I have a Cuban hangover. I’m sitting in my easy chair early in the morning, drinking black Cuban coffee and listening to Cuban music while looking at the photos I took on our trip. I didn’t have anything to drink last night, but Cuba has seeped into me, and I don’t seem to be able to get it out. We’ve been home now for days, and all I can think about is drinking rum on a balcony in Havana, dancing to music at our landlady’s birthday party, with the fantastical crumbling city below us. Or swaying to the guitars, ballads and conga drums on the open-air plaza in the ancient town of Trinidad, where music plays for free all day and night. You can buy a drink if you...
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