VERSION EN ESPAÑOL
Buenas a todos por acá.
Cuando entré a la colmena con mucho entusiasmo, escribí mucho sobre mi pueblo, de sus gentes, sus calles, costumbres y personajes pintorescos.
Pero no sé cuándo me llegó el desapego sobre estos temas. Confieso que no me di cuenta de que me había alejado de esas pequeñas crónicas.
San Luis, mi pueblito enclavado en el medio de las prósperas tierras tabacaleras más importantes del mundo, para mí_ a pesar de su aburrimiento y monotonía acrecentada en estos tiempos por la anorexia creada por la permanente crisis económica y de otros tipos, sigue teniendo esa magia indescriptible que me ata con hilos invisibles al espíritu semi urbano , semi rural de su cotidianidad.
Hoy desperté de ese letargo de la memoria.
Andaba en uno de los pocos paseos matutinos que realizó por sus calles y una escena me devolvió a la realidad, a ver el entorno con los ojos de aquellas primeras crónicas.
Pasaba por la acera en frente del todavía llamado" el contenedor de Katia" que ya no se sabe ni a qué se dedica, después que la crisis de la COVID puso la economía de rodillas, y aún no se ha podido poner de pie.
También ahí está el antiguo estanquillo de periódico arrendado para la venta de bisuterías, mientras el poco periódico que traen, lo venden al lado, en un banco de cemento
Ese es quizás el área mejor caracterizada en la localidad. Pues ahí, en el mismo ciclo de la venta del los rotativos, permanece una nómina casi inalterable de compradores, cada uno con un propósito para adquirir el periódico.
El mayor porciento lo compone un grupo de jubilados de todos los sectores, razas y géneros, que saben de ante mano toda la información sobre los movimientos del impreso ., su tardanza, cambios de transporte, horarios, etc.
Además de ser especialistas, muchos de ellos en temas de la actualidad. Sociocultural del municipio y muuucho más allá de las fronteras en Economia global, Política exterior, y la más importante: chismografía local.
Pero algo llamó mi atención en mi paso por el lugar hacia la tienda" de Eladia" que funciona solo en MLC(los cubanos entendemos la nomenclatura).
En el momento que entro en el área, ya estaban despachando el periódico. Cómo es habitual, las personas, casi todas de la tercera hacia la cuarta edad_en la acera, de por medio, el muro de ladrillos que hace de cerca perimetral entre la calle y el área del edificio de cinco plantas, y al otro lado el vendedor, un obrero de la oficina de Correos.
La imagen que se abría ante mí me resultó dramática y por de más bochornosa. Pues casi la totalidad de las personas estaban parados o transitando por encima de un verdadero basurero en pena calle, encima de desechos de todo tipo solo con el fin de obtener un par de hojas de papel con imágenes y letras impresos, dónde quizás se habla de las deplorables condiciones sanitarias de tal o más cuál pueblo o ciudad.
Quizás lean de temas de ecología, Urbanismo, Salud ambiental, etc., sin percatarse, o sin importarles, que son parte de una noticia viva en el paisaje de una cotidianidad.
"Compradores sobre la basura", "lectores sobre la basura"o" Esperadores sobre la basura" pudiera ser un buen título para esta semi crónica de una escena que me impacta e interrumpe mi recorrido ya no tan habitual por las calles de mi pueblito tabacalero.
También me recordó esta degradante escena, las obras de gran formato sobre el tema de los basureros, realizadas por nuestro maestro del paisaje Tomás Sánchez, que vi expuestas en el museo de bellas artes. en una de las más recientes bienales de la Habana. , Pero donde la presencia del hombre está Dada simbólicamente por el desecho y el consumo y no como aquí en la interacción directa con los desechos.
Creo que regreso a regalarles otras crónicas desde mi terruño.
Chao
Nos vemos en la próxima.
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🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️🖌️
VERSION IN ENHLISH
Hello to everyone here.
