Havana 2 | Sacred Soul

Part 2 Havana - My big Cuban Escape

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‘Havana is full of curves and alleys and even a few dead ends and the best stories come out of the city are just idiosyncrasies of human geography.’

Pedro Almodovar

“This is the loveliest land ever beheld by human eyes”

Christopher Columbus upon arrival in Cuba - 1492

I generally think im the type of person that does what they are told. I was so used to routine and conforming to work , to homelife, to lifestyles just as everyone else not really deviating from what life expects of us. But at this point with so much desire to travel the world was unfolding a journey that seemed to be controlled by fate as if a gravitational pull was drawing me to new places– I really was leaving it to the universe I had no idea about how long or where I was travelling I was taking it by each step.

Getting to Havana from Varadero there are two options, bus or taxi and I chose to get a shared taxi to the main bus point , then a taxi myself all the way. The drive was beautiful along the 145km beach stretch about a 2 hour journey. I contemplated where my journey would take me next what adventures ,what people I would meet and how I would feel. I almost felt sad as I gazed out my open window as the breeze cooled my face off the beautiful sea, really the most beautiful waters in the world I had ever seen. The glimpse of towns between Varadero and Havanan was almost like limbo or off the beaten track, perhaps those parts of Cuba not for tourist.

As we reached Havana from crystal beaches to a hustling city, we drove through districts that looked like it had stood still since 1920’s.It was midday when we arrived and I called my casa owner and passed the phone to the driver. For some reason he could not read the address which I found odd, so I prompted he spoke to the casa owner I booked.

He nodded his head and seemed to have a heated conversation with my casa owner, he then continued to converse in an agitated manner as he handed the phone back to me, waving his hand around. I tried to talk to my casa owner and she implied in broken English he must bring you, but I was under the impression I was being taken to her address. I really think if my Spanish was up to scratch I could have fended for myself , or at least understood what the issue was but I was now at their mercy not knowing what to do next.

At this point I started to panic slightly - were was i going, this was the only accommodation I had prearranged, I wanted a homestay I had no back up plan if it failed ?

We drove into a neighbourhood of houses, somewhere In Havana, which really looked like the city was built for kings with palace looking colonial buildings dotted around. He motioned me to step out the taxi and led me to the house which at this point I thought was the casa I had a arranged, but upon reaching realised the lady waiting at the door could not speak English at all which was not the original booking. Had I been duped ? Was it maybe the original casa I was not to know ? I wouldn’t know if I was really in Havana , I could have been anywhere in Cuba but I wasn’t going to leave to start looking for accommodation as yet.

The lady waiting (perhaps his mother) was so delighted to have me and showed me the homestay paperwork, which is an agreement to stay. The house was a typical Cuban design - the courtyard to the house was lovely with its manicured garden, gravel path and palm tree and plants. I Settled in my room , with wooden traditional furniture and thank God an air conditioner. I was shown around and they both looked pensive as I agreed to stay, somehow in hand motion and taxi driver’s broken English,at this point then it was agreed this would be my stay for my time in Havana.I was going to have to use my intuition and trust them, my bag had no valuables and if needed I could decided later to find a hotel.

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I decided to check my location in Havana, using my lonely planet book and walked around the area called El Vedado for that day – and from here I would explore Havana for the remaining week.

It was a hot April afternoon in 2007 I was endlessly and aimlessly wondered through Vedado, which I soon learnt was once(pre revolution) the centre of luxury and was the city commercial hub for Americans and rich and famous playground. Elegant and functional the area Vadado seemed to display an array of ancient opulent buildings slowly crumbling with age. All the buildings seemed to show its history displayed in architecture like a story of time - each building left by its colonial rulers which gave a glimpse of what Cuba had been through. From the Spanish era, , Italians , Portuguese as if so many conquerors left their mark over time. I couldn’t even work out what architecture was in Varadero there was such a mix, almost like it survived centuries of wars, from baroque, neoclassicism to art deco. The neighbourhood seemed like it was once designed for aristocracy but over time a variety of modern buildings were added to the landscape for urbanisation.

As evening set in I had been walking aimlessly a while, I walked past official buildings and mansions boasting their magnificence had all now aged with old crumbling bricks and pealing paint of pastel coloured buildings, with marbles stairway - I only imagined what it must have been like to work or live in these buildings.

Havana seemed like a beautiful wounded city, as you see the scars it bared from battles of occupation, as each country and empire left its mark. The wounds of time where all there for us to see in its varied architecture, or street design, to elaborate arches and marble entrances mature and aging. There is something I love about things that age, like us humans our lines hold a story, as if the walls can talk to us and tell each generation that comes its journey and encounters.

