He was pushing a long wide cart loaded with boxes full of books. He’s a self-employed carretillero (a wheelbarrow operator), which means that his occupation consists of moving books from his house to the Plaza de Armas in Old Havana, where they’re sold to foreigners.
A few days ago I went there famished, intent on ordering a double portion. I sat down at one of the tables and was surprised to find out how important it is to know a place from the inside.
It was thought that those inducted from the east wouldn’t become implicated in Havana’s networks of crime and corruption since they were coming from so far away.
Yesterday it wasn’t even 8:00 o’clock in the morning and I already felt like a coward. The same thing had happened to me the day before at the end of work, which was why this morning’s affliction had me so worried.
I never thought I’d witness in the streets of Havana a traditional wheelbarrow for selling vegetables and tropical fruits. I had previously only seen them in photos from “back in the day,” as these had disappeared soon after of the arrival of the Revolution.
In the town of Sancti Spiritus there exist many brickyards. These are factories where clay bricks are made. My sixteen-year-old cousin Yanner works in one of them. His mother says that if he doesn’t want to study, then he has to work.
El Megano is a cinema in a peculiar neighborhood, Centro Havana, and is patronized by marginalized people of all types: indigents, alcoholics, illegal immigrants, homosexuals, transvestites… According to their needs, all of them seek to take advantage of the physical covering afforded by the building.
Our inter-provincial trains are a disaster. They consist of mid-twentieth century wagons built in Germany or Argentina, and are designed for a climate and a demand that have nothing to do with our reality.
With the children grabbed by the hands, ordered to remain silent, forcibly made to sit down, etc., an amusement park like Coconut Island changed from one moment to another into an island of coco-nutty parents.
Marcos is also a businessman. He’s able to provide constant and quality service six days a week. He fixed my Russian fan while he gave direction to an 18 year-old pupil who was checking the coil on a Korean fan. Marco’s porch is a veritable educational institution.