A Pair of Chancletas
A Pair of Chancletas By Elena Schwolsky The sweet, sticky smell from an overflowing dumpster follows me as I turn the corner onto Calle Amistad—Friendship Street—but I smile to think of my dear friend of many years who I will see in a few short minutes. Threading my way around piles of dog shit and oily puddles from the afternoon rains, I walk in the street like everyone else––moving to the crumbling, narrow sidewalk only when a motorcycle, pedicab or antique car lumbers by. I remember how, years ago, when I first visited Havana in the early 90’s, no matter how hard I tried to fit in, boys would follow me down the block. “Chile! Argentina!” they would call out, trying to match my fair skin to a country they knew. Those were the days when few tourists visited Cuba and even fewer from the U.S. Now, in 2012, no one gives me more than a curious glance. I am red-faced and sweaty by the time I get to Mari’s building. A group of girls is lounging in front of the beautiful old Art-Deco cigar factory across the street, recently transformed into a high school, their mustard yellow... Read More