The Shoelace Express

HAVANA
The camel bus tore through the dusty roads like a juggernaut. At the height of the day, the heat was almost unbearable. My eye’s glinted as a pink 1965 Cadillac drifted past, eager to get ahead. It was a reminder that everything would change once I arrived in Havana.
It’s a city bursting with energy. Along almost every street, a band of drummers plays a rhythmic rumba beat, enticing you to dance while you walk. Bands of kids kick a ball around the grassy knolls of the Av De Macio, seemingly running on pure excitement. Dancers in vibrant red and blue dresses practice eloquently in airy dorms, preparing for the late night cabaret. It was a scene that was captivating, inspiring and completely mesmerizing.
I soon discovered Havana’s earthy authenticity. There are no lavish hotel complexes or swanky resorts. Instead, there are museums dedicated to Latin history and culture, authentic restaurants and extravagant palaces. Che Guevara iconography is nearly everywhere, worn yet powerful, as if the crumbling buildings his face adorns would look abstract without it. The people have a love of heritage here that is undying, intensely emotional, and completely unknown to me.
What’s evident is the toll Socialism has taken upon the country. Havana’s social and economic states are so fragile it’s reflected from within. It’s hard not to notice the juxtaposed ration shops packed with jostling men and women, or the many unemployed wandering the cobbled walkways of Vedado. In contrast, the indomitable spirit of these citizens is ennobling. Personal sacrifice here has become a rite of passage, and a constant means of survival. Life carries on precariously and capriciously, but always passionately.
As the day turned to night, I took to the streets once more. The cool wind swayed the lofting palm trees as I descended through the plazas. Nightlife in Havana is something to behold. Clubs and venues boast extraordinary shows, bursting with vibrancy and seductive dancing. Even the most rigid would soon find themselves drinking silky green mojito’s and following the steps of a salsa veteran. To watch the locals enjoy the melodic music and embrace each other re-kindled my enthusiasm.
I took one last sip of my mojito and savoured the sweet, minty liquor, as I spent a tranquil moment on a rustic balcony overlooking the La Habana Veija. Rippling waves lined the surface of the Caribbean Sea as I listened to the break along the shore. Revolutionary, Rhapsodic, call it what you will. Havana is infectious, firmly planting you in a world filled with romantic charm and enthralling realism. It’s impossible to capture in one sentence, but I feel this one does this proud city justice.
‘Habana is very much like a rose, it has its petals and its thorns, so it depends how you grab it. But in the end, it always grabs you’.
Fico Fellove