Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Cuba In 1981, Log Thirteen: Hours Of Uncertainty


Our plane sat outside the terminal where we could see it from the confines of the waiting room.

We were not allowed any word from the crew on what was happening, because the crew was forbidden to leave the plane.

We could see stewardesses in the open doorway, getting fresh air from time to time. We could see how hot they were, their faces red, their crisp uniforms welting in the heat as the hours passed.

A member of the cockpit came out to sit at the top step of the portable stairs and was told to go back inside by the guards on the tarmac. I felt so bad for all of them, innocent people who didn't deserve such punishment. They had no more to eat or drink than we did.

The food and drinks in our little cafe inside the terminal ran out by noon. The female staff felt sorry for us. They had never experienced what was going on, because it had never happened before.

They all went home. Hours later, one of them returned with fresh melons. She sliced them and proudly handed them out to us. It was a wonderful thing for her to do, and she refused payment for it.

Around four o'clock or so, a group of Russian tourists arrived to await their flight home. They were all men in their twenties and thirties.

They talked boisterously and eyed the Canadians as being oddities. Why were we all here, looking so disheveled and tired, one asked in broken English.

The room was really crowded now. Some of us had headaches. Nothing was happening with our plane.

And then a small jet landed. It was a private jet from Toronto, carrying the parts we needed. The crew had purchased from a place in Louisiana what we required, then received permission from Cuba to land in Havana. On board were Canadian engine mechanics. No Americans were allowed in Cuba.

I watched and watched. The flight crew, exhausted by now, seemed to pick up with hope now that help had arrived.

We waited and waited, and still no word from our plane.

The young Russian men set up a card game. Chairs in a circle, luggage piled in the center for a table. Cards came out, voices became animated.

Every time a man played a card, he raised off his chair and slammed the card down on the table with a loud shout to accompany it. I watched with delight. I had never seen a card game quite like that. I had never seen cards like they had, either. They were very entertaining for hours.

When their flight arrived, I was sad to see them go.

It grew quiet and dull and stuffy in the room.

Outside, the crew of our plane began to look desperate. They were hungry and thirsty. It was becoming horrible for all of us.

No comments:

Post a Comment