Probably the most iconic images of Cuba are of the 1950s-era American cars. Many of them have been restored — how, I have no clue, since there’s been an embargo on any parts and equipment for many years. You have to credit Cuban ingenuity for keeping these cars running without access to genuine replacement parts. With the sorry state of streets and roadways, it’s a miracle that the suspension systems don’t simply give out.
There were more beautiful automobiles than I expected to see, many of them employed as taxis, their proud owners buffing them up as they waited for customers.
The details are fun to shoot.
We took a spin one day that was cut short by a rain shower that turned into a deluge as we scrambled to put the top up. But we made up for it with a cruise through the tunnel spanning Havana Harbor, finding a panoramic landscape of the city from the fortifications on the other side, and a look at the Christ Statue, modeled after the one in Rio (and much smaller)
Back on the Malecòn later that day, we stopped to chat with some fishermen. One shared a great deal about his life and situation. Like everyone we met, he has never been off the island.
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To say Havana is a city of contrasts is a gross understatement. On a potholed street neglected buildings threaten to collapse, while across the street an upscale restaurant caters to tourists with a high-end menu and chic décor. Narrow, alley-like passageways, totally dark at night, open onto expansive plazas with statues honoring national heroes, and 17th century cathedrals cling to their fading frescoes and chipping gilt.
This pile of rubble marked the intersection to the street where our casa is located.
Uncollected trash piles up on the streets. Sady says the government complains it doesn’t have enough trucks to pick it up.
In 1959, insurgents led by Fidel Castro and Che Guevara overthrew the corrupt, repressive regime of Fulgencio Batista. Under the Batista dictatorship, supported by the United States, the economic gap between poor Cubans and the wealthy sugar barons widened. Ultimately, most of the sugar industry — and the land on which the cane was grown — had fallen into US hands, and the American Mafia flourished by controlling gambling, drugs and prostitution on the island. Media censorship, violence, torture, and executions were the order of the day as Batista tried to consolidate his power. Unrest and resistance predictably followed.
The socialist ideology embraced by Castro and Che, with its promises of economic security for all, were understandably welcomed by the Cuban people, aside from the wealthy folks who fled to the US, Europe or other Latin American countries. But it soon became apparent that Cuba had swapped one corrupt and repressive regime for another, as Castro adopted many of the practices that made Batista such a reviled figure: media censorship, repression of dissent and free speech, and persecution of his political enemies. He proudly proclaimed his fealty to the Marxist/Leninist ideology before embracing Communism, opposing gambling, prostitution and drug use, all rampant in the Batista years.
Though he died in 2016 at the age of 90, after ceding leadership to his brother, Raul, his presence still looms large on the island, and people still believe in his promises of Cuban liberation and a free economy. Graffiti proclaiming “Siempre Fidel” and images of the man — along with Che — can be seen everywhere, and Cuba remains a one-party Communist state.
Art plays a key role in Cuban life. Maybe it serves to mitigate the ugliness of cratering buildings or uncollected trash piles in the streets, but the tile work, carved iron, and graffiti provide an exuberant distraction from all that is not pretty in Havana. Their artistic talent is remarkable.
Walking down the short alley dubbed Callejón de Hamel immerses you in colorful art celebrating Afro-Cuban culture. Many of the sculptures are crafted from found objects — like bathtubs! On the weekends, musicians and rumba dancers liven up this compact space.
Cubans tell stories through their graffiti. Some pieces look angry, some romantic, some joyous. But it is everywhere — helping you look past the poverty and destruction of this once-elegant city.
Many of the works are very edgy and defy categorization, unless maybe you’re Cuban.
More later about the remarkable contrasts of this fascinating city.
I spent the better part of this afternoon reviewing the images from my camera in preparation for catching up on this blog on Cuba. Usually I organize my posts according to the itinerary we’re following, but this Cuba experience calls for something different, as my photos naturally group themselves more by subject.
But to finish out our excursion to Viñales, here are a few more images of the lovely town and farm.
And the private botanical garden with its gigantic staghorn ferns and Monstera.
Cigar rolling. We dipped the mouth end of the cigar in honey for a milder flavor.
Another three hours on the bone-jarring highway and we were back in Havana for a nice dinner at nearby Donde Lis, where I had the enormous Cuban version of fried rice and croquetas with blue cheese.
Imagine one of the most turbulent flights you’ve ever experienced, then imagine it going on for three hours, and you’ll begin to get an idea of how bad the major roads are in Cuba. By the time we got to the (very nice) rest stop, I felt like my teeth were jarred loose.
