I made my way through Cuban customs, which featured doctors at tables that I am sure were doing something very important but reminded me of Jehovah's Witnesses folk and their fondness for tables. One of them stopped me and asked if I was Cuban, which, I can certainly pass for; I am not; he let me pass. Since I didn't have any checked baggage, I made my way toward the exit door.

From what I had understood of the flight attendant, if I don't have anything to declare to the state of Cuba, I don't have to fill out that form you normally get when you enter a foreign country. I hate paper work, fine by me.

At each salida there is a state employee that collects those blue papers I was so sure I didn't need. I was crushed, and confused, what do I do? I somehow gather my reserves and approach a different state employee with my problem, she tells me to go back to customs and tell them I need a paper for equipaje, bless her. I go back past the Jehovah's doctors to Cuban customs and ask for one of those papers. I fill it out and go back to the exit door, I was allowed into what once was a gangsters’ paradise.

My next challenge is finding where to exchange money, a Casa de Cambio, known locally as a CADECA. I ask around and it's a right past the exit door. Right past the exit door, the line practically runs into me. This turns out to be the perfect opportunity to trade notes with the couple ahead of me. A lovely duo from Tennessee. We decide to split a twenty-five dollar cab ride from the airport to Havana. Standing in line with my new friends, I realize that at least twenty percent of the line is comprised of black folk visiting from the states which, in all my years of travel, I’ve never experienced.

This was only the beginning check back next week!