The moment I learned about Cuba was the moment I became fascinated with it. Not necessarily in a history sense, but more in the sense that Cuba is so incredibly different from my home. More specifically Cuba was someplace that I would never really get to see simply because of where I was born.
The first time I learned that Cuba existed was when I was young and I overheard my parent’s friends talking about a layover they had there. If I remember correctly, they were told that they could walk around for a while, but they were advised not to buy any souvenirs, and not to leave anything valuable on the plane because the government, I presumed, could take anything they wanted.
This momentary intrusion into adult conversation was enough to intrigued me. Cuba became a destination that I desperately wanted to visit, but it was also a destination that consistently told me, “no.” All I wanted was to be a traveler who turned that, “no” into a “yes.” When that, “yes” finally became available I waited with bated breath to see what it would be like. I watched the videos of ships full of Americans coming to port for the first time, and I stalked airline tickets, I even watched the episode where Khloe Kardashian visited Cuba, all just waiting for my opportunity.
Yet here I am, a year later, writing not about my trip, but instead my intentions to go. I hope at some point I’ll get to visit Cuba, and hopefully someday before there are 100 bloggers writing about their “Best Tips For Paragliding Cuba in One Day” or whatever it is that we write about. I want to have at least one mystery to unwrap for myself.