The city really did look like a clock stopped in the 1920s, with a shell of architecture left behind as artefacts and the walls the only witnesses to tell the backstories of a history long forgotten today. Looking at these wounded buildings was like looking into an intimate past of Cuba’s history . The buildings here seemed to stand the test of time imprinting in history a reminder of all the colonies and rich cultures of its societies past.

Although old Havana is traditionally the preferred recommendation in tourist books this part of Havana further west is truly a magical walking tour not to be missed. Mostly residential it was named by the Spanish when it originally was just forest terrain converted to military defence zones. Over time the architecture built by others told a story of a country imprinted by heritage from the Spanish, Italians ,French, Greco Roman and Americans can be seen throughout.

As I walked through the neighbourhood, which was now my new holiday residence at a casa, I was I started to fall in love with the Parisian style boulevards with leafy wide trees lined along the avenues on either side. I took photos of all the buildings, crumbled ancient majestic look which had the mysteries and secrets of the glory days.

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I managed to get a slice of pizza as I followed locals queued in line from a hole in the wall - one thing was for sure, food was limited in choice due to the trade embargo. I decided it would be worth trying to get to an internet café, but every café seemed to have no facilities and realised not much internet was accessible anywhere – it was only 2007.

I walked up to a bus stand it was 5pm and people were waiting to go home, mostly black Cubans queued. I asked someone where I could get to an internet café. Not finding anyone that could speak English - I was drawn to an old man who smiled and understood my request.

He agreed to take me to the nearest internet café by bus so I trusted him waited with him for the bus. We stood together In silence the whole journey, I almost felt terrible he may have been exhausted from a days work and was summoned to take this tourist to another place.

Once we reached somewhere that looked like an official ministry building, we approached the doors and the old man had a conversation with the guard, who after a while turned him away. He approached me with an apologetic look and I worked out in his Spanish that there was no internet access available – I had no connection to the rest of the world. He insisted on taking me back on the bus and I was grateful to have someone escort me back.

We sat on the bus in silence but I did not feel alone or afraid, almost like his presence comforted me in a sea of locals on the bus going home after a days work. Its strange how a mundane act of a trip on a bus is an adventure when abroad, not like your normal evening journey at home from work, where you submerge in yourself in a book or drift into thought. Here I was alert, curious , watching others looking at the sights. I wondered where everyone lived, what their life was like and if they were happy or sad, I often try and look into peoples soul to see has humanity been kind to them.

There is something about some human beings that have a presence we resonate with like the universal energy in all of us means we connect with some people and not others. We are all connected but you feel a strong pull when your spirit is at ease or drawn to someone – like a gut instinct or just my higher self or God talking to you trust in it and learn to listen to it in life, its was makes our destiny. I always say listen to your gut feelings, I’m sure its our guardian angels talking to us, and guiding us and this was how I navigated my trip and encounters.

Travelling gives you a chance for close encounters with humanity and when there is a helping hand if you feel vulnerable in a strange country, trusting strangers is an art and knowing when its right from your gut. Small acts of kindness from strangers meant so much to me on my travels and these are the moments I didn’t forget. The old man looked tired with dirt on his face, perhaps a manual labourer, but he still wanted to ensure I returned in peace. When we reached back , I offered him money he rejected it till I insisted. For him convertible peso$10 was half his months wages but just a lunch for us.

The currency in Cuba was something new to me as I learnt this over time again not from my limited research before the trip. In Cuban two currencies exist the Cuban convertible peso and the Cuban dollar. Cubans live and get paid in Cuban pesos and everyone makes a certain amount but tourist use Cuban convertible peso with a far higher value. The national currency is a faction of what Cubans make. The real difference in peoples wealth is those that have access to the convertible and those that don’t. There is a different level of poverty here in Cuba not only do people struggle to attain it.

The next day I start regretting having left my happy abode in the beaches of Varadero to this busy hot city with no one I could talk to. My casa owner was lovely but my limited Spanish and her limited English left me no way to exchange but the basics. My excitement of being away travelling started to ware as I found myself in this busy hot city alone.

I wondered through the sleepy streets of Havana and still wasn’t in the mood to venture to the museums or the sights. It was only on my second day in Havana when I started to regret the trip and perhaps feeling alone but I did not miss home.

Then my inner critic, my doubtful inner voice appeared, to tell me I should go home , why am I far away from comforts for travelling to an unknown places all alone? These voices (thoughts -im not really hearing the voices btw)I guess internal conversations of reason that we all have seem to appear when in situations we not familiar with. I name the critical voices Olga – Olga is the inner critic that tells me when I’m in danger or even doing anything different or daring I should hold back.

