It was the Summer of 2016 when I arrived at José Martí International. Contrasting with more market-friendly airports, its uniformly gray interior had the aesthetics of a bureaucratic office, the universal “smoking forbidden” warnings replaced by discrete Spanish-only signs indicating where one could light a cig. After an easier-than-most immigration clerk, a crowd gathered outdoors, waiting for the next Minister of Tourism bus. The more frequent road signs announced our arrival in Havana, many simply praising Cuba or cursing the US embargo. The city seemed evenly divided into 50’s style American buildings and Spanish colonial casas, the latter especially opulent given the past major status of Havana as a trade and political center. The sheer joy of witnessing this unique mix of High-end Iberic architecture, decrepit Golden Age capitalism billboards, cars that could belong to Elvis Presley and Marxist-Leninist propaganda everywhere, a clear blue sky above a turquoise sea as the background, is one I do not hope ever being able to repeat. One of my first destinations is the Museo de la Revolución. The SU-100 Soviet tank piloted by Fidel Castro during the Bay of Pigs incident stands right at the entrance and announces what’s to come. Deliberately installed in the pre-Socialist presidential palace, the museum’s permanent exhibition aimed to tell an epic story of overcoming oppression through heroic rebellion, with José Martí and Fidel Castro as protagonists. Although Martí did not live to see his country freed from Spanish domain, he is regarded as the responsible for Cuban independence and monuments throughout the city are not shy about reminding people of it. Che Guevara was also romanticized, but not as nearly. The museum’s most thorough room was the guerilla operations one. The logistics and strategies of many operations were explained in detail, the names of Raul Castro and Camilo Cienfuegos being very mentioned there. As Martí, Cienfuegos is mostly known inside Cuba, earning idol status for a reputation of being a charismatic boots-on-the-ground commander, capable of remaining stoic in the stressful war environment while showing mercy to captured enemies. His image is held in a building at the famous Plaza de la Revolución, although obfuscated by the twin building holding Che’s, a much more common background for selfies featuring upward fists. Wandering through Havana Vieja, its many centenary constructions still housing working people, the memory of then US president Obama’s visit is still fresh. “He walked the streets, waving at everybody, with no security personnel around”, I’m told. I eventually arrive at the Center for Afrocuban Traditions, one of the most colorful places I’ve ever seen. They’re holding a multi-painter exhibition of iconic Black leaders such as Martin Luther King, Winnie Mandela and Malcolm X, Malcolm’s portraits being particularly common. There I meet Salazar and he invites me to his house, something that’s not unusual in Havana. Displayed on the wall is a plane ticket, Salazar proudly telling about when he went to a Munich festival perform afrobeat hip-hop, authorized on the condition his family remained in Havana. He lives with his wife and small daughter, the elder son away attending mandatory military service. Salazar then suggests a party, which I promptly agree. A few corners and staircases away, we enter a house and are greeted by an open casket stuffed with white flowers, an old man in a white suit laying dead on it. The man’s daughter was beside, looking sad but conformed. It is Santería’s tradition to gather around the recently departed, as it’s believed the spirit is still confused and revolted by its situation, needing guidance and comfort to safely reach its destination. And there’s no better way to calm a spirit than to join the most people around it for a party. More guests arrive at the house. When there are enough musicians to form a complete percussion, they circle around the casket and start playing and singing. Passerbies are called on the street and many of them stick around, knowing the importance of the rites. Rum bottles and cigars roam freely, moving from hand to hand. Not the worst way to leave this life. In an all-out party, a party of the people.