Thank You for the Kiss
Hello and welcome to my website.I'm Beth Jordan and my brand new book Thank You for the Kiss is out now.The title is a hint of the story as it unfolds over the course of nine months in Cuba, a period of pregnant moments, giving birth to the unexpected.You can read more about it here, and you can order a copy directly from this site.And the Kindle e-book is now available too.
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Thank You for the Kiss
Thank You for the Kiss is a story which goes beyond a kiss, goes beyond our fragile selves. It reflects layers of ourselves that we are not aware of until provocative situations lead us to create a curiosity, that begins to scratch the surface and once the digging goes deeper, reveals a darkness, a dantesque inferno, which can trap and bind us to our own fears and vanity. It’s a story that I have seen repeated and never believed would entangle me to the depth that it did. How easy it is, when we find ourselves broken and alone, when we reach out to anothers equally broken self, but misunderstand their needs, which appear as ours but are not.Set in Cuba, where the culture and politics of the country over a span of over 60 years has led some of its people to a state of desperation where any and everyone becomes an opportunity to escape the gilded cage of a paradise island, regardless of consequences of actions or morality.The protagonist of the story is a well-travelled woman, mindful and respectful of foreign cultures, who meets a local man, and is drawn into his family circle of smiling, charming people. Her usual cautious self finds her actions and decision making greatly altered. Whispers and warnings of ‘be careful’, ‘take care’, ‘cuidate’ follow her from the start of her journey to Cuba but she ignores all the warnings. During a pig feast held in her honour, she looks at the roasting pig and wonders if she too will become a sacrifice, a tribute and triumph to this family’s needs. It’s a story which may appear obvious and ‘I told you so’, but unfolding events takes all involved down an unexpected path to an ending which is shocking and devastatig as real life often is, and totally unexpected for all involved.
As you open this book, be prepared to be transported to the hot Caribbean climate with its intoxicating aromas and pulsating salsa beat. Gina was captivated by the beguiling nature of Cuba but got more than she bargained for. But take care, as everything is not as it seems when she meets Alex.This book will appeal to adventurers with romantic inclinations but there is a warning to be on their guard against the allure of the magnetic pull of this fabulous but complicated country, due to the prevalent insidious poverty.I recommend this book to you, which is part memoir and part fiction, based on Beth’s personal experience of her time in Cuba.– Christine BeechPowerful and shocking, starting with heady, hopeful days and moving towards something much darker and thought-provoking. I was completely hooked!– Hannah Powell, author of The Cactus SurgeonBeth, just wanted to let you know I really enjoyed your book, but also, to let you know I admired the courage of the heroine and how her emotions, thoughts and actions are so raw and reflects the femininity, vulnerability and strength all at once. Which is really the miracle called woman. I lived her story as I read it and I wouldn't have done or felt any different than she did.
Thank you for this endearing and raw story.– anonymousSee more reviews on Amazon
Here's a taster of the book – a whole chapter of Thank You for the Kiss to whet your appetite.
I could not remember how long I sat on that stone bench under the dark trees but, when I did finally stand up, my watch glowed midnight. Sitting for hours, waiting for him to arrive as he had promised when I got off the bus that morning, had dissolved away my anger. I felt oddly calm, almost numb.The plaza was deserted except for a couple of nightlife opportunists.It seemed strange to look around and see a lack of vibrant nightlife. The plaza had taken on a conservatism which I found odd but, on reflection, I remembered its socialist history of austerity. Even though my numbed brain thought that there would be a night bustle, it was quite the opposite. Hotel Inglaterra across the plaza, its front veranda caught in pools of shadowy light where tired white-shirted waiters sat at tables devoid of customers, their heads propped on tired hands. The urgency and verve of the daytime bar had lost its allure, when the throb of its four-piece salsa band had played to the delight of enchanted overweight couples of no fixed nationality.Crossing in and out of quiet back streets I made my way to Plaza Vieja, staying at El Meson de Flota, an old Spanish-style five-roomed hostel in Mercaderes Street. Although the taxi had taken me to Hotel Beltran on my arrival in Havana, they had to book me into El Meson de Flota, its sister hostel.Walking back, I quietly slipped through shadowy potted streets getting lost, turning down the wrong left and right. In the quiet of those shadows, I felt no fear of unwarranted attention. Throughout Cuba, there is a code where foreigners have safe passage and, experiencing the lonely walks through those night streets, I was grateful for that.I moved in a trance. Now and then, I picked up on a familiar smell, a smell from childhood, a hot, sweet, sticky, fruity perfumed smell. It reminded me of the experiences of the last few months. For me, Cuba was beautiful to look at, rich and warm like the deep-orange mangoes of June, hanging ripe and lush, but reach out, pluck them, cut them open and you will find that in the soft perfumed engorged flesh lies the deepening black, the beginnings of decay, its flesh tasting bitter, even poisonous. Its perfume reminded me of dark unfathomable eyes which hid secrets that I had begun to uncover. It was all beautiful and now part of my disillusioned soul.The lights of the hostel shone brightly in the darkened