Loneliness, fear or just a sad feeling that comes I blame Olga as it creeps up and almost tells me go home, as if she has a reasoning conversation, but its always negative. But as I have her negative voice, there is also another voice, I call it my inner strength an angel guiding me the right way and giving me strength and a more rational positive guide.

Why do I feel sad I want to go home can you make me enjoy myself or feel better?Whenever I post this question out I always get some form of response.

The voice that I have inside is like my higher self talking to me, its when im reaching out to God, and at the same time I’m answering myself but what ever it Is - a higher energy, angel or maybe just me, but I always get a response to questions. I have always reached out to this divine inner voice and have never doubted its existence when on multiple times it have helped me in times of need.

As I start to ponder my trip and wonder what am I really doing here alone in Cuba I revert to my aim of making this trip be a happy adventure away from my mundane life. As the Dali Lama says happiness is really when one reaches a state of liberation when there is no suffering -that’s genuine happiness. In life defining pleasure or how to make ourselves happy is not easy is it? Could be a smile, a sunset, a lover holding my hand or extreme of ecstasy of heroine, alcohol buzz - these are all pleasure frantic. What is it that makes me happy and why am I questioning my experience in this wonderful city? That's the thing about traveling alone your also dealing with your own inner workings and navigating through a world of discovering you somewhere new.

Capturing the joy of the present moment is something I think I have always struggled with as I start worrying or ruminating on past or future, thinking about what happens after my trip before it even starts. I remember the stats from a study - we spend around 47% of our time thinking about something other than now. When peoples mind wander they are less happy therefore for mind wanders and multitaskers like me at this moment temporary have self inflicted sadness, as I try and convince myself there is pleasure of travel away from boring hum of life.I reminding myself this moment wont last forever and it should increase enjoyment by heightening being in the now.

As I walk aimlessly around Vedado trying to figure out why im here - I come across a grand entrance to a cemetery, again since I had done no research and no internet access in sight (no smart phones) I was not aware this was one of the grandest cemeteries I have ever come across. With a slight heavy feeling of sadness or maybe its that aloneness, I walk into its beautiful moss covered cemetery entrance like I was entering a secret garden cave entry.

? Coul

The sun lashed down on me as I strolled in clueless, I see keepers sweeping some graves. I have always gravitated in London to cemetery a natural haven in a city a place mostly quiet peaceful and away for me to walk.

Necropolis Cristobal Colon is the cemetery name as I check my guide book - a national monument from 1800 renown for its elaborate statues and iconography and a place of rest for writers and revolutionaries . Its not eerie, as I walk in all 57 hectors of it, I resonate with the the place and am in aww at the beauty of the monuments.

The cemetery statues and relics all in white stone or marble act as a mirror to the sun reflecting the bright Havana sun onto all the graves. The monuments, as I read have dates that go through time. An impressive 75ft monument dedicated to the firefighters who lost their lives to warehouse fire of 1890. I stop at a memorial of a women cradling a baby, with the most flowers placed at this grave than any - as she holds onto a cross I kneeled down under the blazing sun to see the name, Amelia 1901 with her baby and the plaque says ‘

You were blessed with Amelia/without doubt, by the lord for all the love you felt when you were alive’.

I later learnt locals come to make offerings in prayer for children and birth and make donations to the saint. There were piles of plaques with flowers placed round her with for gratitude or wishes and now call her the Miracle maker (La Milagrosa).

It truly was a place of eternal rest with its priceless artistic monuments and statues all embedded in green vegetation that fell beautifully on the white marble graves, as if nature over time has perfected the cemetery, or a very good designer had artistically chosen the perfect wild flowers and foliage to frame the graves and walk ways.

The entrance had a grand porch known as the gate of peace is Cuba’s version of the arch d triumph. In the distance I saw a car drive in with a small funeral procession and members surrounding a grave.

I continued to wallow in my sadness as I walked but had a sense of peace among the beautiful winged angels and sacred statues of hope and peace, which seemed to comfort me. As I wondered a flood of sadness filled my heart and tears flowed as if I was mourning a lost family member I sat on a bench. I figured if I needed to cry alone in a city here would be the place It would be acceptable a place where people would think I was just mourning a loved one as not to draw attention.

I decided to pray. I do this when I need to be comforted or have a question to God, so i told my inner voice or God - please make me happy and let my soul be unburdened by whatever was saddening me. I wasn’t ready to give in and go home, there was nothing to go back home to anyway, I just needed some courage and effort to enjoy my trip. My silent prayer amongst the monuments, which as my mother said always pray for those resting in peace when you pass the dead, so i included a prayer for them and prayer for me :

Please keep these people in peace and shine light on those that rest here where ever they stay.

