Many (most, even) people said to me the very second they heard I was going to Cuba, “Oh! Those classic cars.”
There ARE old cars. Quite a few of them. Some of them are really fixed up and are used to transport tourists around. Others of them may see intermittent taxi use (I sort of think the one in this photo may be one of those). And others of them are just…what people drive. It seems sort of quaint and romantic, maybe, at first
On our trip, we were transported around in a fleet of vintage cars. Here are some things about that:
- The cars were in top shape – clean and shiny.
- But they were fragile. We weren’t allowed to open or close the doors ourselves. The drivers did that for us. And some of the car doors had to be closed in a specific and delicate way just so they’d latch.
- When we were out of the cars making photos, the drivers would often park in the shade and shine up their vehicle while they waited for us.
- And after one of the rain showers we were in, the drivers used the time at the next stop to dry the cars.
- But, again, the cars were fragile. One of our cars had some transmission problems one day and the drivers stayed up well into the night to get it fixed for the next day’s travel.
- No seat belts. None of the cars had seat belts.
- The upholstery was covered with thick, clear plastic, to keep it protected.
- The cars had those after-market air conditioners installed under the dashboard. They also had USB ports so the drivers could keep their phones charged. And sometimes had LED headlights. It was incongruous.
- And, still, the cars were fragile. Yet it was these cars, these old and delicate cars, that enabled our drivers to make money to support themselves and their families.
The longer I was in Cuba, though, the more I thought about what it REALLY meant to not have a choice other than driving a car that’s 50 or 70 years old. In real life, what does that mean? It means the almost-impossible task of keeping the thing running, for one thing. It means a car that – while it’s quaint to look at – is probably a real pain in the ass to drive. For car owners who make a living from their car, it means that the tiniest thing going wrong at the exact wrong time could tank a family’s livelihood.
And it means not having a choice about what to drive. What if some of those car owners would like to have an option to have a newer, more reliable car? And what does it say about us – the tourists – who bemoan the disappearance of vintage cars and its impact on us or on our photographs? Does our nostalgia, our expectation of seeing these cars and bringing home Important Images of Vintage Cars, somehow put our desires above the real needs of the Cuban drivers? (I don’t know the answer: this is largely rhetorical. But that doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about it.)
Before the trip – way, way before the trip, thanks to two years of COVID-related delays – my friend Don told me the trip would “change my life.”
He was not wrong. But I am still sorting out all the ways it changed me and the way I think about things. If I ever get it figured out in a way that seems like it might be coherent, I will let you know.
Playa Larga, Cuba
If you’ve never seen a clump of photographers get excited by a puddle in the middle of a street, you may not believe me when I tell you that we spend at least a half an hour right here. There were many, many photographic possibilities and we were determined to explore every one of them.
(This will also serve as a warning to non-photographers: hanging with us is likely to cause a rapid onset of complete boredom.)
Full disclosure, part one: I hate going to the fair. The rest of my family loves to go. I hate it.
Full disclosure, part two: the only reason I agreed to go this year on the Big Family Adventure™ was because I’d just gotten back from that trip where I learned that I could, in fact, take photos that had people in them, and I realized that the fair had great potential for people photos.
Full disclosure, part three: my favorite part of this photo at first was that little girl on the right side. But then I saw those two ghostly blurs at the top, looking for all the world like two scary AF faces.
Full disclosure, part four: I still hate the fair.
It’s hard to find words to describe what I saw in the Valley of the Temples. And my photos don’t do it justice, either.
These are the remains of the Temple of Heracles; it is considered to be the most ancient of the temples, dating to the end of the 6th century BCE. It was destroyed by an earthquake and all that’s left are eight columns.
(To put this into perspective a little bit, the city I live in dates all the way back to 1884.)
Valley of the Temples
One thing about aimless wandering through an unfamiliar city is that the history of the places you’ll wander past isn’t something you’re necessarily aware of.
Here’s an example – we found this fountain because we turned down a dark passageway and there it was.
I liked the modest maiden, so I made her photograph.
When I sat down to write this post, I looked up the location on a map and discovered it’s the Fontana Pretoria. Further research led me to this fascinating bit of knowledge: The fountain was originally built in 1544 in Florence, but was sold, transferred, and reassembled* in Palermo in 1574. During the 18th and 19th centuries, the fountain was considered to depict the corrupt municipality of Palermo. For this reason – and because of the nude statues, it became known as Piazza della Vergogna (or Square of Shame). In 1998 a five-year restoration project began.
So anyway, that maiden’s been modest now for nearly 480 years.
*Mostly. Some parts of it went missing.