Life

Chapter One: The Fellowship of the Cigars

My story began on a very cold January morning. The laughter of kids playing outside and glittering white snow, covered all of Denmark. Inside, in the corner of my office, under a cloud of cuban delight, I stumbled across a website that would soon change my life. For two years I have been reading, dreaming and talking about Padron cigars. It has been a fantasy that has taken on a life on its own. The one that got away. The cigar that everyone is talking about, but impossible to get close to, in a country that paints the opening scene to Hamlet.

Every cigar shop has a collection as long as the eye can see, but in the dusty corner, on the bottom shelf, in a small wooden box, right next to the mouse hole where tales of Despereaux is written, are a small insignificant group of Nicaraguan, Dominican and Honduran sticks, resting in the dark shadow of the majority Cubans, looking at them from the spotlight. And so it began, I placed an order on a Padron Sampler pack of 8 cigars for a total of 105 dollars.

Chapter Two: The Two Weeks

As my mind wandered, so did the time. Days rushed by, seven days and six nights; it sounds like the title of a bad movie, but at the end I got my first news. The package had arrived at the Danish border, ready for delivery. It was supposed to be only a matter of hours now… but I heard nothing. Two more days went by without any notice.

I started to panic and doubt the men and women at the postal service. What was taking so long? In a heated and passionate phone call I was told that my package was lost and all agents was working on my case; at least that is what it sounded like in my head. It was like losing your best friend and not just any friend, a tasty Nicaraguan friend, wrapped in maduro.

One monday morning I went for my first cup of Lungo, a fresh arabica roast to drown my sorrows. I reached for the newspaper when my heart skipped a beat. There it sat, in the middle of the pile, just above the final-notice and under the birthday invitation. It was not what I was expecting, it was much worse, a letter from the custom service. The package had been put aside for customs and the amount of 124 dollars in tax, was screaming at me.

Chapter Three: Return of the Fantasy

And so it came to be, two weeks had passed, 229 dollars was paid, but none of that was on my mind, because grasped in my hands was a small wooden box imprinted with curly letters. Ever so gently I opened the box and the sight was all that I had hoped for. The wrapper, the sizes, the shapes, the bands, I took it all in. It was like holding my firstborn, the feelings of hope and fear all at once. I laid the cigars to rest in my favorite humidor and placed it back on the bookcase. Now was the time to be strong, one day, one week, one month, I could do the time. But that very same afternoon something strange happened. It was like a soft voice calling from the humidor. Like a beautiful Greek siren calling me. I went to the humidor, but there was nothing inside. As I started to close the lid I caught a glimse of the cigars. I couldn’t move, my eyes were frozen, my heart started to race and in a moment of weakness I picked up a 1926 Torpedo.

As the torch lit up my cigar, my lips got the first taste of the wrapper. Salty, oily, sweet and in a flash the first smoke reached my tongue. It was the return of a fantasy and suddenly it all became instant reality. As I sat there in my room surrounded by thick white smoke, all the magic began to fade away. Two years of fantasies, two weeks of intense trials and all that I have left is the cigar that I hold in my hand. I wish I could say something romantic at this moment. I wish it was like my fantasy but that afternoon was nothing like I imagined. It was simply two hours of pure relaxation floating on silky smoke and at the end, the name of the cigar was a distant memory.