Airport Adventure

Airport Adventure

You haven't really entered Cuba until you have cleared the exacting routines in the airport. In the newly remodeled, but still old terminal that US passengers use, you walk in from the apron where the planes stop, enter the building, and stop at a red line to wait for the next available immigration clerk. But the authorities are good and have provided plenty of clerks to move us opn through. My clerk was a nice young woman, who asked me to step back a pace for a camera to take my picture. As soon as that was finished, and with practically no questions, I was buzzed through to the security check and baggage area. The man waved me through the metal detector, and my sport jacket went through the x-ray in a plastic tub.

Again, there were no questions until I was suddenly free to find my two checked bags. I've always admired the way the British cue up for for lines at ticket counters, but I don't think they do it at baggage carrousels. There, and everywhere else, people get up next to the carrousel, and even if you are lucky enough to see your bag, you can't penetrate the forest of people crowded against the moving belt. Eventually through you get there, grab your bag, and turn to face more of the crowd to try to get out. There must be a better way.

And while there were plenty of immigration clerks in their little kiosks, there weren't enough baggage handlers. When the first truckload of bags from our flight was exhausted, there was a long wait while the crew went back to the plane and off-loaded more bags. As luck would have it, my second bag made the second truck with 10 minutes waiting between trucks.

You finally arrive in Cuba when your bags piled on a push cart pass by another clerk collecting baggage tags, and you're through the doors to the outside. The four of us traveling together had 14 bags on two carts, and we scanned the crowd of people meeting travelers for Nora, but could not find her. We progressed slowly to the curbside where the taxis stop without seeing her, and then it happened.

I lifted the front end of one cart and then the other in a little space at sidewalk level and turned to look back at the crowd, searching for Nora. I moved back toward most of the people. No Nora. I stepped down into a little wheelchair ramp, while looking at faces for Nora's. The next step did me in as my left foot swung forward and struck a rough spot in the pavement, pitching me forward in an uncontrolled fall toward the curb in front of me. My head hit the sidewalk and curb with a violent blow, and I felt sure I would not be able to get up again. But now the many people around was an advantage. Several grabbed my arms and body and righted me, and I felt a dizzying pain as I began to gather my bearings. Many asked if I was OK, and I said, "I think so."

An airport worker called the medics, and I was guided toward the building again, bleeding from my forehead, nose and lip. We went into a little nurse's office. Bob was with me, so I didn't worry about the bags or the others in my party. There in the nurses quarters, began 45 minutes of exams and treatment of my wounds. The pain subsided, my handkerchief was soaked with blood, and they convinced me to stop dabbing at the wounds so they could keep them sterile. The dizziness and disorientation subsided, and I eventually made my way back with a nurse guiding me to my fellow travelers. Bob was with me, and the others were still with the bags. Finally, Nora apparently had seen me but couldn't make her way through the crowd or make enough noise to catch our attention. We connected, and I was soon seated in her borrowed van, the bags were loaded, and we were off, hardly comprehending what had happened to me. I was wearing a bandage on the bridge of my nose to remind me of my airport adventure.

Les Inglis