Havana Nights and Lights

Since regulations were lifted on visiting and purchasing items from Cuba, I've wanted to go there. It's a sort of forbidden fruit thing. It's something I know 99% of my family and friends will never do. I wanted to be a trailblazer.

I know the irony of pulling up to the island of Cuba via a cruise ship, after eating from two separate buffets that morning, only three days removed from a Disney weekend. I didn't feel great about it, but it seemed like the easiest way to visit.

At 10 am we were allowed to leave the cruise ship to go to Cuba. We waited until closer to 11 am, but still found the entire situation a cluster. It's a bit how I imagined coming to Ellis Island probably once felt. Hundreds of people trying to get through customs, security, exchange money, speak to the employees about where they needed to go.

It was humid. Dozens of taxis and horse carriages screamed for our attention as we left the port. We could see a beautiful church across the street, but could not figure out how to get across the street to get to it. In that moment, it seemed like the solace we needed to get our barrings.

We managed to run across the street at the same time as some locals were coming the other way.

The city was vibrant with color and life, but was in a constant fight with nature. Buildings were beaten and weathered, telling of decades of tropical storms. Hotels were starting to predominantly rise in the skyline as the obvious first buildings to be renovated.

We would turn one corner and have someone asking us for money. We would turn another corner and run into major construction and get pinned between a giant hole in the ground and heavy machinery pushing us closer to the hole.

We broke free, near where a lot of the other tourists had gathered and bee-lined away from the Chaos as soon as we could.

We arrived at the Museum of the Revolution. Formerly the Presidential Palace when the US backed Batistan government was in power. He lived there from what we understand. 50 of Castro's rebels stormed the palace, reaching the third floor, with the goal of executing Batista.

The palace was gorgeous, but in need of some love. Beautiful frescoes were exposed to the humidity of Cuba. Bullet holes from the 1957 raid still riddled the walls of the grand staircase.



Every display was written from a very anti-US view, but we were obviously the bad guys. Castro's rebels just wanted what they thought was best for their people, and they just happen to back the losing team. An island, strangled by the Imperialistic nations, fighting proxy wars and dragging innocent people into them.

We wandered into a bar and ordered some delicious Mojitos while a great local band played us three songs. (And looked incredibly disappointed when we only tipped them $5)

After that, it was back to the boat to cool off and nap. We were going to the world famous Tropicana Club for a four course meal inside of their green house restaurant.

Then we went to the dance club for the show. I have no idea what I witness, but I know everyone was scantily clad, talented, and oh so colorful.

As our taxi driver rushed through the slums of Havana afterwards, I couldn't help but feel terrible for the people of Cuba. They just want what everyone else does, safety and happiness. Houses were crumbling and covered in moss.

And still, standing over everything else in the city was the Russian Embassy (a huge complex stretching full city blocks) and the US Embassy. (A ten story building, for about 20 feet, made to look the building much more impending than it was. It was realistically a two story building that stretched maybe 1000 feet.)

The windows were cracked, the humidity had dropped, the dinnertime rain had washed the staleness off the streets. Cuba was beautiful.

That night, we sat on the ship, overlooking Spanish forts in the port. We drank Hotel Nacionals, laughed about the difficulties we encountered, talked about the things we wish we had time for. And the stars above Havana were the most beautiful that night.