The Last Vacation
We found out about the ban on incoming flights from Europe twenty-four hours after we landed. While acclimating to our new surroundings, a barista at the little cafe on our street broke the news. She explained that three Italian tourists had passed through the city the night before on their way to Trinidad before falling ill. “But not to worry, the climate in Cuba is too hot for the virus to survive,” she assured us. “Impossible.” After spending day after day walking the city’s winding, pockmarked streets speckled with stray dogs catatonic under the relentlessly blue Tropic of Cancer sky, we began to see her point.
When we left New York, everyone assured us there was absolutely no reason not to go. It was a COVID-free country, we’re young and healthy, and things in America were still relatively under control. The opening chords of panic had been struck and hand sanitizer was flying off the shelves, but otherwise case numbers were extremely low and mask-wearing still considered excessive. On the flight, a friendly passenger sitting nearby offered everyone a Clorox wipe for the trip. Each row fastidiously scrubbed down their seats feeling like exemplars of precautionary health measures.
WiFi is still an extremely limited resource in Cuba, doled out one hour at a time via cards linked to your passport. But even once you have access, there’s no guarantee of speed or accessibility. So every…
