Back in Cuba, fate steps in, throwing C.P. an injured ankle, forcing us to forgo the whirlwind city tour and stay in small town Vinales for a week. Offering us the chance to see Cuba through new eyes, and to realise perhaps it was just the jaded Havana city dwellers who couldn’t stand the sight of us. Staying at a warm and friendly Cuban guesthouse, five days enforced ‘repose’ becomes a humorous tangle of hand signals, smiles and stuttered Spanish, as our hosts become our temporary family.
When my adopted Padre peers over my shoulder and asks to see the book of travel adventures I am busily scrapbooking, I cringe, wishing I could gloss over all the amazing places we have been, hoping to skip a few pages to lessen the impact. But he seems fascinated, perhaps enjoying the chance to travel through our eyes more than I expect. Five minutes later, he returns, bearing his own ‘scrapbook’. Simply three family photos, each thirty years apart. A fascinating study of children, long passed siblings, and changing fashions. Along with a travel book by a French photographer amigo, bearing a photo of him opposite one of a bevy of African women. His pride in his own lifetime of memories and adventures is tangible and relieves my guilt, while the chance for me to time travel through his world reminds me why we do this thing called travelling. It’s moments like these that make it all worth-while.
For fascinating Cuban musings direct from Cuba, be sure to check out the poetic Yoani Sanchez at Generation Y.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Tourists or Invaders?
Posted by Fiona