Coooba, Cooooba, Coooooooba

Wasn't I in mexico yesterday? Is that a salsa band outside my widow? Is there rum in this tea? Is that someone dancing rumba on stilts outside? Did that car door just fall off turning a corner?

Am i seriously in Havana?


Just three days ago i stared at Emiliano in Mexico city and said, "I think I am going Cuba."

The next day, “I think i am going to Peru.”

He was patient, supportive. He has also traveled for years and knows that once divine timing starts whispering, it can be confusing to decipher its messages. We both know this subtle guidance (sometimes not subtle at all), and have learned to trust it more than any lonely planet, or pre-set itinerary, or even an indulgent love affair with delectable loose ends.


Something silent simply says “go”, meaning turn left now, or, turn right, or eat here, the room you're looking for is this way, speak to her, buy this book... leave tomorrow for Havana and learn to dance.

maite, my technical director, giving me lessons in the living room of my casa

So that's what I did. And this morning, 15 hours after arriving i Cuba, i had my first salsa lesson... in the living room of my crumbling casa. Merci made a call, and Maite, my new teacher, was there in 15 minutes.

This is how everything works here... ask anyone, anything, and they will know the person who
can provide what you need. My spanish coversation classes start tomorrow, also the result of a single casual phone call.

I've organized a tour of the fortresses tomorrow afternoon. And have already bought my second hand copy of Fidel's “The Right to Digity” from a sweet smoking lady who, without intending to rush me, didn't cease to look over my shoulder the entire 20 minutes i was in her shop.

second hand book stalls are a common sight

As i write this, I am sitting in a palacial colonial restaurant, peach walls, dark wood detailing, marble floors. My seat is half in the restaurant, half in the street, in a tall wooden window on a street corner in Havana Vieja. Two men play gentle cuban standards, one on the congas, the other on a variety of shakers.

All i can understand is... “coooba, coooba, cooba-cooba...”

That's approximately how i feel as well.

the view from the fortress shooting windows is more chilled these days