My first taste of Cooba (aka Cuba)

Cuba conjures up thoughts of hot, humid nights, cigars, Fidel Castro, salsa dancing and old 1950's cars. 

Cuba was everything I had imagined it to be, plus SO much more. 

After traveling for 3 months straight, I was becoming less and less wowed by the sights I was seeing. This was NOT the case with Cuba. It caught me off guard and quickly earned a prestigious spot at the top of my favorite travel destinations. It made me feel rejuvenated. 
This place is like no other. 
First of all, I know that all of you are thinking "isn't it illegal for Americans to go to Cuba?!" The answer is NO. It is only illegal to spend money here. 
Hey, Jay Z and Beyonce did it, so can I. 
Cuba is the forbidden fruit, and I was longing to take a big bite out of it. 

I don't know a single soul that has been to Cuba, so I gathered all my information from the internet. But there are certain things that you can't find in a guide book or on the internet. That's where I come in. I got your back, I have the inside scoop on Cuba if you ever desire to go. 
Don't be a scaredy cat. 
Ok, here's what you'll have to do before you go:
First of all, you cannot fly to Cuba directly from the US, on normal circumstances. If you get a special permit or fly with a special organization, you can fly on one of the rare flights from the US. 
But who wants to be tied down by a tour group?!
Flights are cheapest from Cancun, Mexico. I flew from Costa Rica, via Panama. I bought my ticket and hotel reservation from a travel agent in Costa Rica. I paid the travel agency, so technically I wasn't spending money in Cuba. 
Nah nah nah boo boo!!

You also need to buy a visa from the travel agent. Costs about $15.
Next, American credit cards and ATM cards will not work in Cuba, so don't even try. Bring all the cash you are going to need for your entire stay and guard it with your life. Don't bring American dollars because the exchange rate is horrendous. Bring Euros, Canadian dollars or British pounds. 
Then.... enjoy your Cuban vacation!!! 
It's really as simple as that. 

Everything went dandy on the journey over to this island in the Caribbean. I had a layover in Panama and had no hassle while boarding with my American passport to Cuba. 
However, when I touched down in Cuba, there was a small hiccup.....

As Cuba came into sight through the airplane window, I peered out at the mysterious land. Holy cow, I can't believe I'm in Cuba! I'm not supposed to be here. Ahahaha! This is going to be awesome. 

The second we touched down, everyone cheered and clapped. I've been on a lot of flights in my life, and I think the only time I've ever heard people cheer was while landing in Paris once, and it was a team of adolescent cheerleaders. These were grown men and women. Perhaps they were so overcome with happiness for being in Cuba that they couldn't contain their excitement. Cuba is that good, eh?
The flight attendant said "welcome to Cooba" and I giggled. 
Cooba. 
Yes, of course, I'm in Cooba. 

I step off the plane, the hot cloud of humidity hits me and has me feeling sluggish. As I'm walking towards customs, I ask a younger girl with a name tag where I can find a pen to fill out my immigration form. She asks me which country I'm a citizen of. I'm reluctant to give out this information, not knowing what will happen. 
"The US", I mumbled quickly.
Geez lady, I just asked you where a pen was, now you're getting all up in my business. She pointed at window #4 and instructed me to go there after I had found a pen. 
Thanks for nothing. 
I asked a nice local lady to borrow her pen, then feverishly filled out the form. I sashayed up to window #5. Window #4 had a strict, crabby looking man, I didn't think anything good could come of him. Behind window #5 was a young African American girl with a slicked back ponytail. 
She looks nice, I thought. 
I said a prayer and slid my worn passport towards her, greeting her with a polite "buenas tardes." 
She took my passport and started clicking away on her computer. I shyly asked in Spanish if she was going to stamp my passport. She smiled and said no. I feel a sense of relief. As an American, you do NOT want a Cuban stamp on your passport. 

I made my way through the archaic airport to the baggage claim. 
I waited for what seemed like forever for my big blue backpack to come floating down the carousel. I wasn't even quite sure if I was at the right carousel since nothing was marked. 
Old school. 

I heave my bag onto my back and bounce off to catch a taxi. 
I'm free! 
Just as I was about to cross through the "nothing to declare" door, a slender, dark skinned agent with a green uniform stops me. He rattles something off in Spanish. I look at him like I'm a dumb blonde. He asks if I speak Spanish and I say no. It's easier that way. He stumbles through his broken English, then gives up and goes to get another agent. They have me wait by a desk. 

They study me suspiciously, then ask me how much money I have. They ask me how many credit cards I have and what kinds of credit cards. Then they ask me if I have a computer and camera. They ask to see them. Paranoid, I pull out my cameras and computer out of my backpack. I ask if I did something wrong but they don't give me a straight answer. They write down what kind of cameras I have, how big the zoom is and how many memory cards I have. Actually, they wrote down EVERYTHING that I said. 
My mind reverts back to the time when I was flying from Kashmir, India to Delhi. The unprofessional Indian agent examined my camera for so long that I almost missed my flight. He looked through the pictures and at one point even took a picture of me with it. True story. I felt like I was in a twilight zone. 

The Cuban officials asked me where I was before Cuba and where I am going after.
"And before that... and before that?", they interrogated me. 
I had to tell them exactly how long I was in each country. My mind raced. What are they trying to get out of me? They asked me why I was in Cuba. I said I was just a tourist. They asked me what my occupation was. All the while, jotting everything down on a piece of paper and examining me closely as I gave each answer. 3 Cuban officials stood on one side of the table, I stood on the other, my backpack was feeling heavier with each passing minute, sweat trickling down my back. Do they think I'm a spy? That I'm trying to smuggle in something? Are they ever going to let me out of this airport? I'm just a stinking tourist, for God's sake!! 

I started to speak in Spanish. Surprised, they said, "So you can speak Spanish!" Shoot, they caught me in a lie. Oh God, all I want to do is explore this country and it's people, to learn how to salsa and to see the old cars and maybe smoke a cigar. Let me go now. Please. 

They told me to wait there. I watched as they walked over to some other green uniformed important people and discussed their findings with them. That's when I seen her. The girl had I originally asked for a pen was standing there talking to them, looking back at me periodically. 
That rat! She totally told on me and had them watch out for me on the other side after I told her I was American! They are obviously highly suspicious of American tourists coming to their country. 

Just as I was beginning to get concerned and the situation was bordering on absurdity with the amount of questions they were firing off at me, the mood lifted. One of the agents asked me how I liked the other countries. "What do you like about these countries? You like the food, the people, the dance?", he asked in a thick Cuban accent while gyrating his hips. I said that I loved it all and that I loved to travel, as he could see by the abundance of stamps in my passport. I knew everything was going to be ok when the agent winked at me. I'm just an innocent Midwestern gal who's curious about the world. Is that a crime? He said "Welcome to Cooba", as he handed me back my passport. I gingerly walked away, feeling like I had just escaped possible doom. Whew! 
Now to explore Cooba!!!