Cuba, Page 2.

Part II

Havana is broken, but beautiful.

Every building is missing a piece of it, though you’ll likely find it crumbled on the street below. Each floor has it’s own balcony, where light sheets flutter through an open window. If you look closely or stand and watch for awhile, you’ll see someone show face to just stand and watch the world happen below them. At first glance, the crooked streets look almost the same, but a closer look shows that each alley way in every direction has it’s own personality. Some streets have a little more excitement than others, same with certain doorways and window shops.

As I shuffled through the crowds, skipping to miss puddles of grease and mud, I instantly lost myself. Curiousity got the best of me, my childhood wonder took over and I let go of any expectations. Even with the sun beaming through the narrow gaps of buildings, I slid my sunglasses to the top of my head so I could properly witness the culture unfolding in front of me. Women, dressed in fitted and almost too small crop tops and tight jeans. Men, lurking along the sidewalk and stopping mid conversation with their hermanos to whistle or even shout (with no shame) “hey, baby!” as I continue walking past without hesitation. Admittedly, it initially caught me off guard and made me uncomfortable, but I quickly learned that Cuba is fuelled by passion and sexual energy. As long as I kept moving, every thing would be fine…

Part III

For a moment, I wondered if life ever stopped in Havana.

Turns out, the streets go quiet in the middle of the night and movement between them is slow moving until the middle of the morning. And even in it’s softer moments, Havana’s poverty manages to bring so much character, and I’m inspired to get moving and wander the streets in search of… something.

I mean, I was on a mission to find Hemingway’s mojito bar – La Bodeguita del Medio. And in a moment of uncertainty on the best way to walk there, I met “Tito” – a young, but gentle kind soul, who’s (as I realized later) main goal every day was to befriend tourists  in return for a few CUC (Cuban tourist currency). Admittedly, I was a sucker – but for the 15 CUC I sacrificed, “Tito” guided me through new streets and brought light to hidden gems for food, cigars, and Cuban history. And of course, he helped me push my way through the bustling crowd of thirsty tourists at La Bodeguita del Medio for a delicious, very much rum-infused mojito.

I ventured back to the same bar top days later when it was a little less busy and penned a few words in my journal, under the watchful eye of a handsome bartender who smiled while he poured me three heavy mojitos to help put my honest thoughts on paper. It was a special experience, and although he dared me to enjoy at least 7 mojitos just like the great Ernest himself, I politely declined and stumbled off my barstool and back into the deteriorating sidewalks with blushed cheeks and my heart smiling.

At some point throughout my Havana adventure, I switched from mojitos to daquiris. I patiently waited for a spot along the bar at El Floridita and ordered a grapefruit flavoured “Papa Hemingway” daquiri, before opening my journal again. Moments later, I met the handsome, curly-haired blonde American – and we spontaneously shared lunch on an outdoor patio (delicious octopus ravioli paired with a poor excuse for a salad, and mojitos – of course), then spent Valentine’s evening sweatily dancing the night away in front of live, loud Cuban bands at Casa de la Musica in Miramar. Worth the visit, but don’t waste your CUC on the Pina Coladas.

And at the end of the night, drenched in sweat and trying to rehydrate our systems after countless shots of rum, “the American” stopped me while walking along the Malecon for a kiss under the stars.

Because, after unexpectedly spending Valentines Day with a beautiful stranger in a city thriving with love, lust, and all things related – how could you not wrap it up with an ideal goodnight kiss?