yo quiero cuba

God I miss it...in a complicated way.
Sitting here, feeling idle and out of place...like I left a piece of home behind.



Words taken from the Cuba pages...

I'm sitting on my bed with the warm Havana air playing on my face, cooling the sweat of the day...I've yearned for this touch; sensual and nostalgic. I have to record that I'm here and it's fucking mind-blowing. I need a record of this feeling, because feelings can be so transient, flitting in and out of existence. This sensation of aliveness is so powerful. I've always wanted to travel 'somewhere distant', and now that I'm here, I feel both relief, and restlessness. And my realization is that running off to 'somewhere distant' does not cure restlessness...it only makes it more poignant. Because it is constantly transformed, where you are and where you wish you could be. The idea of home can even become an escape from the place you came to escape from home. The only lesson I can take from these crazy thoughts is that this journey will not cure me of my need to be in perpetual leaving, rather it will only make it stronger.

In retrospect...all I felt then holds true to this moment

the gods must be crazy: sancti spiritus and semi-obscure movie references

Jump to the last week of five...travelled 400 miles across the island for rain and all-inclusive doldrums.



Trinidad is large on natural beauty and low on manufactured charm. They try, but it's thin...and you can feel the resentment and decay oozing from the walls. From my brief encounters, I think I get it; the resentment is there because it's based on expectation, not choice.



We did see the antichrist.
"I don't want to talk about it"

part two: hemingway's hangouts

From the pages of a tourista's travelogue (some day I might share the real stories, not just the sights; when I actually figure out what happened...for now...)



Another requisite pasttime while touristing in Havana is to visit the two famous bars immortalized in Hemingway's words. The place on the left, the Bodeguita del Medio is a vibrant, chilled out place with hundreds of thousands of memories marked on the walls in sharpie, bic, and HB. The Floridita (pictured on the right) is a dimly lit dive with a very thin coat of class and shitty, overpriced mojitos. It was 127% worth it.

cuba picture show part one

sunset on the malecon; the ocean-side road that ran from miramar all along the coast for a few miles to old havana. we spent many nights down there watching the sun set, people swim and fish in the filthy waters, and boats sailing to not so far away shores.

havana stole my heart. here's a little piece.

welcome back me

Returns...37 days after left. Strange world welcomes. Strange people, strange buildings, stores and cars. Strange home. Nothing bad, just out of place.

Hello again.