This city is beautiful. Exhausting. Constantly probing- full on accosting attacks to which no non cubano is safe.
With reason. Poor versus poverty. To need versus to want. To be faceless, to be told you don’t want. It’s a study of the human psyche and certainly shortages and asinine rations play roles. Socialism is dying here- I see it in the faces of the solicitors. Capitalists.
But this city. BEAUTIFUL. Pretty. Enchanting. Amazing. Not enough-There are no words for it. Like the most gorgeous mujer I’ve ever seen. The buildings, the architecture and plazas are her skin-wrinkles showing when she laughs. The music everywhere-it’s the soul of the woman and all dance to her beat. The people of the street sway as they walk as if counting salsa steps. The cars here: old, classic, colored pure and bright and frequently breaking down- you can view one with a wrench cranking in it on any street corner, 2 modern tainos crouched over yelling staccato Spanish too loud. They stop just long enough to give an obligatory whistle to the girls walking by.
Havana, so aggressive you’re borderline abusive. So breath-taking its impossible not to fall for you. I guess we”ll just have to settle on an abusive relationship.