Often, the trickiest parts of a charter have nothing to do with ticklish navigation, lousy weather, or seasick crew. Instead, they are about logistics and bureaucracy, and I was remembering this as the two female Cuban customs agents with hot pink nails dug through my bag with gusto. On discovering my handheld VHF radio, they lit up with a mixture of excitement and confusion. This was something to be confiscated.
“Qué es?” one demanded adjusting the fishnet stockings part of
