No, not Cuba, me.
It was the best tour yet! The group was wonderful. We all had a marvelous time, but it’s no longer about my images.
It’s about my *gulp* feelings.
Today I finally broke down and cried. I fought it off for ten days.
Now I have to decompress.
My heart breaks when strangers take me into their homes and show me how they have to live: unpainted concrete floors walls and ceilings, a kitchen with a handful of dishes and one electric hotplate, minimal furniture, and government food rations.
Then a mother risks showing three Americans where her daughters have to sleep, mattresses with springs protruding, mattresses that are too short and are extended by folding clothes to match the height of the rest of the bed.
What’s the risk ? She is afraid of the CDR. (the local government spies are on every block).
They could easily take her house and put her in prison if they suspected her of “ideological weakness” or “crimes against the revolution”.
I’ll never forget the pain in her face as she told her story.
Get past the obvious photo-ops and get deeper into the lives of the poor Cubans and it will break your heart.