Our destination today is Viñales. Our route took us through Pinar del Rio, with its large collection of Soviet-era apartment blocks. Brutalist architecture, for sure.
Viñales, by contrast, is a tidy, charming town featuring colorful colonial-era wooden houses facing a vibrant main thoroughfare dotted with shops and restaurants.
Sady took us to a private botanical garden created by one of the local residents.
Viñales was settled by people from the Canary Islands, who dreamed of planting vineyards, hence the name. But the climate and terroir weren’t conducive to cultivating grapes, so over time other agriculture took root, as it were. Now the region is known for growing tobacco. The area is situated in mountains made primarily of karst outcroppings and dotted with sinkholes and caves.
Lunch was at a farm in the national park, with all the tasty food coming from the gardens and butchery. I partook of a special house drink with a touch of Havana Club. It was like a milk shake, and so tasty.
After lunch we were treated to a cigar-rolling demonstration and were cajoled into having a smoke.
The iconic Cuban cigar man.
Our guide, Colby, has been to Havana many times. I can’t tell you how many people stopped him on the street and greeted him like a long-lost friend. Could be because he’s very tall — 6’3 or 4, with an engaging way about him. Anyway, people seem to want to serenade him!
It was really cold today — only in the fifties, with strong gusty winds. When we went out this morning, the streets were deserted and Sady was miserable! They just don’t get temperatures like this. Of course, there’s a hard freeze predicted for south Florida, so….
We visited the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and saw some disturbing installations. Melanie, a retired art teacher, was in her element.
A traditional Cuban lunch cost $21 for the five of us. Food is very cheap here. Last night Jane and I shared delicious grilled octopus, Melanie had ropa vieja (shredded beef with rice) and Colby had lobster and the cuenta came to $60, including some yummy flan. They love US dollars here.
Tomorrow we’re leaving town for a trip to Viñales, snuggled in the mountains west of Havana, where they grow tobacco. A welcome change of scenery.
Overcast skies threatened our plan for the day, which was to explore Old Havana and be squired around in 50s-vintage cars. First stop was Fusterlandia, in Jaimanitas, a quiet neighborhood in the western part of the city.
Reminiscent of Parc Guell in Barcelona, with a nod to Picasso, seemingly every surface is covered with mosaics. The artist José Fuster began the project some twenty years ago, festooning his own house with fanciful tiled designs in kaleidoscopic colors. His whimsical creations spilled out into the surrounding neighborhood, creating a visual feast that defies description.
Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait for the dozens of images I captured, as I came without the critical dongle that allows me to download the photos from my camera to my iPad (and I left my laptop at home as well). So unless my new friend Jane’s dongle works, all the images for the next few days will be from my phone.
Later in the afternoon we piled into two bright and shiny 1950s-era taxi convertibles, clearly the pride of their owners, but the ride was cut short by a torrential downpour.
Angry waves crashed against the Malecón, the sea wall stretching eight kilometers along Havana Harbor. More dramatic images to follow.
A bit about my group. Our leader, Colby, looks to be in his forties and lives with his wife and son in the Poconos when he isn’t jaunting around the world running photography tours. Melanie, a fairly recent widow about my age and an ex-pat from South Africa, lives in Hollywood, Florida; and Jane, a bit younger, is from San Francisco and is third generation Japanese. They’ve both been on multiple trips with Colby and have traveled extensively beyond that.
We have a charming guide, Sady, born and bred in Cuba and mother to a six year-old daughter. She has never been off the island! Her husband emigrated to the US for work shortly after their daughter was born, and lives in Houston. She went through the arduous process to emigrate herself, but was denied when the US government contended she was a communist. Not true, said Sady — she never even flirted with the idea. It’s very sad that the family has to live apart, though her husband is able to visit on occasion. She’s been sharing valuable insights into the everyday lives of the Cuban people.
Conditions here aren’t good, but the situation on the ground is not nearly as bad as the hysterical accounts in the US press declare them to be. We’re staying in a comfortable casa, with good WIFI and reliable electricity, thanks to a generator. The power failed for a short while this afternoon, but it didn’t inconvenience us.
There’s a real contrast between what you see on the streets — crumbling buildings, pavement mostly potholes — and some of the elegant government buildings and villas that survived the revolution or have been restored. Despite everything, the Cuban people love Americans (except for one) and are unfailingly warm and welcoming. It’s just a shame that in their 1959 revolution they traded one corrupt and repressive regime for what would turn out to be another. Still, graffiti proclaiming Siempre Fidel is everywhere.
