First meetings
My first and final impression of Cuba: an island of great beauty and great joy.
In the doors and windows open to the sun of the boji* you could see the women tidying up and sweep dancing. If on the street a little boy stumbled upon a jar he would immediately stop to try a rhythm. In the parked cars there was often someone sitting who, perhaps reading the newspaper, would move his back to the sound of the rumba coming out of the radio. Music also filled the bus with which my mother and I went to Havana from time to time and in that crowded bus it was a problem to dodge the dancing butts.
In all the clubs there were always players with guitars and maracas to cheer up the customers. When, on a trip to the beautiful valley of Vinales, we stopped to eat at the mulatto "Friolito," he had prepared the drinks by twirling bottles and glasses to the sound of guaracha and, always following the rhythm, he then threw the full glasses at us along the counter. Having cleared the table, after breakfast, he had jumped on it and performed a wild dance.
They danced cleaning the boats in the harbor, selling newspapers or Lottery tickets on the street. It seems they also danced at funerals because after having buried the dearly departed one, a lunch was always offered to refresh the friends...
* another word for which I could find no instance of as it pertains to the Italian language, Cuba or even Spanish.
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