Phoenix

Quick travel observation from yours truly: Uber drivers in Phoenix seem to have collectively decided that silence is golden — or maybe they’ve just taken a vow of conversational poverty. My airport Uber guy kicked things off by politely asking if he could have a full-on phone date with his buddy while I was in the backseat. I said yes, because who am I to stand in the way of bromance? The next couple of drivers followed suit with short, curt answers that felt like they were conserving oxygen for reasons I can’t quite figure out. Most of them probably didn’t speak much English, which is totally fine because my Spanish, despite Duolingo’s tireless efforts, is still at the level where I might accidentally order a goat instead of guacamole.

But then came Julio. Julio actually spoke! And his opening line? “This is my last ride.” Which, honestly, felt a bit ominous until he clarified he just meant his last Uber ride of the day, not his entire existence. I’m in Phoenix for a site visit for this year’s Hill’s Global Symposium, and Julio’s been up since 4 a.m., carting humans around the desert. Now he’s off the clock and heading home to… pack for Cuba! Yes, Julio’s catching a flight at the highly questionable hour of 12 a.m., because apparently, vacations are for the sleep-deprived.

At this point, my brain is bubbling with questions. Cuba? Who’s in Cuba? Why Cuba? How Cuba?! Turns out Julio’s entire family — mom, brother, sister, and his two kids — are all there. Wait — your kids are in Cuba? I ask, trying not to sound like a confused owl. Julio just nods, and with that, the conversation door creaks shut, leaving me alone with my swirling curiosity and a growing list of unsolved Julio Mysteries.

It hits me — this is a story I’ve heard before. So many migrants leave their kids behind to work abroad and send money home, hoping to build a better life from afar. I wanted to ask Julio everything: How do you even get to Cuba right now? Aren’t there still a bunch of restrictions? Is he worried about the latest crackdowns? Is he a US citizen now? What’s life like in Cuba these days? But Julio’s already mentally sipping a mojito on a Havana beach, so I let it go.

Naturally, this all sends me down memory lane to the time when Americans could actually go to Cuba without needing a 37-step government approval process. Back then, Daniel, Daniel’s mom Romy, and I spontaneously booked a cruise with a glorious three-day stop in Havana — and we absolutely loved it. Visiting Cuba is basically time-traveling directly into the 1950s, complete with classic cars, retro buildings, and amenities that definitely wouldn’t pass a modern health inspection.

The first thing that smacked me in the face — other than the humidity — was the unmistakable scent of leaded fuel. Ah, childhood memories! That smell took me straight back to my youth, when nobody had heard of unleaded gas, and we were all just huffing toxins at the gas station like it was normal. Good times.

The Cuban people were lively, the food was incredible, and we even did one of those classic car tours where you cruise around in a convertible held together by hope, duct tape, and a prayer to Che Guevara. We hit all the tourist highlights and even popped into a local art museum, where the artwork had a very clear and very unsubtle message for the Cuban government — spoiler alert: it was not five-star reviews.

Sadly, those carefree travel days are over (for now), Romy has passed away, and the world feels like a very different place. But one day — mark my words — Cuba will open up again, and you better believe I’ll be first in line with my fedora and SPF 50, ready to order mojitos with my terrible Spanish.

Hasta la vista, Julio — enjoy that family reunion.