May the loves they loved unfold further and may they find ease in after life

Whisper their wishes into light

In the stillness of this silent field.

( I added a small prayer for me too )

Please ease my burden or sadness that has appeared

Let me get the strength to continue my trip and not run home

Please help me find comfort or a find a way to feel back to my explorer self.

As I said this silent prayer and sat at ease my tears stopped and Olga and the sadness disappeared, as my chest eased and I once again got my mojo back to want to explore and feel better. I needed to see the city and make some friends, easy or not I wants going to give up on my trip I had to stay focused.

By the time I made my way back and finished a light dinner in a local café . I walked back to my casa and around me darkness began to set in, I realise I was further than expected from my place. I wondered further out from Vadedo and had gotten lost walking. I walked through the wide side walks , all the streets looking like each other, and no street lights made it difficult to see. Outdoor guard dogs seemed to bark louder around me in the dark.

My walking got faster and panic started to kick in as i realise all I had was the casa address written on card and no one or not even a Cuban in sight to ask for directions. It felt like I was walking for a while , in the dark, then I bumped into someone flustering and not knowing if I should run at this point or ask for help.

‘ Im lost I revert habla ingles do you do you speak English?'

‘Yes I do.’ In surprise the tall figure of a man I couldn’t tell any features from the darkness.

By some magical luck I bumped into an expat, a medical student Mathew, who I was so grateful to show me back and from that day on Mathew became my new friend in Cuba.

A relief I guess, not cause I hated my own company and was homesick but Havana was not easy to travel alone in , also my casa owner was relieved since Mathew called the house everyday. This allowed him to translate between us both and make arrangements of when we would meet after his classes. For my landlady if I was happy then she was too and having Mathew help keep her English guest staying.

During that blip of sadness at the Cemetery for the first day I wondered if sending a prayer that evening was the universe telling me to stay and sending me people such as Mathew to ease my travels. Anyway something you will learn is its these serendipity moments and encounters that make it memorable adventure.

Mathew was a tall Medical student from Africa, a philosopher, that loved discussing the details of Cuba’s politics and international affairs and from him I also got an insight into what Cuba really was like to live in, something a short lived tourist like me would not get a glimpse of in a few weeks.

There was something endearing about Mathew, his old man ways, his philosophical opinions although serious - there was a lightness about him. I realised at times travelling alone is something we all need to learn about us, but we also need the connection and a bond to another person. So my days became spent touring the city by day alone and catching up for drinks or dinner after his classes. I would tell him about my day as he sheds light on Cuba each day.

‘ I love showing people round, for me it gives me a chance to get away from studies since that’s all I really came here to do - get my Medical degree and leave this place.’

‘ Why are you so keen to leave - do you miss home surly Cuba is a paradise for a student unlike my bachelors I escapism?’

Mathew was opposed to the regime and felt the oppression in Cuba was inflicted by Fidel’s rules. Mathew being in his third year studying Medicine is one of many foreign expats that come to embrace the high quality asset the country produces, the best doctors in the world with 30,00 Cuban doctors working abroad. Cuba exports the most amount of doctors in the world at $15 a month average in salary in Cuba peso and if working in host countries they only receive only an additional 15% salary the rest goes to Cuban authorities.

‘Doctors or a lawyers or any profession you still don’t make the same as you would on tips from tourist. ‘

‘But why do they work still why don’t they just provide for tourism to get convertible cash? I ask

‘People are reluctant to tell truth or live against revolution lifestyle living day to day a Is job still a means. It’s a shame the Cuban education system especially medical system is highly sought after the soviet union has more maths genius than anywhere that’s why you have 9 year olds learning advanced maths here’

‘Well part of socialism is equality a form of unity and shared values and life their plan is not singly for the me but us as a unit. I really think this is what’s missing in the west.’ I state

‘Come on’ he huffs

“These people have no plans to life they have no options they can share - they just drift from one day to another with nothing being done.’

‘It does feel people drift at holiday pace like me I thought it was the chilled Caribbean vibe that life is slower than London. Do people have any hope of change is there truly any hope?’ I asked well openly pondered

‘They may hope once Fidel is gone but hope is fragile and those that left Cuba long ago hope to come back one day and those here hope for change. I mean how can a country give you a rulebook but not have any result or reward for your life’s work ?’ He chanted

‘Im not sure people know what Cuba gave them, well what the revolution really gave anyone but everyone knows what they should give to Cuba. Thinking is free but acting on it is not the restricting these people have give them little space to breath fully.’

