CUBA - One Mojito At A Time

Well, I'm here. It wasn't easy, but I'm here. "Here" is the dimly lit, almost deserted international terminal of the Jose Marti Airport nine miles southwest of Havana, Cuba. It's three o'clock in the morning and I've just arrived from Toronto, Canada on Air Cubana. Earlier today, I'd flown from Cleveland, Ohio to Toronto in order to comply with the rules of our government's embargo against the island nation of Cuba. But, more about that later. For now, I'm tired and very hot. The terminal's air conditioning is either non-existent or not working. The thermometer on the wall reads 32 degrees centigrade. I'm too tired to calculate, but I think it's above 90 degrees fahrenheit. The humidity is stifling. I look around the depressing building for a restroom and some place to buy a cold drink. A few souvenir and gift booths are open. Cuba is not so different after all. Some sweepers and moppers are making cursory swipes at the broken-tiled floor. A few bleary-eyed travelers stand zombie-like or lie sprawled across the hard chairs and benches. They look like out-of-work department store mannequins. This, then, is Cuba. The Cuba of Castro and Che. The Cuba of the once-bold promises. The Cuba of tight state control and a political foment which lies just below the surface. But, in fairness, it is, also, the Cuba of smiling,friendly faces, great food and haunting music. It's the Cuba of pristine, white-powder beaches, tropical jungle and mist-covered mountains. It's the land of great athletes and creative artists. It's the land of great potential waiting for release. After my period of reverie, I find a restroom and a vendor selling cold papaya juice. I look around for the bus that will take me to my downtown Havana hotel. During the wait for the bus, I reflect on how and why I came to be here.