On February 5th, I was sleeping in Rome, Italy. On the sixth, Montréal and on the eighth, Havana. When I left Rome, I had an idea of what I wanted to do in Cuba, but I still had not booked any part of the trip. I was having trouble working out the details of what was not a typical Montréal-Havana trip.
Montréal is a great place to begin a trip to Cuba. Winter in Montréal can be long and dreary and Quebecers love to escape. You will see them all over the Caribbean from Miami to St. Kitts, grabbing a week in the sun. As a result, there are lots and lots of flights from Montréal. Cuba is a favorite destination and tour companies sell packages at great prices.
Because of the financial restrictions imposed on US banks, buying a package and paying for it in Canada in advance was perfect for me. But I did not fit the mold and that caused the complications. The mold is leave Friday or Saturday, spend seven days and come back on the same plane that will take the next group down. I was trying to break up their model but still get the price break. If they had empty seats it would work, but they had to check, organize and then confirm.
Monday morning (2/7) it was all sorted out. For a little over $500 I got a round trip ticket, transfer to hotels and five nights in a four star hotel. Okay, a Cuban four star, but still it was a great deal. Especially since I could book the return flight when I wanted. Tuesday morning, I was out the door.
The flight down had a carnival atmosphere. Champagne served right after take off, your vacation starts when you board the plane! Arrival in Varadero (a tourist airport an hour outside Havana, but minutes from the beach) was unusual. There was a full-blown security check coming OFF the plane. Belts off, computer out, through the metal detector - the whole 9 yards. Not sure why - I guess they do not trust the airlines to catch all the things they care about. After that there was the immigration. I got sorted out.
“What are you doing here?” I was an anomaly. Not there for the beach, and an American on a flight full of Canadians - staying too long for vacation. “Who are your friends in Cuba?” They had trouble believing I had none. “Why are you here?” “To discover Cuba” that seemed dubious, I guess, but eventually I got my Tourist Card and was sent on to the next official - Customs - who also could not understand what I was doing there. I unpacked my suitcase for her. She consulted someone and finally they let me pass.
Now clear, I looked for my shuttle. I felt bad, I was sharing my ride with five other people who had no doubt sailed through, then stood around waiting half an hour while Cuba figured out what to do with the suspicious American.
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