Pa - se - por - tay!
Dark night, central Havana. "Pa - se - por - tay" calls out the policeman. "Fuck" I say to myself. I don't have my passport with me.
I hand my drivers licence to the officer. "Columbia!?" he says. "No, British Columbia" I said, but the difference was lost on him. I try to clear it up with "Canada, Canada!". All I get back is "Columbia?!" and where is my passport.
I told him my passport was in my hotel, and that my hotel is only two blocks away. It was four blocks away, but I wanted to sell him on the idea of coming back with me to get it.
We made it three blocks and he wanted to know where the hotel was. I assured him it was only one more block.
I got the passport and as they usually do, he stared at it for a couple minutes, not understanding the English or French, then reluctantly handed it back.
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