And just like that, the engine coughed up a quiet growl and the
ferry slipped from the dock through muck laden waters on its tack across the
bay.
We bid adios to La Habana Vieja, Cuba’s Old Havana, setting
our sights on the next stop, the City of Regla. ‘We’, were a tossed salad of
passengers; some of the faithful making their way to Santeria Church, some delivering pizza-style cartons of fish stacked and loosely tied on the front and rear of
bicycles, some like the legendary chicken, just wanting 'to get to the other
side’, and a dozen or so Americans on a people-to-people mission of discovery
to this island vestige of the Cold War. We were definitely a mix, but for a few
moments in time we were as one, sharing the same steerage-level space.
The voyage was slow, even keeled, and brief. Even so, one
face from the grey mass grabbed my attention and held it all the way. It was of
a guy, my guess about twenty-something, perched at the open-air doorway. By the
downward tilt of his head, stone motionless expression, and half-closed eyes, I
imagined him surely to be deep in thought. But about what … the task ahead, who
he was meeting, his future, or perhaps regrets for deeds done? If my Spanish
was up to snuff, I would have offered a peso, or better yet a valued tourist CUC,
for his thoughts. Instead I remained focused on his demeanor, continuously searching
for clues and imagining scenarios. In the last moments before docking, I emerged
from my trance, moved camera into place as I am accustomed to doing, and recorded
an image to at least capture the essence of moments we anonymously just shared.
Epilogue: Less than two weeks after that bay crossing, the
US announced an end to five-plus decades of embargo, signaling resumption of diplomatic ties with Castro’s
Cuba. There would now be much more for that guy, and all Cubans, to ponder …
for Americans as well.
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