In the indigo light of early morning, I had Old Havana almost all to myself.
There were a few people on the streets, all security guards or police officers wearing identical uniforms: light blue shirts and navy pants. I couldn’t tell if they’d been patrolling all night or if they were walking to work. They nodded politely as I passed, otherwise keeping to themselves.
The side streets swarmed with stray animals, too. I saw six cats circling one garbage can, tenaciously looking for a weak spot before the trash collector came. I passed a few small dogs shaking off their hours of sleep, but none of them trailed after me or barked. All of the strays seemed surprisingly tame, even groomed, and I knew that I didn’t need to be afraid of them.
In my pre-dawn haze, Cuba still felt like an enigma — but it was impossible not to feel affectionate toward this puzzling, intriguing country.
My feet guided me toward Plaza Vieja, a large square lined with pastel-colored buildings, a place where long lines of tired pigeons stood sentinel along flat rooftops. The sky lightened into a silvery blue, and the birds suddenly dive-bombed the plaza. With their soft coos and flapping wings, they seemed to signal that the day was about to begin.
I chose a street leading out of the square and followed it for a while; then, on a sudden whim, I turned left on Calle Obispo. The morning was growing brighter and more colorful, and the sky looked like an endless sea strewn with streaky pink and blue. More and more people appeared in the streets, greeting me with a friendly “¡Dia!” on their way to work.
That early in the morning, the shops along Calle Obispo were just empty facades tucked beneath signs and awnings. They were waiting for a storeowner to arrive, to turn on the lights, to wedge a stopper between the door and its frame. They were waiting for locals, tourists, regular customers, window-shoppers.
On my left, I noticed a massive gray building looming above the trees. It stretched high into the air and extended farther back than I could see, a cracking concrete edifice with rigid right angles that seemed at odds with the soft, streaky clouds. The result was jarring, but I was beginning to realize that Havana’s pieces didn’t always fit together neatly. They were jagged and uneven and eclectic, like a mosaic or a kaleidoscope — not a jigsaw puzzle.
Down the street, I reached another plaza, this one lined with stately buildings and crowned with a large fountain. The entire square was shining with the luster of white marble, and hundreds of birds were crowded on tree branches and palm fronds. The birds were chirping, twittering, warbling, their voices joining together in a thunderous symphony that almost sounded like clanging metal.
I left Calle Obispo and continued forward, every step taking me closer to the Capitol Building. I reached wide streets that hummed with colorful old cars. I saw suit-clad people emerging from elegant lobbies. Behind the cars and the people, the Capitol Building arose, its huge cupola and grand staircase dominating the entire block.
But as I walked into the streets just behind the Capitol Building, the kaleidoscope image changed again. I saw collapsing buildings, an open-air mechanic shop, a group of people pushing a stalled car along the dusty street. I saw boarded windows. I saw laundry clipped to clotheslines.
The sun, now risen, hovered just above the horizon, and someone rode past me on a bicycle, zipping toward an apartment or store or school.
It was time to head back and find my family, so I turned around and slowly retraced my steps, catching second glimpses of the mosaic pieces I had seen earlier, realizing that they had already changed. I re-emerged in Plaza Vieja and looked again at the large Cuban flag dangling from a lime-green building.
Here was Old Havana in all its piecemeal beauty: vintage American cars, grandiose Baroque buildings, crumbling old apartments — bursts of color, symphonies of birdsong, and flashes of culture coming together in one bright, fascinating whole.
The sky had calmed into a tranquil blue. People flocked into the streets, each new arrival making the kaleidoscope even more vivid and brilliant than it was before.
It was the beginning of another chaotically beautiful day in Old Havana, and I couldn’t wait for the adventures yet to come.
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Post and photos by Whitney Brown