoot you, no job security, and I am sure they are sending money home to the families since most of the workers in the timeshare building industry come from other areas of the country when they hear of work.