I’m finally back on the road after a pretty long hiatus. Today I’m with a very small group of photographers— only three of us — plus our leader, and we’re in Miami awaiting our flight to Havana. I’ll post as I can, but don’t know how the power situation will be. They have outages nearly daily. Our leader assures us we’ll be fine, as the casa where we’re staying has a generator and good WIFI. If you don’t hear from me during the next week you’ll get the full story when I get back.
So many people on the flight had multiple large bags — many of them just giant plastic bags secured with duct tape — that ours didn’t make it onto the flight. So we had to wait for the next flight. The reason for all the bags is people bringing stuff home to Cuba, things they can’t get at home.
Eventually we were able to leave the airport and meet up with our lovely guide, Sady. A circuitous trip through Old Havana, down streets in desperate need of repair, delivered us to our casa, a beautiful home on a relatively quiet street, owned by the gracious Madeleine, who supplies ample quantities of filtered water, strong WIFI and a generator. Here’s the living/dining room.
After settling into our rooms we walked a few blocks to Frente, a lively restaurant with a quiet rooftop where we dined. I had three delicious tacos mixtos, along with a ginger mojito — yum! Here are a few images from my phone today, some from the neighborhood.
The contrast between the homes, offices and businesses and some of the newer marble-clad buildings is remarkable. They use all manner of transportation here, including tuk-tuk taxis.
More walking tomorrow with my real camera. But for now, sleep!
After breakfast on Friday we decamped to the Sonora Desert Museum to photograph raptors in free flight. My pals are very experienced in identifying and photographing birds, but I know nothing, so my expectations were modest. Despite never having done this before, I was thrilled to be able to capture a few species, some in flight, and ended up with a few decent images. This Cara Cara looks like he’s wearing a toupée! We dubbed him the used car salesman.
A great horned owl was very accommodating, holding a dignified pose.
Camouflaged in the brush, he’s barely visible, with Mexico in the background.
The Harris’ Hawk is quite the hunter, and he buzzed the crowd en route to snagging a small animal for lunch. He was also a vain poser!
The Desert Museum has much else to recommend it as well: a myriad of cactus species, an aquarium, a butterfly garden, a mountain lion named Cruz (who refused to emerge from his nap), two sleepy wolves and a lethargic lizard. Yes, those butterflies below are mating!
After our morning in the hot sun, we visited my friend Cheri, who made us a delicious lunch on her breezy patio. As I expected, the three of them hit it off famously, and I hope they’ll cultivate their new friendship over shared interests.
I didn’t expect to find wetlands in Tucson, but Sweetwater was a lovely, serene spot to watch ducks, coots and a little piping fellow whose name I forget.
For a change of pace, on Saturday afternoon we followed Cheri’s recommendation and sought out the Mini Time Machine Museum, a fascinating collection of over 500 dollhouses and roomboxes. The detail was just exquisite: if you didn’t know these were miniatures, you’d think from the photos they were full-sized. I was amazed at the fabrics, laces, chandeliers and wall art in these rooms, the minuscule titles etched on the book spines and the labels on the foodstuffs in the general store.
Sunday morning was cooler than usual, perfect for a last walk in the neighborhood. It seemed that the cacti burst into bloom overnight.
Such a lovely trip! I was so grateful to see my friends Jen, Marsha and Cheri again, and play with our cameras together. And so home I went, anxious for another adventure.
Brown and grey dominate the color palette of Connecticut in March, and the weather is fickle: it can be near 70 one day and the next barely reach 40. So when two friends suggested a few days in Tucson, I jumped at the chance. These dear friends are fellow photographers, and we hadn’t seen each other since before COVID; our last trip was to Death Valley in February, 2020. Another fellow photographer also lives in Tucson, and our last trip together was to Provence in 2022 . Though all of us have taken trips with the same photographer leader, my three other pals didn’t know each other, so I thought this would be a great opportunity for them to meet.
The warm, dry air embraced me as I deplaned, and the vibrant blue sky promised several days of fair weather ahead. If you love sun, Tucson is a good bet, since they enjoy 340 days of it a year — though I’m not sure “enjoy” is the right word for their blistering summers.
Our adventure began with a stroll around Old Tucson, the picturesque heart of the city, where art is on display in myriad forms, from cactus gardens to weathered doors to murals on adobe walls. After an uninspiring winter, it was good to dust off my camera!
In the Botanical Garden, our next stop, there were abundant signs of impending cactus bloom. To live out here demands learning a whole new category of flora: barrel cactus, rabbit ears, agave, prickly pear (I never knew the pads were purple), cholla, organ pipes, aloe — and a variety of others too numerous to mention.
