To purchase the book, The Breath of Cuba, please click here. If you are interested in traveling to Cuba, please consider booking your travel with The Breath of Cuba Travel to support the author. Cheri offers custom and signature tours to Cuba with or without her services, and works with reputable Cuba Travel Service Providers with over 25 years of experienced bringing travelers to Cuba. Book and inquire here. To learn more, subscribe to Cheri’s YouTube Channel.
The streets of Habana are congested, and tight but so brilliantly perfect and stimulating in every way sensually. The architecture sings songs of a romantic era when these old cars were in their heyday and money was abundant here. I can almost see the past moving in the present moment; the women with their bustiers and the men with their top hats spilling onto the cobblestone streets of Habana. I look up to the balconies and see the ghosts of the whores and sophisticates hanging over the sides watching the city’s action.
Habana is such an inexplicably alluring city. Its history a wildly bustling blend of stories, characters, magic, mystery and dramas. Once a wealthy city filled with gambling, whorehouses, traders, sailors, and wealthy Spaniards, French and then Americans, this regal city has been influenced by so many cultures around the world. Overflowing with sickening stories of slavery and oppression, revolution and evolution, Habana truly is the heart of Cuba and holds the stories and the magic that runs deep thru these city streets.
Once proud majestic buildings, these gorgeous structures now exist in various states of decay and devastation. Many are literally crumbling. Most house God knows how many Cubans. Little cracks and alleyways open into whole worlds of communities beyond the external facades of the buildings. The inner world of Habana is a maze of tiny compartmental apartments and deep unseen poverty that reeks of urine, feces and cigar smoke. There is much hiding that is not visible to the outside world here. I mean that literally as well as metaphorically.
My friend Mariella lives in one of those little nooks tucked down a stinky retched alleyway that’s barely a crack of an entrance to the streets. You nearly have to slither into her apartment. Getting thru the doorway requires a series of creative bending maneuvers around the inward opening door. If you’re carrying even a small bag, you’ll have to pass the bag in ahead of you and the bag needs to be pretty small as well to fit through the door. A person of any size would not fit thru her doorway, much less get into the alley where the crack meets the street. I am guessing that the place was built around the modest furniture that’s inside.
Luckily for her entrance, Mariella is an itsy bitsy woman with tiny little feet. She speaks extra slow to me so that I can understand every word. I am enjoying being able to understand the words one by one, the only problem is that she speaks so slowly that I’ve forgotten the word she spoke by the time she speaks the next one, so my brain doesn’t ever form a complete sentence out of it and I’m almost as lost as I would be if she were to speak at warp speed.
I am taking my friend out for coffee today. I know she’s been missing me. This is my only problem so far in Cuba, I have too many friends and it’s hard to keep up with them all. Once they realize I can speak even the smallest amount of Spanish, or if they learn of my interest in The Religion, they are inviting me to their homes to have coffee, to show me their altars, show me the same video I’ve seen 10 times already, and explain the Orisha’s to me in great detail. Santeria here is called, “The Religion” which I find a powerful way to own what is uniquely theirs. I love it and indulge in it every chance I get. Every time I see the video again, I am just as interested in the stories they want to share with me.
Cubans love their culture, and they are so excited and happy to share with outsiders who are as sincerely interested as I am. They are really good at reading character. I feel like the people here see me in a way that people of my own culture don’t. They see my heart almost instantly and I feel like they understand me in ways that I don’t even fully understand myself in moments.
I met Mariella at a little food stall I stopped at one day for a snack. She immediately invited me to visit her family when she learned of my interest in The Religion. Her hesitancy completely dissolved as we walked away from the restaurant where she worked. We walked to her home the first day we met when she got off work. She wanted to show me where she lived so I could visit another day when we both had more time.
Popping off the bus, I walk thru the square of the Capitola and head off on a journey through the streets of this magical city with a smile in my heart and a ripening curiosity for what lays ahead today. Mariella lives deep in Central Habana. There are so many people on the streets here and I have become very comfortable here walking alone. Ample samples of half naked man flesh greet my appreciative eye as I move through what many would call the “los barrios” of Cuba. Women walking with bags of groceries, and children playing in the streets with sticks and balls meet my smiles with theirs. The energy is vivacious, wild and spirited.
Groups of sculpted young men hover on the streets playing dominoes, working on bike taxis or old cars or just shooting the shit with friends. They all seem to devour me with their eyes and penetrate me to my core with their wanton lust. I can’t deny I enjoy it. Somehow that primal lust is enjoying coming alive in me and it feels good, and even healthy. Why deny what feels good? The now familiar kissing sounds the men all make in my direction don’t even phase me anymore. Now instead of feeling offended, I return them in playful appreciation for this part of their culture that just honestly expresses the attraction between man and woman as well as just acknowledging our human connection. The little “besitos” are a greeting I’m beginning to love. A way of just saying, “Hey, I see you. You’re beautiful. I appreciate you.”
I realize I have become more fearless here than ever. I know that as long as I maintain a certain energetic strength here that I will always be safe here with these men and these people. I know that not one of them would dare to touch or harm me in any way and that if one did, there would be hordes more there to protect and rescue me. My God, they are beautiful though. I can’t help but admire them. Cuban’s come in every color from almost white to deep black and I love them all, though I think the café colored chocolate is my favorite. Their skin looks edible and I giggle inside licking my lips in desire as I walk amongst them.
It was in Havana that I first truly understood the phrase, “weak in the knees.” It was a day with my dear angel just strolling thru the streets when I felt it for the first time. A man with long dreads tied up, café colored skin and round John Lennon specs framed the most exquisite face and soul piercing eyes I had ever seen. When he breezed past us and made eye contact with me, I literally went weak in the knees and had to grab onto Gabriel to not fall to the ground.
I meet Mariella at her work, and we take a walk to a café in Old Habana for coffee. I know she doesn’t get to enjoy this kind of luxury often, and I am happy to take her out for some enjoyment on her day off. It’s my favorite restaurant in Habana. The ceiling is covered with live plants and vines that spread across the open-air trellis roof. The European influence of the building, architecture and décor is strong here and the place feels classy but not overdone, elegant and delightfully Cuban.
I can see Mariella is out of her element and a little nervous, but I assure her it’s not that expensive and that it’s OK for her to order what she likes and enjoy being treated. She sits down with a huge smile on her face like a child having a first experience. I am touched and so happy to share this moment with my new friend.
After some time chatting, and a few cups of coffee, Mariella and I leave. The wind picks up and tosses banyan leaves in front of her tiny feet and over our head much to my delight. The night air is cool and the wind is comforting. The sense of sisterhood between us is strong and sweet and I feel deep gratitude for the moments we’ve shared.
A few blocks down the road, she meets one of her neighbors, and since night has fallen, she insists I go directly to get a taxi rather than walking her back home and having to walk back out of the barrio alone. I’ve walked probably more than 5 miles today, so I don’t argue and a leisurely stroll alone to the Malacon sounds quite romantic. We embrace and exchange a kiss on the cheek and go our separate ways both touched by our day together.
To purchase the book, The Breath of Cuba, please click here. If you are interested in traveling to Cuba, please consider booking your travel with The Breath of Cuba Travel to support the author. Cheri offers custom and signature tours to Cuba with or without her services, and works with reputable Cuba Travel Service Providers with over 25 years of experienced bringing travelers to Cuba. Book and inquire here. To learn more, subscribe to Cheri’s YouTube Channel.
