Morning on the theatre and the top of Capitolo from the terrace of the Havana Plaza.
The Havana Plaza is in Old Havana. It's a few blocks from the sea and a few blocks from one of Ernest Hemingway's favourite bars, La Floridita, where the daiquiri was invented. Old Havana's streets are narrow, made of cobblestone, uneven, and full the sea crush of humanity. Small shops dotted along a main street, Obispo, offer sandwiches, water, cigars, and rum. Sad-eyed old women press postcard quality photos of children toward the unwary tourist and beg for money. Health care is free in Cuba. So is education. They play on the sympathies of the foreigner. They had no hope with me and moved on to a fresh target when ignored. Locals hang their laundry out on small balconies above the street and turn quickly away when a camera is pointed at them. I understand. I would do the same.