Cuba 2: Plaza de la Revolución

We stroll down to Plaza de la Revolución, see a humming bird on the way. It’s just amazing how they dart around and hover before darting off again. Beautiful creatures.
(I took a load of photos. None of them came out. The damn bird was too fast.)
Plaza de la Revolución is big, just big. Ché and Fidel look on from the sides. Politics is everywhere in Cuba and the revolution keeps it alive.
We find a hop-on hop-off tourist bus that will bring us around for the day. I convince the young fella of its merits, that we wouldn’t have to walk as much as we did yesterday. We hop on. No seats. The thing is jammed. Eventually, after getting seats, we don’t want to hop off again. It seems this was the original cause of the lack of seats. We finally get off the bus at Parque Central when the bus driver kicks us off to have lunch. He’d only driven us around the same stuff we’d seen walking around yesterday.
Lunch. We find a bar beside the bank. Mojitos for $2.50. Atleti are playing on the telly. I tell young fella it’s live but that it’s already nighttime in Spain, the other side of the world, and that’s why they’re playing in the dark. His eyes light up, amazed. Damn, this the best mojito I ever drank.
We walk again, keep walking. We’re destined to walk. Up around the entrance to the bay, down along the promenade. The sun glistens off the highly polished chrome of the old-timers as they drive by.
Everyone does their living on the streets. It seems the only thing they do at home is sleep, otherwise they’re on the street, playing, talking, listening to music, socializing. The odd car has to keep beeping frequently to let people know it’s a road. Here, people are king. They’ve reclaimed the streets, if indeed they were ever unclaimed in the first place.
We watch lads boxing and sparring in an outdoor boxing gym. Straight away we’re invited in for a closer look. Hesitate for a second and you’ll get an invitation in Cuba.
We have a good discussion about the solar system under a full moon and Venus on the way home. Of course we never managed to find that bus again to hop back on. Still, it gave our legs a brief break.
Five mojitos.


  1. !Muj excelente! Great photos! One of my favorites is the one with the lad looking off into the distance at Che. And the giant hand over his head. Does it mean protection? Or propaganda? We must discuss over Mojitos.


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