One of the days Mathew and I visited the Fortress - a lighthouse you can see it from the city ‘EL Morro’ guarding the entrance to Havana’s bay - it gives great views from a distance of the city. Built in the 1589 it was a response from the raidings in Havana harbour, it was destroyed by the British in 1762 and then rebuilt by Spanish. From there you had great views of Havana overlooking the coast.The Fortress now is a tourist spot we stopped for drinks and a break overlooking Havana as the sun dips low shedding golden light along the Malecon.

'Do you think Cubans take the regime seriously even by Cubans partly socialism if Good for all? I asked him

Don’t be so lefti and naïve ‘, Mathew mocked

“The political dream Che had is something long gone it was destroyed when the soviet union got destroyed and with the trade embargo they were left with nothing”

All round the city you see these communist relics, a statue of Ho chin Minh in a park in Vedado and Arafat in Miramar and john Lennon relics.

‘But is Cuba a Utopian reality, from what I see although there is hardship people get by for each other, there is a community feel of support?’ I question

‘It was a dream, but unfortunately Cuba sits in a time capsule pointing backwards and no real future so they are in solidarity heaven of community hell ?

‘Until Fidel is gone their way of life continues to cripple people and the economy. They created a system that wears you down so much in the end there is no fight left in people so as they are told and continue to be repressed.’

I debate in my head for a while. Does money even matter? A shared community of kindness or overwilling inequalities is important but I guess us tourist with money would never understand the hardship here. One thing that I do realise as I learn more about socialism here - the freedom we have is so precious and without it what life would we have?

As I spend my days visiting museums, walking the streets and taking in Havana from a new perspective, I did fall in Love with the city. I didn’t use my lonely planet guide of Cuba, since I spent most of my time wondering alone and getting lost, discovering mysteries and stumbling along beautiful monuments or just streets filled with locals. I must have spent 90% of my time getting lost but I was 100% happy most of the time like this I didn’t need to plan I wanted to let my soul wonder and discovering unexpected places at free will.

Travelling alone allows one to do this you can stop off at a street painter watching for as long as you like, take your time walking and thinking and pondering not aligning to another persons plans. Strolling through Havana I started to come to understand the place and rhythm of life. Havana is a beautiful city with shadow of past and sadness, but its like everyone is unaware of hardship everyone laughs and continues. Cubans have the least to laugh about but seems they laugh the most. The city has something magnificent about the old places cathedral of bhavana, theatre of Habana -I understand why locals have this national pride.

My favourite place in Havana was the Malecon - its a seawall that stretches 8km along coast bordering the north of city with the ocean that faces towards Florida. The Malecon, hot in the day but cool in evening , is the border between sea and the city maybe beginning or an end a place so misunderstood and complex with mysteries and unknown history I made it my ritual to walk there everyday. The Malecon is definitely the breathing heartbeat of the city truly a special place like a gathering place for locals – its not the most majestic looking or perfect to the eye but it’s the energy of the place – its wild ,smelly, noisy and constantly moving but I loved it. The Malecon’s energy allowed me to be part of it all the colours, the smells(sea,sweat, diesel cars) ,the people(all ages, family’s , lovers, loners, fishermen, flirters) and the sounds that make it and me alive. The more times I walked along the Malecon the more I immersed myself in its richness of Cuban life, I noticed everything and became part of the now the moment – I could see and feel the sumptuous colours and the magic of the place.

I suddenly had a flash back as I walked through the sea of people on the Malecon I saw myself a few weeks back - me walking through a sea of people on London Bridge my way to work every morning. It was like walking through fog everyone had no expression apart from gloominess, as if everyone was vibrating at such low frequency, it made me a zombie immersed into nothingness. Whereas here, not cause of the weather or holiday vibes, the people were vibrating at higher frequencies, I was being drawn into the excitement not just a passer by but part of it all.

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I made a point to visit the Malecon each day like a touchpoint grounding me - I watched every thing and everyone as I walk along the sea promenade. Young people strolled, people fishing off the wall ,ice cream vendors selling to children and just life happening - magic. One side of the seawall you have the vast ocean, maybe to look out to the world so different to Cuba, and the other side the promenade presenting its array of magnificent colonial mansions showing off its age with pealing pastel colour paint and a few dotted restaurants, and in between it all was life the people of Cuba the tourist the animals all there for you to see.

Its true what Pedro Almodovar said , the Malecon was the ‘Couch of Havana’ -sometimes in the evening you would see whole families lounging together looking out as if they were in their living room.The film director Pedro Almodovar said you can plant a camera on street corner of the Malecon and film everyday and called it ‘ Havana ‘s living room sea wall.’

