Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
maduro issue, Winter 93/94
(continued from page 14)
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I am a 28-year-old traveler currently working as a waiter at a prominent Los Angeles restaurant. I was introduced to cigars a year after my return from a four-year odyssey across Europe and Africa. It was an old friend and my current manager, "George," who got me started. Needless to say, I am hooked.
I am curious about what smoking cigars means to different people. I started with George. He answered in his heavy Brooklyn accent, "you know, the finer things in life. When I smoke a cigar, I feel like I'm one of the elite. Fine hotels, good food, cars, the works."
I smiled. It has a similar meaning for me, but not the same. To me, smoking cigars is a mark of individuality. It is standing out from the crowd. It is being "an original." It is taking a stand and staying there. I could even go so far as to say it is the "rebel" quality of cigars that appeal to me. Freedom to go anywhere, do anything, at any time.
Images of cigar-smoking soldiers, cowboys, writers and yeah, even crooks come to mind as I smoke my H. Upmann Robustos while skateboarding home from work. We, the "fringe" element. I am in good company here.
For most of my peers, pleasure money is spent on beer and adult toys. I, however, would rather save the majority of my funds for traveling. I spend the rest on good cigars and decent bottles of red wine (not to mention subscriptions to a few good magazines).
I'll be leaving again in a year. I plan to spend three to four years traveling around Asia. The only difference with this trip will be the small stock of cigars I'll carry in my pack.
Santa Monica, California
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