Cuba. Story of one photo.
Habana, Cuba, December 2017
Every photograph has its story. Here's one of mine.
We'd been on the island for a few days, and I was still searching. Not just dark-skinned people on crumbling streets — I wanted something that felt unmistakably, essentially Cuba.
We decided to head to a beach outside Havana. Two hours of wandering followed: a series of taxis ranging from a 1960s American classic to a early-2000s Mercedes Vito, a visit to our fixer's friend's half-collapsed house, and a stop at some local museum nobody asked for. We finally made it.
After a swim in the Caribbean — 27 degrees, which apparently qualifies as freezing by local standards — we decided to have a small picnic. The beach vendors only had umbrellas and peanuts, so Cathrin and I walked up to a nearby café for drinks and ice cream. The path back to the beach was wonderfully photogenic: a wooden boardwalk with leaning railings, and a Cuban flag flying high on a bamboo pole.
There we were, arms completely full — beers, water, several half-kilo tubs of ice cream, bags of some mysterious local chemical cookies — when three men appeared from the far end of the boardwalk. Dark brown skin, athletic builds, sunglasses. Walking toward us along the wooden planks. Cuban flag in the middle distance. White sand and the sea behind them.
My camera was hanging off my shoulder. Both hands were occupied.
Cathrin froze: "That's it. That's the shot."
I stood there, paralyzed — do I drop the ice cream? Do I— "Cathrin, my hands are full!!!"
She looked at me. Assessed the situation. Then said, very calmly:
"Just. Remember it."
You know that scene in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty? The snow leopard?
I went back to the same spot thirty minutes later and waited. Things tend to repeat themselves in the same place. Several groups of Cubans walked by — some photogenic, some not. A lot happened. But this photograph, the one I actually got, is the one I like most. There's an unexpected quality to the moment. And that hat — the kind they sell to tourists all over central Havana — makes it feel more real, not less.
