The echos of the shouts reach my balcony, in a rhythm marked initially by feet accompanied by throats. It's less than two weeks to the huge parade pla...
Just when you've forgotten how to teach a baby to walk, you give birth to a blog. A website to help articulate its first words, to warn of dangers ahead, and to show a world that you don't quite understand yourself.
Carter recently met with Fidel Castro casually and at length in his living room. As before, Carter found points on which to praise the government, but it sounded more like diplomatic formalities than real points of consensus.
Last Saturday a military squad rehearsed for the upcoming parade shouting -- on a central avenue -- a slogan using the language of the barracks, sexist and dull.
Laughter is still an effective cure. Thus, on this Island, we bend our lips into a smile more for self-therapy than for happiness. Then the tourists take our pictures and go home saying we are a happy people.
In the preparations to leave the country, at the end of a relationship, there are people who try to control the smallest details; to draw up those limits that oblige the ones they leave behind to follow their path. Castro is one of those people.
The TV Serial Spaniards in the World is nice and blue, sprinkled with salt; but something doesn't fit. What they're showing me is another country, a distant dimension in sepia tints.