April 17, 2014.
At the time of this photograph, we’d been in Cuba for about five or six days. A few days living like beach bums on the shore of Varadero, and now on our third day in an old, midcentury modern styled casa particular that we found in Havana. I assumed we would be heading home the following day, but as it turned out, I’d never actually read our itinerary. Duh!
Another two days in Havana, then back to Varadero for a day, then home.
I was in love with this heartbreakingly beautiful place, and could’ve stayed a whole month, but there was one problem… no communication with the United States. At that time, the embargo was firmly in place. Voice contact with the U.S. was only possible via cellphones that contained bootleg SIM cards smuggled in from China or Russia. No way to let my wife know that I was fine, and that I hadn’t been caught-up in some antigovernmental protest and thrown in jail. And no way to tell her exactly when I’d be home, which wouldn’t happen for another four days. We asked around at a few of the hotels, this is how we learned about the SIM cards. And since those items were illegal, folks weren’t exactly advertising where to get your hands on one. I eventually decided to let it go. I was enjoying my journey and I wasn’t in any danger. I believed that she would intuitively know… then we turned the corner.
Painted on the wall, in her favorite shade of blue and larger than anything else written there, was my wife’s name.
KARLA.
We froze.
My friend took a deep breath, looked at me and calmly said “You have to find a way to call her.”
Later that day and still no luck, we were having dinner in the home of a lovely soul named Justina. We asked if she knew anyone with one of those “special cellphones.” She called upstairs to her teenage son and asked to use his phone. He came down and handed it to her, and she said “No. The other one.” He seemed genuinely stunned that his mom knew anything about it. He sheepishly reached into his back pocket and handed her a different phone. I hugged them both and immediately dialed my wife.
And…
She sent the call to voicemail.
They we all staring at me in anticipation.
“Voicemail?!”
”Seriously?!”
”Voicemail?!”
This cracked them up.
I helped myself to another Mojito.
-Havana.