‘Havana is full of curves and alleys and even a few dead ends and the best stories come out of the city are just idiosyncrasies of human geography.’ (Pedro Almodovar)

My favourite part of the city was the evening, as temperature cooled the air - the city comes alive even more like out of hibernation, the balconies have people hanging out windows lounging as balconies conversing calling to one another. Balconies are everywhere in Havana like layers of communities all sprawled out with clothes and people on them at all times. Part of Cuban spirit can be found just observing life on balconies. I would sometimes watch for hours as an old women on her rocking chair looking down at the world below, children playing, women sitting looking at discussing life coming her hair in the sun, it was all happening on balconies peoples way of dealing with walls and small space.

I can see how the great writers like Hemingway wanted to be part of the city. Some of the greatest writers are connected to Cuba. Cuba having one of the highest literacy rates and best educated population I was shocked there were not more Cuban writers. However it seemed only those that had chosen to exile and leave the island, had self published and developed. The US trade embargo perhaps limited resources including flow of information, books, paper or anything to help an inspiring writers left here. Many poems not translated, or the Castro regime limited creativity causing a lack of Cuban literature available for the outside world.

One concern of my casa owner Anna was to ensure my wellbeing and happiness , so as well as a relief of having Mathew she introduces me to her friends nephew, a student at University studying literature, who she felt another English speaker would keep me content. Federico was young , handsome and a passionate man but even after multiple attempts to convince Anna I was quite fine alone she insisted. Federico becomes a good match since in tandem exchange we agreed I’d teach him English and he teach me Spanish.

I forgot to tell you all Cubans are beautiful by the way its not just their glittery sunkissed tones, all shades of varying brown but their mannerism and charisma. It wasn’t a shock to me that Frederico mentioned tourist are drawn to Cuban women another route often taken out of the country- Cuban women were stunning and it was an industry in itself apparently.

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On afternoons he did not attend classes, Fredrico would join me either at Floridito were I often would stop off for my afternoon Daiquiri, or he would shows me to local museums or touristy things to do. As we walk round the revolution museum I recall his animation enthusiastically showing off the relics and photos of Che and Fidel’s triumph , the revolution was pride for every Cuban – I think! As I looked at the first black and white prints of Che Guevara entering Havana - I imagined Fidel and Che entering neighbourhoods and towns claiming their victory. As they claimed their victory land back, I can only imagine the wealthy fleeing in fear at night as their homes and possessions were awarded to the lower classes and heroes of the war. Me below in the Revolution museum - a picture taken by Fredrico.

Floridito bar as a side note will be one of the top things to in Havana on your list to do, most likely because so many great writers such as Hemingway spent their time there .A lot of great writing came from Havana even if the authors were not born in Cuba. Eliseo Diego poems of streets of Havana. Hemingway lived in Cuba longer than anywhere else however although his books were inspired there none were dedicated to Cuba. The old man on the sea based on north of Cuba. My pictures below a jazz band in Floridito one afternoon and a happy Cuban man outside dancing

The Cubans treasured Hemmingway and the Floridito bar had photos of Hemingway passing time there across the walls. Bar staff were always happy to give anecdotes of his days spent there writing drinking sugar free Daiquiris ( he was diabetic).As I sat listing to Jazz pondering how inspiration came from Havana to these greats sipping my Daquiri with sugar and enjoying the Jazz, I more often than not got interrupted by Canadian or German tourist on things to do or enforcing advise on where the best Cuban artwork was sourced -information im not sure why they felt they needed to share.

Some days I would take lazy extended morning lounge at the casa to avoid the city heat and sunbath in Anna’s beautifully manicured garden and sit back under the palm tree, in her garden in my rattan chair and watch the world go by in the street ahead. Unlike the pink Canadian or German tourist you generally wont see Habaneros (locals) sunbathing if they can avoid it. Anna's front garden below:

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The Caribbean climate in Cuba meant you would be tanned even if you avoided the sun somehow and the heat meant you always sweated

Fredrico would say

“Everyone sweats here - rich or poor everyone is glistened and the classlessness existed based on sweat since everybody could not avoid it - Rich people just sweat in better clothes’. He chuckled

When I walked with Fredrico along the Malecon he would tell me stories of his family and friends and the life in Cuba. He would translate conversations of everyday Cubans passing us by on how much bread they got today, or selling sued bags or a lovers tiff.

Havana itself has its own unique feel unlike the rest of the island so habaneros ( that’s what you call someone from Havana) generally aren’t aware of what’s outside the city or that the rest of the world exists- perhaps a similar trait to a New Yorker where life outside the city is not really of importance to them.

