Behind me, there is a pretty home being remodeled into a small business; a serving counter for a kitchen in the room facing the street. I had an interesting conversation with the construction workers and told them I was visiting Havana for a symposium on cement. The lead plaster artist looked me in the eye and informed me he was a mulatto. I was slightly surprised and shrugged nonchalantly. You look like pure chocolate," I responded. He laughed and told me to hold out my hand, palm up, which I did. He then put his hand next to mine, with his palm up; our palms were identical color. He then flipped his hand to backside up, "Mulatto," he said. You are chocolate and vanilla, I said as I turned my hand over, "I'm pure vanilla and enjoy chocolate." We laughed at our silly but fun conversation, said goodbye, and I turned to look across the street.

My childhood home, in Santa Barbara, was graced with a bougainvillea this same size and color as in this photo. It was a colorful display outside my bedroom window. After I photographed this bougainvillea, I realized there was a man looking at me. I walked across the street and introduced myself as a tourist and sociologist from California.

A very pleasant conversation then began with a person who who instantly seemed to be an old friend. My new friend, Nilo, pronounced as if the "i" were a double "e", has been building this house for his entire life. In his younger years he traveled to Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia and learned to speak a little of those languages as well as English, he was most comfortable speaking Spanish and I was beginning to feel more fluent.

Next I saw this nice yard with a pigeon coop up in the tree. This photo series ends with a smiling young man tossing two pigeons into the air, I view the action and his smile as a wonderful moment for peace on earth. Homing pigeons have been of interest to me since I discovered quite elaborate pens owned by the father of one of my high school friends. My reason for including this is to illustrate just how full this first walk was. North America and it's unending wars barely exist, they are not noticed by a fun and busy Cuban life.

A few steps further and I noticed this small, blue storefront. I was admiring the color and the business when I discovered that I was standing in the shade of a tree which was the gathering spot and work area of two friends. We talked about life in the neighborhood and how much improvement there has been in the last few years. I pointed out how clean the street is and how clean it seemed to be everywhere, they smiled proudly.

I showed them the art book that I had been given and they spent quite some time reading and looking at the pictures. Notice the hammerhead and wire on the ground, they were straightening wire for what purpose I did not discover. The man in the red shirt became so friendly that he asked me to wait while he went to his home to find something for me, he returned with an antique cap from the revolution.

At first I didn't realize how old the hat was. My hat was a straw sombrero with a chinstrap so I was able to let it fall back behind shoulders when I put my new hat on. The man in the red shirt admonished me to take care of that, not to lose it. “You will take care of it?” he asked. I tried to give it back. “No,“ he responded, “I just want you to know it is an authentic hat from a real revolution that you should take care of.” I told him I would and I do.

The reason he had given me the hat was his enthusiasm after we spoke about living well in peace with mother Earth and that the people of this neighborhood were apparently living in harmony with the planet. I have often referred to the ancient ways of the indigenous American people still surviving after 560 years of genocide as vivir bien, others refer to it as buen vivir; though either expression seems to evoke a similar response, I am now slightly confused as to the proper term.

A very short distance further along the street I encountered this friendly farmer selling his wares on the street corner. He showed me his various products and we talked about the life of farming, I have been a California farmer by trade and he could tell that my interests were informed by experience. I asked him if he earned enough for his family and he smiled agreeably, “yes.” There was quite a group of people on this particular street corner buying fruits and vegetables and enjoying the shade. This was my first walk on my first day in Havana and I was just learning what it was that I wished to know from those I encountered. When the farmer told me his family lived well and without want, I asked if he considered what he was doing to be in harmony with mother Earth. He smiled again and simply pointed to his cart. “It's beautiful,” I said.

I asked him if there were cooperative gardens in the area. He said there were quite a few, mostly small neighborhood gardens, though some of them quite large.

I then asked about his interesting cart, wondering if he had made it. “No,” he responded, “I rent this cart on market day from the person who made it.” Look at this obvious ingenuity expressed as an interesting business that contributes to harmony with our planet.

I walked back to the main Avenue after talking with the farmer. Looking across I could see a large fairground and decided I should go in the direction of the yellow sign, it's a small spot visible just above the front of the brown car.

When I reached the yellow sign and it said, "entrance workers only," I thought to myself that I should at least take a quick look at the old white Studebaker being worked on, to the right, behind the green fence, with hood and trunk open, and the interesting old blue car further along. Is it a Hudson? So I walked in with my camera ready, and this is what I saw.

A second gate led to a beautiful attraction. I was looking with admiration when voices behind me asked if I would take their picture. I turned around and did so, first with my camera and then with their camera.

The woman wearing the American flag noticed my baseball cap, also red white and blue, with a single star of the Cuban revolution. She asked if they could have a picture of me with her; antique me in my authentic cap and the beautiful young Cuban wearing her modern shirt. They have the picture on their camera and I forgot to ask them to use my camera as well. Sigh.

We had a pleasant brief conversation and went our separate ways, I went through the gate to see more of the park, beginning with this wonderful statue; a man with a blue scarf and machete, notice the single star on the scabbard. I do not know the story of the statue, which is perhaps 12 feet tall, about 4 m. I had barely arrived yet knew that I was acquiring many reasons to return, Cuba grows in one's heart very quickly.