Havana in 2011 was a city that felt like a time capsule, unyielding to the modern winds sweeping across the globe. It was a place where the past wasn't just remembered; it was vibrantly alive, breathing through the rumble of classic cars and the sun-washed, faded façades of colonial buildings.
I arrived in Havana on a sultry afternoon. My lectures at the VII Congresso Internacional de Cliencias Veterinarias, with fellow speaker Dr. Jorge Guerrero, were scheduled for a few days later.
The sun was casting long shadows over the Malecón, the city’s famous seaside avenue. The ocean crashed against the sea wall, spraying mist that caught the light, creating rainbows that seemed to end in the pockets of fishermen casting their lines into the depths below. Here, amidst this timeless scene, one could easily imagine stepping back into a different era.
First order of business in Havana? Find a classic 1950s Chevy taxi to truly embrace the rolling museum that is Havana's streets. The ride was akin to a roller coaster designed by a nostalgic engineer; every bump and turn was a thrill, amplified by the sheer charisma of the driver, who regaled us with stories of the city as if they were juicy neighborhood gossip.
In Old Havana, the air was thick with the scent of tobacco and coffee. I wandered into a small café tucked away behind Plaza Vieja. The walls were plastered with old movie posters, and a local band squeezed between tables played son Cubano, their notes floating through the air like aromatic smoke from the patrons' cigars. The coffee, strong and sweet, was a necessary jolt back to reality from the intoxicating rhythms of the music.
By night, Havana transformed. The streets, lit by dim yellow lamps, invited mystery and perhaps a bit of mischief. I found myself at a lively casa de la musica, where salsa was not just a dance, but a language spoken fluently by all.
Let’s not forget the cuisine - 2011 was a year when Havana’s food scene was beginning to simmer with new flavors. Paladares (home-based restaurants) offered the most authentic experiences. At one memorable spot, the owner served us a feast that included ropa vieja, yuca con mojo, and for dessert, a flan that was so deliciously creamy, it must have been a direct gift from the culinary gods.
Exploring Havana wasn’t just about seeing the sights; it was about feeling the pulse of the city. It was about watching an elderly man meticulously roll cigars beneath the watchful eyes of Che Guevara posters, and kids playing baseball in narrow alleys using a stick and a bottle cap as a ball. It was about the warmth of the people who, despite many hardships, greeted each day with a resilience and joy that was contagious.
It was sad to leave Havana, where every cobblestone street whispered stories of pirates and poets, revolutionaries and writers. Havana didn’t just live in a different time - it lived in a different pace, one that invited you to slow down, savor, and dance to the rhythm of its heart.
I put together a book of my images from that trip, which can be viewed at the following link:
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