Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
wouldmaketogivesomeonedirectionsbutendedupasdetailedinplacesasahighwayatlas.
Moreso,really,becauseitwaspersonallyannotated.Hereisthecornerwheremyfatherhave
the bodega. Here is the alley where the old man used to walk his grandson, in a white suit,
andwealwayssay,“Let'sgotowatchit,”becausehehavehispocketfullofstones,andwhen
the boy runs, the old man throw and hit him in the legs. She was remembering back through
CastroandBatista,backthroughallofthat,intothetimeofMachado,evenbackthroughhim
into her parents' time, the years of mustachioed Gómez in his black frock coat. The night I
met her, 18 years ago, she cooked me Turkish-delight-level black beans with Spanish olives,
andflaninacoffeecan.Shesaid:“Mira,Yon,atthistime”—shemeanttheearly'40s—“they
make a census, all the teacher go to have a census in Cuba. We see places nobody know the
name. I ride a small horse. One night there is a storm—we pass the storm under a
palma
. In
one house is
un enano
. You know what is? A dwarf. He say, 'I count half!'” Her stories are
like that. You actually want them to go longer. This is no small thing for me, as my life has
evolved by unforeseen paths such that I see more of this
abuelita
than of any other human
being. Neither of us ever leaves the house, and during the day it's the two of us. Those could
be some paw-chewingly long hoursin the kitchen, if she were talking to me about religion or
something. Mostly she calls people in Miami and watches Univision at the same time, wait-
ing for my wife and daughters to get home, after which she perks up.
Because mywifeandherfamily havelivingrelatives inCuba,theycangetahumanitarian
exception that lets you fly direct from Miami. The legal loopholes combining to make that
possible must fill hard drives. But you can in fact go that way, if you obtain one of these ex-
ceptions or are immediate family with someone who does. I first tagged along 12 years ago.
It's hands down the strangest way to travel to Cuba, which you might not expect, because
technically it'sthesimplest. Buttheairportbureaucracy inMiamiwassoheavy,atleastback
then, you had to show up the night before and stay in an airport hotel so you could wake up
early and spend the day in a series of bewildering lines, getting things signed or stamped.
That first time, the tedium was alleviated by a little cluster of Miami relatives who followed
usto and through each line, standing slightly offto the side. Ispoke hardly any Spanish then.
My wife told me they were giving her all sorts of warnings about Havana and messages for
variouspeopleintheirtown.Nowandthenoneofthemwouldrubmyarmandsmilewarmly
at me, gestures that I took to mean, “Words aren't necessary to express the mutual under-
standing of familial connection that we now possess,” but that when I think about it now,
would have been identical to those signaling, “You, simpleton.”
One line was for having your luggage wrapped in plastic. A couple of muscly Latin guys
in shorts were waiting there. They lifted each suitcase or bag onto a little spinning platform,
turneditblazinglyfasttosealitinindustrial-strengthshrink-wrapfromarollthatlookedlike
itheldalandfill'sworth,andchargedyouforit.Theirspinningwassoenergetic,itdoubledas
a feat of strength. Everyone watched. The reasons behind the plastic were not laid out. Later