When I entered the hive with great enthusiasm, I wrote a lot about my town, its people, streets, customs and picturesque characters.
But I don't know when I became detached from these subjects. I confess that I did not realize that I had moved away from those little chronicles.
San Luis, my little town nestled in the middle of the most important prosperous tobacco lands in the world, for me, in spite of its boredom and monotony increased in these times by the anorexia created by the permanent economic crisis and other types, still has that indescribable magic that ties me with invisible threads to the semi-urban, semi-rural spirit of its daily life.
Today I woke up from that lethargy of memory.
I was taking one of the few morning walks through its streets and a scene brought me back to reality, to see the environment with the eyes of those first chronicles.
I was passing by the sidewalk in front of what is still called "Katia's container", which is no longer even known what it does, after the COVID crisis brought the economy to its knees, and it still has not been able to get back on its feet.
There is also the old newspaper stand leased for the sale of costume jewelry, while the little newspaper they bring in is sold next door on a cement bench.
This is perhaps the best characterized area in the locality. For there, in the same cycle of newspaper sales, there remains an almost unchanging list of buyers, each one with a purpose for acquiring the newspaper.
The largest percentage is made up of a group of retirees of all sectors, races and genders, who know in advance all the information about the newspaper's movements, delays, changes in transport, schedules, etc.
In addition to being specialists, many of them in current affairs. Sociocultural of the municipality and muuucho beyond the borders in global economy, foreign policy, and the most important: local gossip.
Today I woke up from that lethargy of memory.
I was taking one of the few morning walks through its streets and a scene brought me back to reality, to see the environment with the eyes of those first chronicles.
I was passing by the sidewalk in front of what is still called "Katia's container", which is no longer even known what it does, after the COVID crisis brought the economy to its knees, and it still has not been able to get back on its feet.
There is also the old newspaper stand leased for the sale of costume jewelry, while the little newspaper they bring in is sold next door on a cement bench.
This is perhaps the best characterized area in the locality. For there, in the same cycle of newspaper sales, there remains an almost unchanging list of buyers, each one with a purpose for acquiring the newspaper.
The largest percentage is made up of a group of retirees from all walks of life, races and genders, who know in advance all the information about the movements of the form, its tardiness, changes in transportation, schedules, etc.
In addition to being specialists, many of them in current affairs. Sociocultural of the municipality and muuucho beyond the borders in global economy, foreign policy, and the most important: local gossip.
But something called my attention in my passage through the place to the store "de Eladia" that works only in MLC (Cubans understand the nomenclature).
By the time I entered the area, they were already dispatching the newspaper. As usual, the people, almost all from the third to the fourth age, on the sidewalk, in the middle, the brick wall that makes a perimeter fence between the street and the area of the five-storey building, and on the other side the seller, a worker of the post office.
The image that opened up before me was dramatic and even more embarrassing. Almost all the people were standing or walking over a real garbage dump in the street, on top of all kinds of waste just to get a couple of sheets of paper with pictures and letters printed on them, perhaps talking about the deplorable sanitary conditions of this or that town or city.
Perhaps they read about ecology, urbanism, environmental health, etc., without realizing, or without caring, that they are part of a live news item in the country.Buyers on the garbage", "readers on the garbage" or "Waiters on the garbage" could be a good title for this semi chronicle of a scene that shocks me and interrupts my not so usual walk through the streets of my little tobacco town.
This degrading scene also reminded me of the large-format works on the subject of garbage dumps by our landscape master Tomás Sánchez, which I saw exhibited at the Museum of Fine Arts in one of the most recent biennials in Havana. But where the presence of man is symbolically given by the waste and consumption and not as here in the direct interaction with the waste.
I think I'll come back to give you other chronicles from my homeland.
Bye
See you next time
Photos taken with my Xiaomi Redmi 9a.
Text translated with Deelpp Translator.
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