Cuba

There’s a Cuba seen in postcards: colorful facades, classic cars, turquoise waves, and always—laughter. But there’s also a quieter Cuba, one that doesn’t perform for the camera or for the tips. This series is not about curated memories or sun-soaked stories. It’s about the people who remain after the tourists move on—grounded, resilient, and alive, rooted in the island’s soul.

**Breeze Through the Bars**
Trinidad. The houses of Trinidad sit side by side, facing the warm breeze and the world outside. She spends her afternoon like this: in the doorway, framed by iron bars, watching the world go by. The house is quiet. The sun is warm. A Caribbean breeze slips through the shutters and plays with the edges of her dress. She doesn’t say much. She doesn’t need to. Her presence holds the kind of peace that fills a space—a quiet endurance shaped by years and softened by grace.

**Compadres**
Havana. Vintage cars glide through the narrow streets of old Havana, their colors popping against faded colonial facades. From the balcony above, I watched: a pink convertible slowing as it met a man on a bike. They recognized each other from afar. Smiles widened. Hands reached out. Traffic paused. It wasn’t a performance—just friends sharing a genuine moment of street-side affection. In Havana, joy doesn’t wait for the weekend. It grabs you where and when it finds you.

**A Quiet Soul**
Trinidad. The town radiates with vibrant colors and cobblestone charm. Time moves at its own pace, punctuated by music that never really stops. It’s picture-perfect. But here, in the shade of a crumbling wall, he stands barefoot, shirtless, cradling a plastic bottle like it holds a secret. The town hums behind him—music, dust, life in motion. Yet he is still, wrapped in thought, rooted in place. People visit Cuba and leave, but he remains, holding onto the small things, breathing in his own rhythm, unaffected by passing stories that barely graze his own.

**Inner World**
Havana. The waves dance against the Malecón's seawall, and further down, couples lean into each other. Behind me, Havana hums with the celebration of life—laughter, music, the clatter of the evening crowd. In front of me is this solitary figure resting on the parapet, silhouetted against the sea. The world seems far away. What’s on his mind? Is it love? Sorrow? A struggle? While the waves crash softly against the rocks below, we can only guess, respectfully leaving him his space, as his thoughts sail out onto the ocean.

**Little Miss Rebel**
Trinidad. Between the vibrant facades children play in cobbled streets. Their laughter echoes off the stone walls. She prefers her coloring books. Sitting on the doorstep she eyes the camera with more attitude than most adults. And then—*plop!*—out comes the tongue. A perfect moment of cheeky rebellion. She’s not posing. She’s claiming space. A flash of personality that stays far longer than the shutter click.

**The Art of Relaxation**
Trinidad. The scent of tobacco mingles with laughter from shaded doorways. Visitors wander, capturing the essence of stillness. He leans back, perfectly balanced on the back legs of his chair. The air hums with distant Cuban son, the kind of melody that makes the heat softer, the wait sweeter. He doesn’t rush. He’s not trying to impress anyone. To relax is an art, born from years of knowing that time goes by one way or the other. Tourists rush past, chasing moments to capture, while he stays—grounded, present, unbothered.

**Gringo**
In Varadero white sand meets turquoise waves. The cocktails are always cold, and the sunsets always spectacular. He stands on the sand, framed by the endless blue, the sea lapping at his feet, yellow resort bracelet gleaming—proof of privilege, of unlimited access. His thoughts are inaccesible. He came for the sun, the smooth drinks, the uncomplicated beauty. Outside the resort gates, lives are harder, colors fade. But he doesn’t know. Why would he? The sun forgives, the sea embraces, and nothing disturbs his picture-perfect day.

Tourists come to enjoy, and they leave tanned and relaxed, carrying home curated memories. But the people remain to carry on—grounded, resilient, and courageous. Behold Cuba, not as a destination, but as a people, living their lives untainted, beautifully raw and real.