When I go out to take street photos, I try to go unnoticed. I prefer not to interfere in the scenes in front of me and let them present themselves, let them unfold, but in no way do I make this a dogma: I try to be open and flexible to what may happen. But in no way do I turn this into a dogma: I try to be open and flexible to what may happen, so why clip the wings to surprises, right?

So, more and more often it happens that I feel much better engaging directly with people. There are people who seem to cry out for me to meet them, to talk to them, to know their story behind the surface. I really enjoy those discoveries of lives, and when they present themselves I deepen the conversation, the questions, the exchange. I open up and, in general, people open up too.

At this point, I must say that in Old Havana, it is not usually difficult for this to happen. Perhaps generalizing, I could say that they are very open, friendly and fun people. The kind of people I love to meet. The conditions of existence there can be complicated, difficult, and super difficult. But human warmth and humour are always present, giving a special tone to their lives.

I invite you to meet some lovely people.

The brigade

I was taking pictures next to a square and I could feel the laughter behind me. A group of people were drinking and chatting animatedly, full of life, transmitting strong feelings. I approached them to ask for a photo of the group, and asked them where they knew each other from, as they seemed very open and affectionate. They told me they were co-workers and were on a break. Well, shall we take the picture then, I proposed before the matter cooled down.

They were ready to pose in front of a neutral, rustic wall I suggested. It looked appropriate. Only a few of them came closer, though. The rest watched them from afar and kept joking with my brave models: “watch out for the short one”, “he's very ugly, he'll break your camera” and that kind of jokes. We were all laughing, the jokes were flying back and forth, and I really had no trouble joining in the street improvisation comedy. Of course, in this fantastic atmosphere, getting a posed and formal photo took a back seat, uncontrolled laughter was better! And so I took several photos. With faces sometimes looking down and some bodies bruised with laughter.

Then the weather calmed down for a few seconds and I also took some more “normal” photos, which of course looked unfunny compared to the first ones.

Finally, before they left, I asked them what exactly they were working on, and they answered that they were from the brigade. “The cleaning brigade?” I asked them, “No, we're from the demolition squad.” It all came together perfectly for me.

Jaila

Jaila runs a fruit and vegetable stand in an agro-market in Old Havana. After buying supplies for my next week (sweet potato, bananas, fruit bomb, more sweet potato, more bananas, more fruit bomb, a tomato) and striking up a fun conversation, during which she told me that she associated Argentina with the TV show Patito Feo, of which she was a fan (!!!!), I asked her if she would allow me to take her portrait. She was so nice that I didn't want to miss the opportunity. She accepted and immediately, without any indication from me, she started doing all kinds of poses: she grabbed a knife and a tomato as if she was going to split it, then she took an avocado in each hand as if she was exhibiting an exotic product, etc. Finally, I asked him to take a picture without posing, just as he was. And the moment he took the shot he burst out laughing.

Luisa

Hunting for pictures in Old Havana I saw Luisa and felt something special about her. She looked older but she was definitely cool. She was wearing a t-shirt with a huge . I told her that I loved her t-shirt, which was totally true, but it was also my excuse to start a conversation. She told me that although she had a happy life, she missed her husband very much. That the next day would mark one year since his death. I told her that the date was close to my birthday by just a few days. I think I wanted to generate some common ground, some kind of “sense of life and dates”. Somehow I think it worked. Then he told me more details. I understood that it did her good to remember him, to talk about him. Her beloved was seven years younger than her, already in his 71st year, and out of any plan her heart failed. She remembered and missed Maci and how they used to sit and talk and drink coffee in front of her house. He also told me about his son Giovanni, who worked nearby parking cars. After a while of more relaxed conversation, in which we went through all kinds of emotions, I asked him if I could take a picture of him. I wanted to capture her fresh laughter, but the camera was transforming her, intimidating her too much. So I decided to use a trick I had read a little while ago, and I started repeating “Luisa don't laugh, don't laugh, please don't laugh”, until the laughter came out with gusto and she was one hundred percent Luisa.

