No filter needed
A snapshot of culture, Cuba is a photographer’s dream
Iwas tired of saying I want to go to Cuba, so I did. Early this year, I crossed the Mexican border and flew out of Ciudad Juárez — mainly to avoid all the fragile formalities required by the U.S. State Department.
From there, I flew to Mexico City and caught a flight to Havana.
By 4:30 p.m., a 6-foot-3 major league prospect lookalike called my name as I stepped out of a taxi in a neighborhood just west of Old Havana between the world-famous Malecon and the local university. To save money during my visit, I stayed in a casa
particular, Cuba’s version of Airbnb, and I recommend them, because they cost $15 to $25 per night.
When you travel to Cuba, you need to know that the term “winging it” describes your daily excursions. Take plenty of cash, because credit cards from U.S. banks will not do you any good.
I wanted to photograph and hear the symphony of conversations and music reverberating off the narrow-walled streets plastered with stencils of Fidel Castro and Che Guevara.
Minimalism rules in Havana; the less you bring,
the more you notice. Switch your brain to “airplane mode,” because this country is all social media without the apps.
Walking the streets at 5 mph is what this country requires.
The city and streets are photographic eye candy. No filter needed here; otherwise, it would be an insult to your inner adventurer.
This country is culturally intoxicating and symphonic. Ask any Cuban about tourists, and they all say, “We all love all tourists, but we miss the American.”
Soon after inhaling all the diesel fumes I could handle, it was time to visit tobacco country, specifically in Viñales, in the southwest area of the island.
This town is tucked away between bare cliffs and organic farms. Sprinkle in some conversations with Don Tony, my host, who insisted I try his rum and cigars. The first night, we talked about the eight days of national mourning after Castro’s death. Talk to any Cuban, and the conversation soon navigates toward politics and history.
You might want to brush up on Cuban history if you stay in any casa particular. Politics and history tend to creep up on you like the high tide while sitting on a concrete wall at the Malecon.
In between Viñales and Havana, I visited Trinidad, in the country’s central region. It’s a spectacular place to see, but if you want to avoid tourists, don’t go there. The appealing cobblestone streets draw the masses, but it’s so remote visitors quickly begin staring at their cellphones in search of a glimpse of the outside world.
Many consider Cuba to be one of the safest places on earth. Police officers stand around every corner. I never saw law enforcement officials questioning anyone, let alone a car accident.
I grew up in El Salvador until I turned 11. I immigrated to the U.S. due to the civil war in the ’80s. So going to Cuba felt as if I were walking through my old neighborhood. The smells, the cars, the architecture — they were still there. It called me like my best friend Fausto, but this was Cuba, the country that tricks your mind into believing time travel is possible.