I confess. I had to wait. I had to think. I had to let it unfold in its own pace. I had to go through my photos, notes I during my time in Cuba and let the feeling unfold. The feeling for Cuba.

When I first saw the streets of Havana, a thought crossed my mind. Maybe my intuition was playing tricks on me. But this feeling or this thought never left my subconscious.I thought to myself it was hurt. Deeply wounded, torn apart, stuck in a time warp.Torn between its former glamorous beauty and an uncertain future. A little pain snuck in my heart.

Heavy gray clouds were hanging over Havana that day. The wind was blowing and there was tension in the air. The ocean seemed angry. The waves were slamming against the shore. The wide avenue along the town promenade was wet because of them. Every now and then the sun came out to play. But the clouds were stronger that day. Only the cars chased away the grayness of the day. You know, the old American ones. Pink, red, golden, turquoise,… Every now and then a Russian Lada or Fiat 126 raced by.

Time goes by differently in Cuba. Slower and in its own pace. You start drifting along with its flow. And that feeling starts to unfold. The feeling for Cuba.