As you cross the wooden bridge and enter the dark mouth of the tunnel, the silence... It becomes dense again. The thick, cold walls hold the echo of centuries: Spanish soldiers, privateers, lookouts who spent entire nights gazing at the horizon. The lighthouse, erect like a column of light, invites you to climb. And when you reach the top, Havana unfolds: the Malecón like a shimmering serpent, the buildings of Central Havana breathing history, the port moving slowly like a sleeping animal.
Up there, you understand that El Morro didn't just defend the city: it narrated its story.
Descending from El Morro and crossing into the historic center is like turning a new chapter. The city ceases to be panoramic and becomes intimate. The cobblestone streets welcome you with their mix of voices, street vendors' cries, footsteps, laughter, old engines, and distant bells.
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You enter through the Plaza de Armas, where centuries-old trees shade the booksellers. Each yellowed book cover seems like a fragment of Cuban memory. The Palace of the Captains General, with its baroque solemnity, reminds you that this city was a center of power, commerce, encounters, and conflicts.
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You enter through the Plaza de Armas, where centuries-old trees shade the booksellers. Each yellowed cover seems like a fragment of Cuban memory. The Palace of the Captains General, with its baroque solemnity, reminds you that this city was a center of power, commerce, encounters, and disagreements.
[https://i.ecency.com/DQmQ1uuAzw8MXxszMruHEG52JcboBAv3nqVeLGFSfqS5hgJ] ...
I kept walking, and the air was a rainbow of aromas: freshly brewed coffee, toast, living history. Cathedral Square appeared before me like a theatrical stage. The church's coral stone, irregular and beautiful, seemed to breathe. There, one feels that time doesn't pass: it stands still.
At the end of the walk, I headed back towards the bay. El Morro, in the distance, is illuminated by the setting sun. It seems like a lighthouse not only for ships, but for memories. And I, walking among those ancient stones, understood that this journey is not just geographical: it's emotional.
Credit: I used Google Translate and the images are mine.
