Pictures taken during my travel in Cuba.
The vintage colors, the cars of past eras, an almost total urban disaster, people sitting on the side of the road, boys in front of the doors, endless queues to buy an hour of internet connection, misery, hunger, the poverty of crowded multitudes beyond the edge of dignity. Finding drinking water is still a fairly complicated task, finding fresh drinking water is such a difficult mission that you often drink it hot, even if the 40 degrees below the scorching sun are constant. The races on aguagua, the ramshackle hairdressers inside the gates, under the stairs, in the garages. My favorite restaurant, the women who throw themselves at your feet, after having supported the child they were holding in their arms on the stairs. People who want change, people who don't know what a change is. The Caribbean Sea, perpetual isolation. The fresh morning air that draws strange shadows on the asphalt, playing with the reflections of the sun, ready to cook the island out of this world for another day. La Habana Vieja, the monuments, the crowd, the locals catching tourists, that monotonous air that is formed in the places where mass tourism mixes with the need to sell something, to move forward. Apathy, the absence of requirements of popular revolt, military brainwashing, propaganda, the usual useless and manipulative communist propaganda in every corner of the street. Cuba.
