With the smell of rusty iron, a town that moves at a different pace

PRODUCTION | Sergi Walker
LOCATION | Havana, Cuba

I remember my arrival in Havana, Cuba as a genuine surreal experience. It was nighttime, a fine rain washed its streets and the cars driving on them looked like something out of a Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall movie. The buildings that served as scenery looked like the result of a very recent bombing, a real war zone. However, upon arriving in Vedado, where I had previously rented a room from a lady named Marta, the streets were a tide of people and for some strange reason everything seemed magically safe. I felt this duality of sensations throughout my stay there. As if being surrounded by a world stopped in time, more typical of my grandparents’ era, brought with it its values and customs, a world where broken things are fixed because not everything is disposable, where people spend entire afternoons in the squares enjoying a simple game of chess, and where stores welcome you without signs or plastic smiles. A world that lives at a different speed.