CUBAN. THROUGH AND THROUGH.

They say Havana is hard to pin down. Hard to describe to someone who´s never been there. Invariably, that´s true for most places. After all, isn´t that what makes for good writing? Or a good writer? Someone who´s able to pin something down so well that it´s as if the reader has been plucked from their seat and gently placed wherever the writer decides.

But "they" are right. There is something superbly tricky about describing Havana. It´s a city of emotional and physical contradictions. It´s dense yet stark; vibrant yet bland; inspiring yet depressing. Every buidling (aside from the expensive hotels) seems as though it´s one brick away from collapse. Their 4 decade long trade embargo has ensured no menu includes much more than chicken, rice, salad (by which they mean a few slices of tomato, cabbage and beans) and bread (which is most often indescipherable between toasted and stale).

Though somehow Havana´s crumbling neglect is inimitable. It´s a city one-of-a-kind. There´s an inexcapable sense that something significant was fought for here. Something so worth the fight that dancing, singing and pure happiness permeates through the streets. And the only way you´ll miss it is if you choose to stay on your air conditioned bus or in your air conditioned hotel. The minute you walk onto the street, that something grabs you. And it´s not something tangible. It´s an energy from a people who have never left their land; from a people who believe 9am on a Tuesday morning is as good a reason as any to play their instruments and dance and sing and smile.

There´s no questioning the fact that Cuba belongs to the Cubans. No confusion there. They´re the one nation that told the U.S. to fuck off. And you can feel it. The buildings and streets may have been built by the Spanish. And sure, they may drive bulky American Plymouths and Cadillacs, but this island is Cuban. Few places seem as authentic. Well, the few that I´ve visited at least. But I certainly get the sense that the Cubans know they´re Cuban, believe that they´re Cuban and love that they´re Cuban.

For me, Havana´s not a place that´s stuck in a time warp (as I originally thought, before coming here). It´s not even a place which idolises the legedary Che Guevara (who was Argentinian anyway). It´s a place that decided to be its own and commit to one way of life. It´s a place where the people know who they are. And that´s rare. And that´s beautiful.

THE TITLE TRACK.

What is it that gives a grandparent's house that distinctive 'old' smell? It's not a bad smell, just an old one.

I clearly remember the smell of my grandmother's house from when I'd visit her while studying at UCT. It was a smell of aged leather; dated furniture upholstered in dated fabric; antique silverware; priceless paintings; and wisdom.

I suppose there's my answer. It's an old smell because it's full of old things. Even old people.

I remember I'd take the day, most times it was a Sunday, and drive out to St James from Wynberg or Woodstock or Sea Point (depending on the year of my studies) and spend it with her. Spend it chatting about things. Some arbitrary and others, the more interesting, about family. How she'd raised three sons. No daughters. "What a handful", she'd mutter. I can only try to imagine.

One of my last visits was a few days before I left for The States. I was going to work and travel for 6 months. I was 23. And right before I left she wrote a quote down on a piece of paper for me. Something to take with, or at least memorise before I left. I did both.

"Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades forever and forever when I move." Alfred Lord Tennyson

My grandmother passed away 2 days ago. She suffered a stroke. And a few days before that I was contemplating what to call this blog, when I remembered the quote.

Perfect.

I guess, in a sense, I dedicated this blog to her without even realising it.

Even more perfect.

Today is the day before I leave. The day before I fly to London from where I will catch a connecting flight three days later to Havana, Cuba. Today is the day before I am set to begin an adventure that is bound to be full of meaning. Today I am 28.

Here's to you, gran.