Cuba seemed to be positioned similarly as Americans have poured into the country in the last few years. As I was driven around the streets of Havana in their iconic vintage cars, we passed areas of construction. “A new hotel. It will be beautiful and facing the Malecon too,” my driver explained. The Malecon, considered the family sofa of Old Havana, is a low bearing stone wall that separates the streets from the bay. Every night that I passed by the mile long Malecon, people gathered in large numbers, enjoying a beer, the simplicity of the stars sparkling on the water and music playing in the distance. It was prime real estate for new hotels and more tourist traps, but commercialism tends to drive local traditions away. I let out a heavy sigh, grateful that I had, at least, successfully beat McDonalds to Cuba. But, once I finally return again,
“Another round?” Shamelessly, I wanted to visit with Enrique again and of course claim my 3rd glass of his velvety port. ”Guapa. You are having fun?” Call me guapa one more time, I thought mischievously. “Yes! And I’m going dancing with you tonight!” His eyes widened as he smiled. “Bryan me invita!” I explained in my broken Spanish.
In Buenos Aires, the doors took hold of my attention and then in Madrid, the resemblance of ornate doorways made it clear where the influence orginated. The architecture, overall was so captivating, but on every street, narrow or wide, it was the balconies that dominated the scene. Romeo could have easily called out to his
While in the artsy neighborhood of Palermo-Soho, I quickly developed a strong admiration for not only the vibrant people that lived there, but for the architecture. With influences mashing up Parisian romance and Italian renaissance, it was hard to believe I was in the deep south! My affinity honed in on the doors and entrances