Having put behind me the incredible experience of presenting my first feature length film El Huaso at one of my favourite documentary festivals (Hot Docs), it was 12:30pm and my driver, kindly provided by the festival, had not arrived. As my father was just about to pick up his keys and take me to the airport himself, the phone rang with the assurance that my ride had arrived and was waiting for me downstairs. With my plane scheduled to take off at 2:45pm, I knew that doing anything but darting off to the airport was a huge risk. The problem was that I needed to make an essential pit stop at Trew Audio, in the opposite direction, for a microphone windscreen. While waiting for my ride, I called in advanced and asked the lovely people at Trew Audio to have the windscreen and all the paper work ready for me to pay and bolt. After running in and out of the shop in a panic with my windscreen, it was now 1:05pm and the very patient driver took me to the airport as fast as he possibly could. I knew that with just the smallest speed bump, this could all go horribly wrong. On the highway finally en route to the airport, I decided to try and calm down. Assuming by his familiar head dress and neatly combed facial hair that the driver was Sikh, I asked him about a Sikh celebration that I saw taking place the other day on University Street in downtown Toronto. As he started to speak about the significance of this festival, his very soft and quiet voice relaxed me completely. With a 1:40pm arrival at the airport, almost traffic free, I thanked the driver profusely and ran directly to the American Airlines counter. Not seeing any line-ups, I immediately thought the worse, "they closed the check-in counter!" To my naive surprise, everything at American Airlines had now gone electronic. One woman stood there, helping twelve people, at twelve separate machines, efficiently receiving their boarding pass with just the scan of a passport. It worked perfectly and within less then five minutes, I entered customs with my boarding pass and three small carry-on bags in hand. While going through the humiliating process that is US customs, it was essential to breathe and embrace these humiliating formalities in order to arrive sanely at my Bolivian destination. With a 6:17pm arrival in Miami and a four and half hour layover, I already had plans on how I was going to kill this time. Needing two extra 16G SD cards for my partial shot in Potosi, I jumped into a cab and went to the nearest photo shop I had researched. Having been in Miami many times during layovers to South America, I took a chance and greeted the cab driver in spanish. By his accent, I instantly knew his native land and was assured that a potentially interesting story may lay ahead. In actuality, I had no idea the magnitude of this Cuban man's struggle and how much he suffered in order to arrive and work legally in the United States. Once in the cab I realized that this photo shop could potentially be closed because of the flight's late arrival. "Eric" the cab driver was nice enough to call the photo shop but there was no answer. On a highway I've never experienced with the meter running, I asked the cab driver about the other photo shops I had on my list. He assured me that they were all at least 20 to 30 miles away. Disappointed, I gave up on the task of getting any SD cards and asked him to take me back to the airport. On our way, before we could turn around, I asked him if there were any places to eat in the area. As we exited the highway, he suggested Burger King or Taco Bell. Driving through an industrial neighbourhood, I could see my money pouring out of my pockets as I continued to stare at the meter. I suggested that he just drop me off at a decent restaurant in the area and just call it a day. He exclaimed to me in spanish "you don't want to get off here, it dangerous, too many dark people." I exclaimed back, "oyi oyi... tranquilo con eso, por favor." As we pounded through this industrial wasteland of Miami, I felt impotent and lost. Out of no where, the cabi remembered a Best Buy in the area. My ears perked up and I got excited. Hearing the panic and desperation in my voice, he said calmly in spanish "Listen, why don't we do this... you go into Best Buy and take your time. I'll give you half an hour, then we go back the airport and I'll only charge you $50.00." I knew right away that he was doing me a huge favour because the meter was already at $22.30. I accepted, relaxed and made our way to my new Mecca. Going through a small village of big box stores ranging from Target to a seafood wholesale company, we turned the corner and there sat my last chance, the glorious Best Buy. He parked and I ran into the store. Going right for the electronic section, I was in luck that the SD card I was looking for was on sale for $39.99. I quickly bought three and ran back to taxi. Hoping that my expedite purchase would grant me another stop at a small taco truck we saw on our way there, "Eric" was surprised at how quickly I bought the cards. He agreed to stop for some food and we continued to ride towards the airport. At this point I was relaxed and started to make conversation with him about politics and how he arrived in the US. Although clearly racist, he wasn't a Castro hater. I was mostly interested in his a-political stance on US-Cuban relations and how much he loved his motherland. "I love my country, I'm planning on going back there next month for a visit." I then asked "If you could, who would you vote in the next US election?" "I don't know politics... why would I vote for someone who wouldn't even dream of representing me. I have no voice regardless of my citizenship, therefore I have no vote." I then proceeded to the next obvious question, "how did you arrive here?" Any narrative he told me about how he immigrated into the US, I knew would be an incredible story but I was not ready for what he was about to so casually divulge. Eight years ago, starting in Cuba, "Eric" flew with his wife to Bolivia with a counterfeit Bolivian visa, that was accompanied by a fake letter inviting him by the Bolivian government for some type of tourism training. The Cuban government allowed him to leave and stayed in Bolivia for six months, ironically enough working in the tourism industry. With his wife, he then made his way to Argentina for an almost five months extensive Latin American tour that was a front for his entry in the US. This journey took him to Chile, Peru, Costa Rica, Guatemala, finally ended up in Mexico. During this trip, he was arrested twice in Argentina and held at gun point by the Guatemalan police and only escaped by bribing his way out of all three accounts with money that was wired to him via Western Union by his family living in the US. Once in Mexico "Eric" took the bus to a northern Mexican town boarding Texas and crossed illegally by land. Almost shot, kidnapped and arrested with his wife still at his side, he finally made it to his family in Miami almost one year later. Accumulating a total debt of just over $30,000, which he now owes his family, "Eric" drives a cab for a living and has lined up meetings in 2013 with immigrant officials to bring his two daughters into the US legally. I very sincerely and enthusiastically congratulated him on his incredible feat of entering the US and asked him in spanish, "Was it all worth it?" Without even a beat, he answered "Yes, it was worth every penny." All that kept going through my head was each leg of his trip and the other things he possibly left out. An immigration process that took him over a year of unpredictably dangerous travels, always running from something and finally owing more money that he has ever made in his life time living in Cuba. We sat in silence approaching the airport. My last thoughts before leaving "Eric" with a warm embrace a thought kept repeating in my head as I boarded my plane: Its incredible the lengths we're willing to go through, just to feel free.
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