Santa Clara on a Sunday reminds me of Spain. The people come to the main square to meet and enjoy a refresco. There is music, laughter and sun. The seats in the shade get take early. A band is playing and there is somewhat of a party atmosphere. Old people gossip. Mothers shout at their children not to eat ice cream that has fallen on the floor. Poor people try to sell almonds. And of course, beggars beg and drunks get drunk.
An old man in a mickey mouse tshirt sits next to me to talk. I think he has had several too many. He does all the talking, and I do all of the not understanding anything that he says. I smile and shake my head occassionally, and he eventually gets up and moves on when I give him the dregs of my can of orangeade.
Later, a couple sitting next to me explain that the band plays every Sunday for the old people to dance. The man is an electrical engineer and his wife is some sort of administrator. Her brother lives in New Orleans, and they want to visit him but cannot. I asm them if they think the US and Cuban governments will change things in the future, to which they smile and reply ´quizas´ - perhaps.
