Havana must be the most photogenic spot on earth. The communist politics since the 1959 Revolution that lifted Fidel Castro into power and US embargoes have forced the island city, formerly a US playground, into a weird timewarp. Colourful crumbling Spanish colonial mansions, classic American cars babied along since the 1940s and 50s, Latin and African influences, and a vital people who love to play music and dance--all these combine into a culture that thrums. You can feel the energy of this city like wind on your skin. Havana is a photographers' paradise! And hands down it's the best place in the world to have bridal photographs taken! All these arches and balconies and decaying castles! That's my new dream, now: to have a gorgeous Canadian bride with a willing wedding party and a day free after their wedding just to spend in Havana making awesome, drop dead photographs. Habana Vieja, anyone?
On New Year's Eve, we snuck out of a boring event put on for tourists to roam the Habana Vieja streets. On Calle Aguilar, we followed the irresistable sounds of salsa, and finally found dancers: lithe dancers, old dancers, child dancers the size of peanuts who are better at moving than I could be with a thousand devoted lessons. We passed over our bottle of Havana Club rum and tried to keep up, our bodies hopelessly spastic. Doors led to courtyards leg to rickety, half-gone stairs climbing high only to stop dead in mid-air. Slatted boards shaped balconies so old and decrepit they looked like they'd plummet with the softest footfall. I remembered there were streets around here where everyone walks down the center in case one of the houses collapses.
We wound our way down to Calle Opispo, ordinarily the shopping street (though its wares are limited), where folks on upper balconies tossed buckets of water down on unsuspecting strollers below, to shouts and screams. We dashed from the protection of one balcony to the next laughing as they caught one after the other of us, and made our way out, finally, drenched, to drink overpriced mojitos at Hemingway's pub, la Bodeguita del Medio. It was 2007, and we were a happy family in a happy country.
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