To say that I, as a United States citizen, have ever “arrived” into the country of Cuba is a privilege I will cherish forever. It’s more than just a fun fact to tell my friends when we fantasize about backpacking through Europe. The experience has turned into a collection of unique tales that I will tell whenever I can, in the hopes that it will enlighten others as much as it did for me.

I felt the presence of Cuba before even stepping foot on the island. In the time that I wasn’t bracing myself for some serious jet stream turbulence, I noticed a flip in reality flying from Miami to Havana. This was the ultimate bridge between the U.S and Cuba. The fifty-five minute flight was the shortest I’ve ever been on, but my view through a porthole never changed so drastically. When I left the United States, I left skyscrapers and boundless neighborhoods. In Cuba, I was met with pure earthy fields, with a vibrant teal painted house here and there. 

This brings me to a topic that quite literally can’t be overlooked when discussing Cuba, because it is everywhere in Havana- the colorful architecture.

The first time we rode in the Transtur bus to go to our Casas, I felt like we were going far too fast. Not because our beloved bus driver, Santiago, was actually a reckless driver, but because I wanted to freeze every second in time and stare at the frame for hours. Everything from the street markets, houses, and gas stations looked like art, even if some seemed on the verge of crumbling. Havana’s diverse architecture and beautiful color scheme left me in awe at every turn. It was hard to believe that people actively lived on those streets. To me, they looked like paintings one could find only on a canvas. 

When I settled in for our orientation at the Casas, I was welcomed by the crows of roosters and the beating of drums. For a moment, I thought this was all part of the orientation, as if the API team hired a rooster and some drummers just for us. But this was just an average evening for a Cuban neighborhood. By the middle of the trip, I had abandoned my phone’s alarm clock for those morning roosters. And with all the talented musicians in Havana, I didn’t miss my Spotify account for a second. 

Colorful plaza in Old Havana

Walking through the streets of Havana for the first time, it didn’t take long to find the seafront. There was water for as far as the eye could see, with not a single boat or island visible on the horizon. I don’t believe I’ve seen the ocean in a purer form, because I was genuinely frightened by its magnificence. I’ve been to the beach before, and I’ve watched National Geographic, but I was not prepared for this. I could taste the salty sea spray as powerful waves crashed against the rocks below the sidewalk, on which I spoke to a local for the first time. 

The local was with his father, who was selling Cuban history books. We discussed everything between his job as a medical lab technician, the U.S embargo against Cuba, and his personal feelings about the government. He was willing to give us a tour of Havana, and so we went for a walk. We asked him if he could smell what I believed to be sewage, which he said he couldn’t. I wasn’t there long enough to get used to the smell which came in explosive, but short lived pockets. 

We got to a park near our Casas, where there were children who looked no older than fifteen playing soccer. Many were smoking, and one wore tattoos all over his legs. At the least, it was nice to see a community of children playing together- I hardly recall seeing any cell phones. 

We were still with the local and his dad as we watched the kids. He gave me a coin worth three Cuban pesos. In return, he requested money for milk. This was a common theme I would have to accept in Cuba, especially as a tourist. Hustling and requesting money is common here. The largest Cuban export is tourism, after all.

There’s something delightful about being approached by strangers on the street, even if many are interested in my wallet. It leads me to compare it with the life I will return to in under a week. On the UMass Lowell shuttle, I often see everyone glued to their phones. Sometimes I wish more people would just look up and say hi. 

There is no way for me to express all my emotions about this trip in one blog post. I haven’t touched upon the public bathrooms, the stray cats and dogs, the guava juice, or the newfound fact that other people on the globe see the moon at a different angle. But I wouldn’t change a single thing about this experience. The good as well as the bad was needed for every day to be the adventure that it was. It is a challenge to maintain the same level of excitement back home. However, my stay in Cuba has given me plenty to ponder on, and plenty to continue exploring.