How to Hold Someone Hostage in Cuba

To Whom It May Concern:

When traveling I could make better decisions – ones that include actually doing some basic research on a country before I hop on a plan to visit a new culture. However, on this trip, I was looking for an adventure and some time to unplug from the world to do some thinking. It was time to make a pivotal life decision – take a great job in New York City or buy a one-way ticket to Europe and see what happens. Spoiler alert… I haven’t had a job for almost six months! So I bought a ticket to Cuba and two days later I would pack up my hammock, yoga mat, and suitcase to relax on the beach sipping mojitos.

The word “disconnect” means something entirely different when you travel to Cuba.

I have done a great deal of international travel and had even tackled a solo trip before landing in Havana, so I was feeling very confident in my abilities. When I landed, I did the usual - grabbed my bag and started to head out the door to flag a down a taxi. Every time I arrive to my destination, a dinner party to Japan, my mother expects a text letting her know that I have arrived safely. So as I waited for my luggage I typed up the usual “Mother, I landed in Cuba! Yes, I know do not get in cars with strange men, look both ways before crossing a street and don’t keep my phone in my back pocket.” But for some reason, my phone just said, “no service”. I brushed it off because it tends to take a moment for my international plan to connect to a local service provider.

I flagged down a taxi and asked him to point me in the direction of the nearest ATM so I could have the cash to pay him and be able to eat for the rest of the trip. He pointed me back into the airport, where he would wait for me. Poor, poor guy…

The ATM keeps declining my card. At this point, I am aware I haven’t had a job in months, but I knew I had money in my account. So of course I try to call my bank, but I still have no service. The only person I can call is the Sprint Customer Service line. I then spent the next two hours troubleshooting my phone only to find out Cuba does not allow US Citizens the ability to have service. Also, Wi-Fi doesn’t roam wild in the streets as it does in the states. And even if it did, I did not have money to pay for a Wi-Fi card. I wanted to disconnect. My wish was granted.

Here I am sitting on the floor in the Havana airport with no money, no service, and my broken Spanish. Dandy. Then out of nowhere, I got service and the first person I call was my mother. Moms can flip cars in high-stress situations, so I knew a little ATM trouble would be a breeze for her. Poor, poor mom…

I’m on the phone with my mom, she is on the phone with my bank and I’m filtering my information through the phone. The entire time I know the Cuban government is tapping into my conversation listening to my bank details. The results, “Haley, it does not even show that you are trying to use your card at the ATM.” I knew something strange was happening because I tried it ten times, begging for money to come out the way eighteen-year-olds go to gas stations and beg the attendant to give them cheap beer.

Wondering what I got myself into, I walked outside to see if a local could possibly help me. When low and behold, the taxi driver I flagged down two hours earlier, was still waiting for me. He asked if I was ready and I gave him the low down on my situation. His response, “Americans no use ATM.” I did not have the ability to use the ATM…

A second taxi driver saw my face of pure terror and approached us. He told me to have my family wire me money through Western Union and I could easily get the cash out. The nearest Western Union was a 45-minute walk from the airport. Back home I had never wired money because I thought people only did this for drug transactions and other sketchy business. Western Union probably created the dark web. My parents agree to wire me some funds and I convince the taxi driver to drive me to the Western Union as I promised I would pay him.

The Western Union was in a supermarket and it shouldn’t have been called a Western Union. I walked into a 5x5 room that had a 1998 desktop sitting on top of a broken table. The lady was sitting on a lawn chair. Seemed safe.

I gave her my confirmation number, which she then informed me Western Union did not give money to non-Cuban natives. The money had to be wired to someone with a Cuban ID. I threw up on the table. Kidding. But that would have been a great addition to this terrible story.

The only person I knew in Cuba at the time was my taxi driver. Please keep in mind, I am a whopping 5’5”, blonde female weighing in at about 130 pounds. I have never been in a fight. I made eye contact with my taxi driver and with full confidence in broken Spanish I say, “Give me your ID. I am going to keep this until I get my money in your name.” In complete terror he handed his license to me and then I had to tackle the phone call with my parents letting them know I was successfully holding a Cuban hostage and they needed to change the name on the transaction to Juan Carlos Esteban Gonzalez Cruz. That is not his real name, but he legit had five names.

My parents tried to convince me that he was trying to take my money, but I’m sure it was hard for them to comprehend that the roles had been switched – I was literally holding him hostage in what Cuba called a Western Union.

It took hours for the name change to be completed. While I sat at the Western Union with his ID, he went grocery shopping. He would walk past me and see me anxiously waiting and say in Spanish, “You need a mojito.” I would respond with a higher number every time he walked by. I think I made it up to twenty mojitos before the lawn chair lady let me know my money was ready.

Juan Carlos Esteban Gonzalez Cruz got a lovely tip that day due to the fact we ended up spending about six hours together, not including him waiting two hours outside for me. As I was hopping out of the car he gave me his number and then said, “Mojitos?” I never did talk to Juan Carlos Esteban Gonzalez Cruz again. But I know he has a special place in heaven.

My trip ended up being exactly what I needed. I knew at that moment if I could hold a grown, Cuban man hostage I was unstoppable, which lead me to book my flight to Europe.

I also ended up running out of money and obviously did not have the ability to get more cash. I ate airplane peanuts for dinner two nights in a row. I wouldn’t change a single thing about that trip.

I dedicate this post to my parents who ended up having to pay a $600 phone bill that month. But the rumors are true, parents can flip cars and assistant you in a kidnapping, even from a different country.