SATURDAY | Flying into José Martí International Airport feels like there has been a glitch in a time machine. The deep-red terminal felt aged and worn and yet everyone who swarmed the building was of today's era. We were lead down to immigration by an airport official which helped given half the lights were switched on. The immigration hall was cast in semi darkness as everyone shuffled around sweltering from the lack of aircon and anticipation. There is only one working baggage claim and we stood by watching for 30 minutes, waiting for Ashlea’s bag. She eventually walked off, I walked over and there it was! Bam it was time to head outside and meet our driver, Orlando. Upon greeting him it became evident he spoke no English. He smiled and nodded at everything we said, even the fact we had to now line up for 40 minutes to get cash exchanged. It was the start of a wonderful mute friendship. |
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