Thursday, 21 August 2008


Last week we went to a Cuban cafe near our house. It had a mural on one wall and a huge photograph of Havana on the other.

Cubita Cafe wall mural
(detail from the mural)

Sitting in that cafe brought back memories of my visit to Cuba. We mostly stayed in Havana which is not what I'd call a relaxing vacation, but it was one of my most memorable experiences. We stayed with locals. We talked with artists and taxi drivers, with actresses and University professors. We met people who had devoted their lives to the revolution, and people on the street trying to make a dollar off tourists so they could get to America. It was amazing. It was a beautiful city. In the evenings we'd sit around and talk about politics and about our day, trying to process what we'd seen, trying to make sense of the strange world around us. There were five of us: myself, my parents, and two of my cousins. My younger cousin had just graduated high school and had never left the States before. My older cousin is a gay rights activist in Florida. My father was the centre point of our group; the one who devised the trip.

I took some fantastic pictures on my old 1950's era split screen point-and-shoot. I am now feeling inspired to dig them out of the closet, get them onto disc, and also get copies sent to those who were on the journey with me. It's way overdue.

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