There is nothing like the city of Havana. Color amongst concrete. Life amidst confinement. The decay of the Baroque and Neo-Classical buildings gave way to a beautiful culture based in European and African rhythms, bodies.
It was just as many people described: “Like taking a step into the past.” A place in the Caribbean frozen in time.
While in Havana, my home away from home was right off the Malecon, a large highway that bustled with families by day, and lovers by night. Most of my time here included strolls along this strada where brown bodies danced, argued, or stared aimlessly into the sea as antique chevys sped by with the ocean breeze.
The Caribbean to many is a place of light. Bright colors, warm oceans, lush greenery. I however see something else. There is a darkness that exists. Not darkness as in “evil” or “malevolent” but dark as in “endless” “raw” “passion” “depth”. Nighttime in Cuba was an entity. Something that was alive. A force that brought the desire beating in the hearts of youth on the Malecon. A spirit riding on the sounds of the Chango celebration nearby. The warm touch of an ancestor buried alive in the ocean deep. As I slept, I dreamed…