I’m a terrible Cuban. One of the worst. I spent seventeen years without setting foot on the island where I was born, I avoid the unending debates about Cuba and I’m aware of what’s happening in that part of world only when New York newspapers or newscasts mention it, which is almost never. From the time I left in 1991, Cuba has been a terrible nightmare for me.

So, when Cevin Bryerman, vice president and editor of Publishers Weekly, told me last summer he was organising a historic trip to Cuba – the first visit by editors and distributors of books and magazines from the US – and that he wanted People en Español to be the only Hispanic publication to be part of that group, I was somewhat skeptical. His idea was that I prepare a presentation about the power of the US Hispanic market and the strength of our publication in that marketplace.

First, we had to see if the Cuban government would agree to host a group that is involved with publications and magazines, one that stands for the free dissemination of information. Secondly, as a Cuban exile who is now a US citizen, I needed a special permit to enter Cuba, which for the past twenty years has required people like me to get not only this permit but also a Cuban passport – a process that costs a small fortune.

As the trip’s date neared and we all started to receive flight confirmations, my heart began to race. I wondered whether I would be allowed to go. I’ve always told my three children – who in a way feel Cuban though they have no idea what their parents’ country is like – that we would visit Cuba when the US Embassy in Havana was once again operational (this happened in 2015), when my cell phone had reception there (it now does), when we could use our credit cards there (still not the case) and I would not need a Cuban passport to return (still a long way from happening).

So, feeling something between fear and paranoia – an emotion difficult to explain to someone who did not grow up in Cuba at a time when all phones conversations were monitored, when your neighbour reported you to the authorities if you stepped inside a church or if you accepted a call from a family member in Miami, which would brand you a CIA agent – I got on a plane from Miami to Cuba. There, I would meet part of the group that I would share this odyssey with. The flight is only forty minutes but the process of getting there can last an entire day…

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