Too Many Questions; or, I'm Still Not Hanging With Fidel

I  have been so good about posting about once a week, but throw in our RAT trip, and BAM! I have fallen off the wagon.

Here is my first of many posts about being back in the Real World. Hopefully I'll be back on track soon.

There's a crazy bird in that Cuban tree.
I'm missing the banyans while in the U.S.

Being in a small, isolated base means that you have to travel to the United States for certain services you can't get in GTMO.

In just the first week I was back on US soil, I managed to get fitted for two pairs of glasses, got a much-needed haircut, and had a much-overdue mammogram.

You can get a haircut at GTMO, by the way, but the other two things I cannot do there.

Any time you go into a place for an appointment, you have to fill out paperwork. It's just part of dealing with insurance, etc. I will never, ever take for granted again how easy it is to fill out said paperwork once I have moved overseas.

You know that section you have to fill out about your address, employer, etc?

Try explaining to a stranger that you live in Cuba.

The conversation on my end goes something like this:

Well, my address is FPO, AE, which is Fleet Post Office, Armed Forces Europe. I actually live overseas. 

In Cuba. 

Yes, Americans can live in Cuba, as long as it's on the military base there. There is a small Naval base that's been there for over 100 years. 

No, I'm not military. 

It's funny you asked. I am a librarian and teacher. I work at the school. 

Yes, there is a school there. There are hundreds of families on the base. 

No, I haven't met Fidel. 

It is safe. Seriously. It is the safest place we've ever lived, hands down. 

No, I don't get to speak Spanish everyday. I do, however, speak it. 

No, I can't buy cigars there. There is still an embargo. 

Yes, I hear that Havana is beautiful and there are many old cars there. Again, there's that crazy embargo. And no, I cannot ever, ever leave the base to go to the rest of Cuba. 

At this point, either the person catches on that I live at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, also known as "Gitmo," or I have to tell them. Then things sometimes get rather funky. For example:

No, I don't work at the prison. 

My job has nothing to do with the prison. 

No, there are no children at the prison. When I said I teach at a school, I really meant a school. Like for children. Not for adult prisoners. 

No, I haven't been there. Like I said, I don't work there, and you can't just randomly show up for a tour or anything. 

I really don't have an opinion about it. 

I really don't know if it is Obama's fault that it is still open. You may want to contact your Congressperson over that one. 

Like I am going to have a conversation about politics and give my personal opinion about Gitmo with a total stranger. . .

It is bizarre. And it happens EVERY TIME I have to go to an appointment that requires some paperwork.

So for my last appointment?

I'm from Mississippi. I'm just visiting relatives.

And thankfully I didn't have to give my Cuban address.