Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Greg Raymer, Sept/Oct 2004
(continued from page 4)
With the rain falling in heavy sheets, the owner of the shop stood in the center of the courtyard yelling at two blue and gold macaws that were sitting on a perch. Despite the fact that it was pouring, the birds did not seem to want to come in. My wife and I had to stifle a laugh as the poor man, shirt and pants now soaked by the rain, commanded his pets to come to him. The two birds, however, oblivious to their owner's threats and pleas, only spread their wings in order to bathe in the warm rain. Pure malicious pleasure was written all over their faces. It was a scene we both remember to this day.
Later that evening I went up on deck. With stars sparkling overhead and the distant lights of the island fading behind us, I lit up my Cuban Montecristo and enjoyed my own forbidden pleasure. I thought of those poor souls who could not wait to have their cigars, smoking frantically in the hot midday sun. To me they seemed to have missed the point of smoking a fine cigar. It's not being able to say that you've done it. It's being able to enjoy the moment. That's why I smoke cigars, and after spending the day in port, I was glad that I stayed true to my reasons.
Arthur Sanchez Peekskill, New York