My flight between Miami International Airport and Jose Martí International Airport had to be booked through a charter company, which gave rise in my head to the idea that we’d be taking a puddlejumper, but it turned out to be like any of the three Delta flights I took the day before to finally arrive in Miami. The flight to Havana was over before I realized it was happening. Barely waiting in line, my passport was stamped with not a word spoken. The wait for the baggage claim, however, took longer than the flight itself. As I left the airport, stepping into the Havana sun, my eyes fixated on the nearest old blue Chevy.