Fredrico had little opinion of South America all he did was laugh at the Spanish accent in Argentina of course Cubans having the purest and original Spanish, something he focuses on during my Spanish lesson is pronunciation, like the queens English compared to a scouser (Necastler).

He laughed at my unplanned journey ahead to south America

You must be part Cuban you have no plan for your trip or where your going. Hanvan is best when you don’t arrange anything too we are the same ‘ he laughed

It helps having a local his views are less extreme than Mathews and of course he is an advocate of the regime and Fidel whether in truth or not he loves Cuba

‘I do want to travel the world but Cuba is my country and leaving would risk not coming back.

I would never abandon my country, my people those that left ran away they are cowards’

I feel for him since like me he wanted to travel surly its something his lifetime may not allow him due to his responsibility and sacrifice for being Cuban. Most people seem to have forced or a form of self imposed exile at some time in their life. Cubans that have left the country live in the past memories of the love of the place they left. Those that have gone and those that have stayed still seem to survive in present but are occupied in the past of what Cuba was once part of. For Federico, proud or hidden feelings, he would never leave. From his stories, many Cubans meet tourists as a route out but many stay out of responsibility ,commitment or no choice for the regime.

The best thing about spending time with locals like Federico is they show you the best way to see and be in their city from their view point. Simple things were made easy, like Federico would often take short cuts and suggest the best places to eat and time to go. For instance the tropical heat from the city was managed and built to withstand temperature with shade provided by narrow streets. Federico and most locals ,I learnt later, knew the art to knowing which streets to stick to avoid midday sunspots and ones that lined up the coast providing relief of sea breeze for cooling.

So lesson learnt my key mantra for my travels was to do as locals did. I made every attempt on outings in Havana to not get to close to tourist of which was hard since every Canadian/ European would try and strike up conversation. Its not I was purposely being antisocial something you’d think I shouldn’t be traveling alone but I really wanted to experience Havana myself before my view was faded by their viewpoint .

One couple in Floridito insisted a list of to do things and provide me a full list of itinerary for my trip from tourist point of view. I also met a few tourists part of group tours like Intrepid and really then also appreciated my time alone at the casa and meeting people I had it was outside the bubble of comfort allowing me to explore Cuba and feel it differently to a tour guide reading a script. What I learnt not being part of the group tours was the real passion of Cuba are the people the way they live, speak, feel the sound of each person is born from the place – something you need to explore through locals not tourist or tour groups.

My last evening I remembered walking along the Malecon looked out to the world, the ocean to the outside unknown world visible from the city ready for my next adventure. I walked and decided to check if the local hotel Grand had internet to check my flights to Argentina. By now I got used to being stopped at hotel entrances and shop entrances to be verified if Cuban or not. Being tourist gave me privileges of going anywhere which saddened me for locals - to be a prisoner in your own country. I entered the National Hotel and checked for internet access which was not available so I had a drink in the restaurant and stood at the balcony overlooking the city. The stereotypical tourist pictures of Cuba a Caribbean city with yellow and turquoise buildings set against crystal blue sea is an image that is painted but has to be seen and felt in person to really understand it.

That evening as I looked out at my last sunset in Cuba onto the city at dusk it really was a golden city of ancient delight. I watched from the hotel balcony down at its narrow side streets, since Havana was modelled off European cities, but as you look above the life also emerges in its kaladescope of colours from balconies and roofs have a richness you can get absorbed in – the magic of Cuba was all around always. That evening I saw everything and everyone as people did capoeira on rooftops, families prepared dinner through open balconies, women talking over balconies -just life as nowhere else. I watched the sunset as a backdrop to the city in action and listened to the hum of people, felt the breeze on my cheek , and the joy of being there, taking my last mental photograph of that moment part of my memory building of my adventure as i smiled .That very moment I felt as if the universe was winking at me telling me I was at the right place at the right time and to continue on my journey.

A bar staff stood behind me, no one else was there on the hotel balcony that evening as the sunset was all just for me he questioned why I was alone :

‘you must come to Cuba with your love one day and share it’

But I didn’t need a love I loved me - to one thing I learnt was I loved being me with me and not feeling lost just learning and doing things at my pace.

One thing you learn traveling alone is how you become the narrator of your own storey. My last evening wasn’t really planned aprat from going to a bar later for final goodbyes to FREDRICO AND Mathew. I somehow ended up strolling into this national hotel roof bar at sunset as if there was a gravitational pull or angel guiding me there serendipity again. Traveling alone has so many coincidences or serendipity moments that happen from encounters with strangers such as Mathew that night lost or moments happen as if the world is speaking to you just have to be awake or curious to be ready for it.

