Hi everybody! Всем привет! Hola a todos! Bonjour à tous! Hallo allerseits! Поздрав свима!
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A Night Walk: Open Windows of Havana
"Any trip is a holiday that will forever remain in your memory" — someone
The air in Havana changes when the sun sets. What was already vibrant by day becomes electric at night. The pastel walls of the old buildings fade into cool blue and gray shadows, and warm light spills from behind wrought-iron gates and open shutters. Walking the streets after dusk, I am drawn into a different rhythm — slower, softer, intimate.
Along the cracked sidewalks of Old Havana, history speaks from every crevice. Crumbling facades crowned with ornate plasterwork glow in the amber light of hanging lanterns. I pass a grand stone doorway — once the entrance to a colonial mansion, now the Hotel Raquel. Through its tall doors, I glimpse chandeliers hanging from a painted ceiling and marble columns that whisper of past elegance. The stained-glass transom above the door glows like a jewel, reminding me that decay and beauty can exist side by side.
I continue walking, pulled forward by music that floats like perfume on the humid air. From a bright kitchen framed by a blue-painted door, laughter and the scent of fried plantains drift out. A family eats dinner around a small table, the chandelier overhead swaying slightly with each movement in the room. A cat brushes against the doorframe before slipping into the shadows.
Farther down the street, I glance up and meet the eyes of an elderly woman on a narrow balcony. She rests her elbows on the stone railing, cigarette in hand, watching the street below. Her white hair glows in the light from inside, and behind her hang towels, plants, and memories. The shutters beside her are open wide, revealing the green glass of old windowpanes and a glimpse of lace curtains. She nods slowly when she sees me watching, as if to say: yes, this is home.
In the next block, a row of buildings bears the faded grandeur of another time. Flaking paint and rusted gates hide stories of revolution and resilience. A deep burgundy car, polished to a soft shine, rests below one of the balconies — a reminder that style in Havana is eternal, even if the buildings age.
As the night deepens, I realize that in Havana, the windows never really close. They remain open — to let in breeze, sound, and life. It is a city that lives in the open, that refuses to hide joy or sorrow. On this night walk, with every door ajar and every window glowing, Havana lets me in.
And I walk slower, hoping this moment will stay open just a little longer.
That,s all for today.
Stand by
Sincerely yours
