Judging from the irreverence that has been the hallmark of her entire life, Natalia Bolivar Arostegui (1934) doesn’t strike one as someone who was born in Havana’s aristocratic neighborhood of Miramar, whose garden walls are as impregnable as its safe deposit boxes; she appears rather to have been born in the more proletarian quarters of Pogolotti, where dockers return to put an end to their rumba-filled nights – or rather returned, for it’s been several decades since she was last inclined to visit Havana’s more picturesque neighborhoods on “anthropological impulses,” as she puts it.
Read More