Stumbling on the roof view for that final sunset was another serendipity moment and all these moments kept happening as I listened and followed my soul talking to me. The initial fright of travel started to ware of and glad I tried the adventure I didn’t want to be someone who saw less of life or maybe saw less of the world because I was afraid to do it alone.

My final wish was a visit to Floridito one last time to meet Mathew and Federico although they both had very different views I knew they would get on for me to say goodbye. As always classical Cuban live jazz bands played as tourist and some locals enjoyed the entertainment. Locals more often than note peered in over the shutters locals. That evening we met Antonio and his friend Maria at the bar they were locals and loved the place they suggested we all go to Hotel national for Cuban and salsa dancing.

We agreed to go to the hotel on our way that night, I saw an argument break out on the streets as I saw two Cuban men packed into police car and Canadian group argued why they were taken away. No doubt there was mixing(local and tourist) something not encouraged by the regime watchers ‘Even we have to be careful’ Maria stated. It was rare you saw crime old Havana and tourist spots were often so heavily monitored and policed.

We arrived at the national hotel Cuban a Latina band and people salsa dancing away in full swing – probably my first night of dancing since Varadero which was fun. Fredrico and Mathew joined for a drink as a farewell and joined in evening of music and dancing in the majestic setting of what was once the grand ballroom of the hotel. Music was part of Cuban life and here the rumba roared through the old magnetic ballroom as the crowd of drunken, colourful sea of beautiful people in vibrant clothes clinging to sunkissed brown shade of every Cuban skin tone enjoyed the rhythm of the live band.

Antoine and Maria managed to get a convertible classic taxi to drop me home , something still on my bucket list I had not experienced yet and they helped me tick that box. The drive back to my casa the last night with Cuban Latino music blaring we sang and drove sitting in the convertible vintage classic driving through the twilight lights of the city one last time filled me with joy another mental snapshot I can keep of Cuba.

As I travel through Cuba I see a complicated storey and reality and conflicted with things I love and hate. There is also a beautiful history of the place of people come and gone but I grapple with what is the best political society we can live in. At times I love the way communities share and help each other without choice but as a team not for the self at the other the restrained limitation of human free will to talk and act as they wish to. That initial panic of what am I doing in Cuba why am I traveling where am I going disappeared the experience of please and excitement was replaced by Cubas magic and gentle hand showing me the way all those serendipity moments were just for me at the right time and place. One thing for sure I have fallen in love with Cuba and can hold on to my memories and mental snapshots till I return a changed of unchanged place it has its magic.

As a CIA agent reported conflicted a while back when asked to report on the status of Cuba and stated the below:

“I will never understand this country

There is no food in the shops but people are always well fed

There is occasionally chicken in the market but never eggs

The clothes in store are horrible but people are beautifully dressed

They never finish a construction project but no one live on street

Everyone complains about the revolution but everyone loves Fidel

That’s why I cant write report on this country”

Poem of the session:

I chose this poem cause for so many Cubans that decided to leave during the revolution were forbidden o return their homeland and many have not returned cling onto memories - times are changing and the hope the world unites and families and people to back to a lvoed city.

Saying Goodbye to La Hababa in May (Ruth Behar)

https://bridgestocuba.com/2015/12/poems-on-leaving-havana/

There’s always that last day in La Habana.
When I want to fix the city in my memory.
I want to take another walk on the Malecón.
I want to feel the sea wetting my eyelids.
I want to run after the little girl who walks on the seawall
clasping her father’s hand, that little girl who was me, long ago.
I want to hear the street musician with his guitar
singing Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You.”
And I want to hear myself sing along with him, I who never sing.

There’s always that last day in La Habana.
When I want to sit in a rocking chair and listen to the rain
pouring despondently from the sky, as if the world were about to end.
I want to watch my neighbor Delia caress the potatoes she’s thankful for,
the red earth of the island coating her fingers with love.
I want to go searching for eggs with my taxi driver, who also needed some,
both of us standing in line for almost an hour at El Ten Cent on 23 and 10,
each emerging with thirty eggs, happy, the best of friends.

here’s always that last day in La Habana.
When I want to still be there, but I know I am already far away.
Tomorrow, I will be struggling to find the words to explain how I feel.
This is my last day in La Habana and I have left, even before saying goodbye.

I would recommend staying at Anah Casa in Cuba -https://anahavana.com/

Great books on Havana :

Next Year in Havana by Cleeton Chanel

Moncada: A Cuban storey by Hare, Paul Webster

Cuba beyond the Beach: Stories of life in Havana by Dubinsky, Karen

Fun Things to do in Havana: