"Yeah," I reply into the phone.
And that's how it all started.
I should have known better but it's Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, and we've had many excellent adventures and I've always wanted to visit Cuba so "Why Not?"
"Okay," Bill says, "Meet me there on Tuesday. I'll pick you up at the airport."
If you don't bother obtaining official permission from the United States, getting into Cuba is easy.
Flying into Nassau, Bahamas I stroll over to Cuban Air and buy a ticket.
In no time we're in the air and I'm enjoying drinks from the Rum Cart and smoking a big one from the Cigar Cart (I am not making this up or taking any poetic license whatsoever).
Landing in Havana, I have to pee because there's no bathroom on Cuban Air but as the lone American on the plane, Immigration saves me for last so I'm hopping up and down on one foot, grabbing my crotch as the agent asks, "What is the purpose of your visit?"
"Missionary work," I answer.
He stamps my passport and I sprint to the bathroom where you have to tip before you use so I waste another precious few seconds finding coins in my pockets before ripping my zipper down and experiencing Nirvana.
True to his word, Bill Berry stands outside waiting with a car and a beer.
There are lots of stories to tell about this trip but our friend Dicky Trotter brought one to mind which I'll share.
I don't recall how or why but ... Bill and I are with a group of students in their classroom late one night in the University of Havana when they ask if we like to Salsa.
Loving to dance I say, "You damn right we do!"
Bill Berry shakes his head from side to side.
Ten or so students lead us down side streets to one's house where his Mother waits. It's close to midnight but once he explains "Salsa" she lights up and helps us move all the furniture from the tiny living room into the yard ... making a dance floor ... and hitting the Boom Box ... we begin.
As I say I love to dance but ... the Salsa is orchestrated sex without actually touching ... and I couldn't do it.
I tried until 5 in the morning when Mom commands us to bring the furniture back inside.
The students walk us back to our hotel because they're afraid we'll be harassed as Americans.
I have nothing but kind things to say about Cuba and am extremely happy the stupid foreign policy the United States had for 50 years is finally coming to an end.
When Sarah, the girls and I talk about where to go next I forever answer "Cuba."
It's about time!
Plus I'm pretty convinced Sarah can help me with my Salsa ... though I do think occasional touching will be involved.
