Arriving in Cuba, day T minus 3

Within hours of arriving in Cuba I was filled with regret. Or was it disappointment? It was the same feeling I get when fighting the zipper of an overpacked suitcase. The feeling that I do this a lot, so I should know better.

I should know better than to let the naysayers and doomspouts distract me from my sense of adventure, my dedication to curiosity and an open heart, and my trust that this world is ready to share its beauty with those who come out to find it.

Within hours of arriving in Cuba I was filled with regret that I hadn’t come sooner. Disappointment that I haven’t planned to stay longer. This remarkable country is still singing, vital, and beautiful. And this moment is more compelling than the smoother days when I was here last. The streets are dark at night, but the stars shine all the brighter for it. They speak wistfully about Obama and wish they had been more ambitious about making progress while they had the chance. Tell me about it. They look ahead and wonder what is coming, what is possible.

I spent the first afternoon walking around a residential area on the edge of Havana, audience to the rhythms of people going about their lives in their visible community. More little shops operate out of garages and patios than last time, carts laden with mangoes and bananas, and still that characteristic blend of enduring Soviet, petite Korean, and lumbering old American cars. Electric scoopers whir past politely now.

A lot of the stoplights are dark, and sure there’s garbage on street corners, but is that what you want to focus on? If you do, be reminded that statistically humans drive better without traffic instruction because they pay more attention, and Cubans are producing far less garbage than we do back home(s). And note that there are no McDonalds wrappers in the pile, not a single Starbucks logo, and very little of the ubiquitous cheap plastic shrapnel we find everywhere else. Cubans have a lot to teach us about repairing and reusing.

But my Cuban street is not characterized by the palm fronds and plastic bags, nor the old chair that still does its work in the sleepy afternoon sun, but by the hands that reach out to shake mine and the feeling of a community that knows and cares about each other. I am the only anonymous face on these streets. I asked one guy for a house by house rundown and he knew the people behind every door. And by the end of that conversation, I was no longer so anonymous.

The first two of my group arrived yesterday and we had a long slow welcome drink on the veranda. The bulk arrive today, and we will be complete by noon tomorrow. Then the tour begins. And I cannot wait.

Within hours of arriving in Cuba, I was deeply grateful that I had come.