How Cuba enchants, challenges visitors
As a photographer I look for places to get lost in, to immerse myself within the culture and community. That is the primary reason why I was excited to be given the chance to photograph Cuba and her people for seven days this past February.
There’s an additional element to Cuba—you get to go back in time in more ways than you initially realize. Classic cars are the norm and there is no Westernization with its restaurants or shops, all of which is a tantalizing adventure for this photographer.
The experience of Cuba starts before you begin the short flight from Miami to Havana. As I sat on the airplane, the rich diversity of the Cuban people and their language filled the aircraft like a symphony. I felt so at home, and couldn’t wait to touch down to begin exploring.
After landing, there were a few bumps that I had conquer before jumping in one of the classic cars that I had reserved to take me to my apartment.
First, no cell phone service. As an American, our companies don’t provide service in Cuba. That also includes credit cards and debit cards. I was prepared, but not prepared, if that makes any sense. To not have access to the normal things we take for granted is jarring, but you have to keep moving forward.
Cuba is full of beautiful challenges that remind us there is much more to our journeys as humans. The next challenge I faced was language. I speak a little Spanish but not enough to get through the various customs stations that are required before entry. But with patience and using my hands to create gestures, soon I was released into rain-soaked Havana. I jumped into the classic car waiting for me and headed off to Havana Dream, the Airbnb apartment that was my home for the week.
On the way I got a SIM card to access the Internet, but phone calling would not be happening while I was there.
Havana provided a perfect greeting. Signs of poverty were the norm, but even in the ruins of buildings or etched in the faces of Cubans hanging out in the streets, there was innate beauty. It told a story that I could not wait to read. I knew in that moment what would be my focus to photography while in Havana: I wanted to spend time roaming the streets and allowing the city to be ingrained on my soul, to be woven into my own journey.
One day I spent exploring the city to see famous landmarks such as the National Capitol of Cuba, Plaza de la Catedral, Castle of the Three Kings of Morro, and Plaza de la Revolucion. My favorite was Fusterlandia, where Cuban artist Jose Fuster reclaimed his impoverished neighborhood as a dreamy folk-art kingdom—an ingenious way to use the power of art to change his city, country and world for the better.
Over the course of the next few days I continued to explore, to eat in local restaurants, have pina coladas and mojitos in local bars, and pick up pastries at local bakeries as I got to feel the heartbeat of Havana and her people. The language barrier was becoming easier, though money was another barrier.
American dollars are the only accepted payment for anything, for which they then pay you back in Cuban pesos. Every day the exchange rate was different, but as Americans we come out far ahead. Money for Cubans is in short supply, so you witness long lines at banks and gas stations.
Yet in the face of extreme poverty, you could hear singing as you fell asleep. As you walk the streets you see a deep sense of community largely lacking in a divided America. It raised a heavy moral question for me: How do you address poverty and other inequalities without eradicating the richness of the culture?
I took a day trip to Vinales to experience how they grow tobacco and make rum and to see two cultural attractions: the Mural de la Prehistoria and the gorgeous Vinales Valley. At a local tobacco farm I walked the land, rolled my own cigar, smoked one with the farmers, drank homemade rum, and had a meal in a nearby home serenaded by two members of the family.
Another day I explored a waterfall called El Salto de Soroa, swimming under the Cuban sun and connecting with my translator. Later that day I had lunch at the farm of a woman I can only describe as a shero: a woman admired for her courage, outstanding achievements, and noble qualities; a heroine.
Pushing aside a culture in which women remained silent about domestic violence, she left her husband, built a farm, and became self-sustaining, raising her children alone. By far this was my greatest experience, as well as an honor to have lunch made from items on her farm.
If you go to Cuba or to another country, find a way to create connections, to learn the stories of those who embody the culture. My magical time there was way too short, and I can’t wait to go back. Yet because I chose an unconventional path, my soul was fed. It challenged so much of what I believe, and I left a far better human where the sunrises, the sunsets, the walks on farms and streets, the life stories of those I intentionally chose to listen to will be forever etched in my heart.
¡Viva la Cuba!