I got a Hot Dog with mustard and raw onion and a Heineken.
In the Nassau, Bahamas Airport I'm returning from a week of "Missionary Work" in Cuba ... which is easy to get into without official permission from the United States ... returning to my country is an entirely different matter.
High on Rum and smelling of cigars from the plane ride on Cuban Air I make my way to American Airlines where I have to pass through Customs.
It's a lite travel day so I scan the Agents settling on a little old lady with white hair, thick spectacles and a sweet smile ... reminding me of my Grandmother.
Casually strolling to her station I hand over my Passport and Immigration form.
"Oh," she exclaims, "you live on Tybee Island! I love it there! My family's goes as often as we can."
Smiling, my confidence grows and I think this going to Cuba stuff without official U.S. permission is easy.
"Well," she smiles back, "what have you been doing since you've been in the Bahamas?"
"Oh," I smile again, "just bumming around and enjoying it here."
"YOU'RE LYING!" she yells slapping her hands on the desk. "YOU WENT TO CUBA!"
It's best to be honest when caught red handed so I meekly say, "I did."
Her smile returns as she says, "Don't you feel better telling the truth?"
"Yes mam," I reply.
"Boys," she says over her shoulders.
Two giant guards with guns storm over grabbing me by the arms and carry me to an interrogation office.
"What were you doing in Cuba?" one asks invading my personal space.
"Missionary work," I tell him.
He writes it down with a red felt tip pen before asking, "Do you have a letter from the Treasury Department giving you permission to enter Cuba?"
"No I don't but I'm certain my friend Bill Berry has one for me."
He writes it down in red ink.
"Where is this Bill Berry?" he asks.
"I don't know," I answer. "He left Cuba yesterday. I suppose he's back home in Richmond."
He writes it down in red ink.
"Oh, let him go," the little old Customs Agent says pouring herself a cup of coffee. "He lives on Tybee ... I like it there."
So they let me go.
Ordering a beer and a Hot Dog, I call Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM but the other one.
"Billy," I say taking a swig, "is there a letter I'm supposed to have permitting me to go to Cuba?"
"Ah damn," he says, "I knew I forgot to give you something. Hold on ... wait ... yep! ... I have it right here."
"Thanks," I say hanging up.
Today I'm very glad I visited Cuba during the stupid Embargo the United States maintained to simply hurt people because of political ideologies.
When Sarah, the girls and I go it'll be legal ... but a decade and a half ago I'm proud I ignored a stupid foreign policy to meet wonderful people just like you and me.
Sometimes in life you have to do what's right and not what Government tells you is right.
