The unsettling grayish fog hangs in the cabin for several minutes before dissipating, heightening your uneasiness. Your flight to Jose Marti International Airport in Havana is relatively short and without incident. Passengers empty from the plane onto the tarmac where a few military types in fatigues watch intently as people are ushered to a nearby bus. The bus carries its cargo to the immigration and customs building about a mile or so away from the plane. People migrate like lemmings from the bus to the building, compelled to move forward with the crowd but unaware of what lies ahead.
Several lines form inside the building, each leading to a guarded gate.
Contradictions abound as your eye moves between the TV and the line of people. The carefree and insouciant life depicted in the film clips is contrasted by uncertainty and apprehension as people slowly move toward the gates. Immigration officials, seated behind glass windows at each gate, demand to see passports, hotel reservations, and tourist cards. These inspectors occasionally glance upward at a large overhead mirror that is placed behind you and tilted slightly downward making sure nobody crawls past them. They examine each passport closely and ask a barrage of questions.