Mayra Eugenia Eugenia Gómez de Molina Iguanzo

I saw her from outside the Victoria bar, an old place in Old Havana full of history, today unnoticed by tourists and visited by a few regulars. She looked angry, shouted, flapped her arms non-stop.

I took some pictures from a safe distance, from outside the bar, and her intense, skinny and ungainly silhouette stood out. But I am a slave to my curiosity and when I saw that the situation had calmed down, I went in and asked her straight out if she would allow me to take some pictures of her. She accepted without any buts, and while I was taking her picture we started a conversation.

She told me that her name was Mayra Eugenia Gómez de Molina Iguanzo and that she was 75 years old. I asked her several times to repeat her full name, and she did so patiently. She turned out to be one of the kindest people I had ever met in my life, although undoubtedly with a strong character. In fact she was very talkative. She told me that she danced and also composed music with a guitar. Immediately, right there and then, she started singing the famous song by Vinicius de Moraes, Garota de Ipanema.

I could go on all day long. But it is not my intention to tire you with the stories of these characters captured in my photographs. Although I must apologize, I will make an effort to briefly introduce some of them that I cannot leave out of this review.

Carlos

I was taking a few steps backwards to bring into the frame the wall with the graffiti that said “Viva Carlos” on the right, and the cage with the bird on the left. The distance didn't seem enough, and I was almost bumping my back against a door when it opened and the man in shorts and crocks came out.

Immediately and without thinking I asked him if he was Carlos. He said yes. I insisted, was it Carlos himself written on the wall? He repeated that he was, without sharing in the least my excitement at the conjunction of wall, man and photographer in that precise space-time.

I asked him if he would pose next to the poster and he did so immediately, always with a minimal but willing and kind expressiveness. And so one of my favorite photos of Havana became a reality.

Viva Carlos!

Manolo

Manolo, 86 years old (turned two days ago), watching life go by from the door of his house in Old Havana. He looked so much in keeping with the front of his house that I asked him for permission to take some portraits of him. He said yes, “Let's see if I become famous and get the f... out of here” were his only statements, and I couldn't get another word out of him. I started to take pictures of him from all angles and distances and he continued in his own, as if I didn't exist.

When I was leaving, I started a conversation with a man who told me that he lived in the same house, that Manolo lived alone, part of his family emigrated to Spain, another one moved to San Antonio de los Baños, and his wife had passed away.

Radamés

Radamés Castillo World amateur boxing runner-up in Bucharest in 1985 in the light welterweight category, 63.5 kg.

Teaches teenagers, boys and girls, to practice boxing as a way to help them incorporate values of responsibility and discipline. He works in a large gym in Old Havana, which also houses several families. His personality is generous and open, and as soon as I peeked into his space he invited me to come in and take as many pictures as I wanted. I made several visits, where I could see her dedication to her students, and we established a close relationship.

Coralia

Coralia is a widow, 72 years old, and I saw her for the first time sitting at the door of her house, scratching her dog Laica on her back with a screwdriver.

Her only income is a modest pension from her late husband, who fought in Angola with Che Guevara's militias. To make some extra money, she rents out any available space in her humble home, whether it's to leave musical instruments, sell cell phone products, or whatever. Coralia has an incredible sense of humor, and although she hides her smile for photos, this time I managed to get a chuckle out of her.

Talia

Talía works in a small bakery in Old Havana. Her name pays homage to a Mexican singer in vogue in the late 1990s, of whom her aunt was a fan. She is relaxed and calm. Almost unflappable, somewhat shy I would say. When I made a comment about the beautiful color of her eyes (“I imagine you've been told that many times,” I told her, and she nodded her head slightly), she told me that she had studied to be a model. That was her dream, she told me, although for now she had no hope of realizing it. She didn't seem angry or upset about it; there was a hint of acceptance in her tone, knowing, resigned, both? I will never know.