Following the many requests received and to thank my (future) readers and admirers, I believe it is essential to Start pouring in at least give some taste of the new version of the book. Therefore, no more talk here and below an excerpt of one of the first totally new chapters. Happy reading!
The plane landed Thursday night at the airport José MartÃ. The flight was quiet, apart from a stop in Key Largo where you tip over a sudden gust of wind at the side touching the runway. I finally freed up to two passengers sitting behind me about forty, whose speeches and ostentatious contempt aloud about how they would spend the holiday in Cuba, how many Cuban would be brought to bed, on what would have eaten and drunk with the money he brought with them, suggest that well over what their cultural level and the consideration that had to people. I wondered why some people had to spend much money for a plane ticket and stay at a hotel when he could find what he was looking much closer to home. Above all, I was wondering why those two were talking so loud, since no one had expressed the slightest desire to know their own way.
Maribel's brother, Luis, was waiting for me and him were also Gonzalo, handyman uncle, and Felix, a cousin who lived in Havana and had the car, an old Moskvich. I came out easily from passport control because I had seen a family type, the so-called A-2, which allowed to stay at a relative's house without having to necessarily use of tourist facilities: After hurried up the paperwork for the residence I would be served. Later I also had to go to the Italian Embassy to enroll in the Registry of residents abroad, as I was reminded employees of the municipal offices of the Registry of Turin when I went to ask about the first time.
Luis Gonzalo and had made the trip from Niquero aboard a truck with which we had to carry all my stuff. He was a truck of an agricultural state that Maribel had rented, according to the agreements more or less clear that I could never understand. In fact the only way to make private transportation in Cuba was because there was no removal firms available to ordinary people. And there were not even the Yellow Pages can refer to, as I had done a few weeks earlier in Italy.
Unfortunately that night was not possible to pick up my packages, because it was too late and the customs for the removal of the goods had already closed, we should try again the next day. What's more, the truck was not even available because he was, inexplicably and against our will, to the Isla de la Juventud, very far from where we were, but the two drivers had left that would have been told Luis to return 'tomorrow. It was a mishap that does not bode well.
We got all four of the Moskvich and headed towards the city. Along the way, to repay, I told Felix to stop at a gas station, so I paid the full load of fuel from the back seat and handed him a fifty dollars. Casually said something that I could not understand
"What did he say?" Asked Luis.
"He says we do after refueling," he said, meaning that the supply would have done at another time, buying the fuel where it was cheaper, that is presumably on the black market ...
Image: Tim Beach / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
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