There was a visceral tone to this second trip to Havana. Aside from the fact that practically everyone there thought I was Cubano, the people were extremely welcoming, and openly interested in who the hell we were.
The Sister in this photograph called out to me and pointed to her home. She opened the door which gave way, as so many of the structures do, to multiple doorways, open rooftops, peeling paint, lavish colors, and strange stairwells. She pointed to my camera, beckoning me to make a photograph of all she was showing me… in a very Vanna White fashion.
I was totally captivated, not by her home, but by her. I loved how forward and fearless and open she was to total strangers. Maybe not strangers at all.
I asked instead for her photograph. She laughed, at which point, Lover Boy, husband I assumed, poked his head out to see what was happening. We all just stared at each other for a minute, and then he simply embraced her and began planting kisses.
Such were our days…