Down to my last few pesos, I spent my final two days in Cuba relaxing, recovering, and taking it all in one last time. I knew I wasn’t likely to return for years, and that when I did return, Cuba would be a very different place.
I spent the next few days in Trinidad, an old Spanish colonial town that was gussied up in the early 19th century when French planters arrived, having fled from a particularly unpleasant slave revolution in Haiti.
Escaping Havana, I spent the next three days in Viñales and the surrounding countryside. Full of new people and new scenery, my days became somehow more relaxing and more hectic at the same time – perhaps I was beginning to follow the rhythm I could feel in the land and its people.
I do not debauch. I certainly never cavort, save for the occasional quiet, metered cavort. So it was with some measure of surprise that I found myself swept away into Havana’s nightlife.
i can only attribute so much of last week and this weekend to divine providence. and i can really only focus on certain parts. but that’s how memory works – looping over itself in the space behind your eyes, allowing light through sort of distorted, kaleidoscopic, folding.