street, and my weary footsteps dragged me forward to the entrance. I still could not believe that I had been played for a fool. It was not so much that my pride had been lacerated but that I had acted so stupidly, that every one of his family and friends I had met in Mayari, Levisa, Matanzas, and Cienfuegos, knew that I had been played for a fool.I felt I was walking through the streets of an old Alfred Hitchcock film where the audience sat watching with wide gaping mouths, teeth-bared, eyes wide open, then roars of laughter at this most stupid protagonist.The hotel manager stood behind his desk, and I asked for his help telling him that I needed to contact a man whom I was friendly with but unable to reach by phone. He looked at me for a while then nodded his head. I told him that I needed him to ask his family if they knew where he was and what was happening with him. I took a piece of paper from my passport holder which had Silvana’s number on it and handed it to him. The manager called her, a long-distance call to Santa Rita near Levisa, and, after several moments of chat, confirmed that Alex was in Santa Rita having travelled from Holguin to her home on his motorbike the previous day.My anger screeched at me. My head pounded from sitting out in the sun all day and, looking at the manager, I asked him to call the police as I wanted to make a formal complaint that a man had taken £2500 from me under false pretences. The manager stared incredulously, his face blanching, as I mentioned the sum of money, which was equivalent to many years of a man’s salary in this country.Three police officers arrived within minutes of the phone call, and I explained to them what had happened. They stood solemnly, expressionless, and one of the three, a young woman who spoke excellent English, told me that if I made a report, I would have to stay in Cuba for one week so that they could investigate the serious allegation. I gave them his name and address in Levisa.I tasted the thought of bitter-sweet revenge.Again, I was informed that I would have to remain in Cuba for one week.Waves of tiredness overcame me. I told them that I could not remain as I had a flight booked in three days to fly to Miami for business and my flight could not be cancelled. A hot trickle of tears gathered behind my eyes. The police officers appeared genuinely concerned about my story. I guessed that maybe it was another part of a code of care, or law, to protect foreigners but more so for locals stepping out of line and misbehaving with “extranjeros”.They left.The hard metal room key dug into the palm of my right hand as I walked up a flight of cold stone steps to the room. As I opened the door, a rush of hot dry air enveloped me. I let my head bend backwards as it swept over me, closed the door behind and stood in the middle of the room, looking out to the balcony with its doors half-open. I felt a surge of self-pity as I looked at the long diaphanous white curtains gently blowing inwards. I stood and stared at the huge double bed under its high cathedral-domed ceiling, feeling small and fragile. At another time I would have felt a thrill of delight to be staying in that famous old hostel, with visions of making love.I called him again. No answer, of course. There was an unfathomable part of me that, although I had reported all his details to the police, was still reluctant to have their involvement and I wanted to resolve it myself.Exhausted, but restless for the remainder of the night, I called him a further dozen times, with no response until, finally, I knew he had turned off his phone.As the clock wound its way around to the early hours of the morning, sleep overtook me, and I finally woke, hot and dehydrated. The fetid heat in the room was suffocating, with the overhead fan whirring warm air. Having left the balcony door open, I heard the relentless hum of outside traffic and noisy passersby.I suddenly caught the strumming of guitars and the stamp of rhythmic feet from the bar below. I jumped out of bed like a tight spring uncoiled, remembering from a previous trip that superb flamenco dancers and guitar players played there daily. A leap of joy burst forth because I loved the raw sensuality of Flamenco, with its Cuban origins rooted in the early Spanish settlers.I phoned him again and this time he answered. He was quiet at the other end. I waited until I could find my voice.‘I’ve reported you to the police here in Havana, giving them your name and address in Levisa. Silvana told me that you were staying with her. You rode your black Kawasaki from Holguin to her home yesterday, after you dropped me off at the bus station in Holguin last night.’Quiet.Controlling the anger in my voice, I querulously demanded the return of the £2500 I had given him the previous day, which he said was for his car repairs, visa to England and lawyer fees, which I knew was a lie. All the money had been taken under false pretences. He had to bring it all to Havana by the next day, Friday, as I had already told him I was flying to Miami on Saturday. If he did not, I would further report him to the Immigration Department and, as a foreigner making this serious complaint against him, he would suffer consequences and could be imprisoned.He finally spoke, sighing heavily, ‘OK, Gina, I’ll come to Havana tomorrow morning with the money, but the car has given me many problems, too big a headache. The car is in Matanzas.’His words sent a bolt of lightning through me, making me feel as though I had been scorched by one of those bolts. I let the phone slip through my fingers and fall to the ground, knowing I would not succeed at recovering the money, but I would keep on trying.The thought of the day ahead on my own, in a city in the July heat, was unbearable. Having been to Havana, I had seen almost every tourist attraction and walked those worn-out streets of Havana Vieja. I no longer felt the sense of marvel or desire for further cultural delights.My breathing eased as I left the hostel. I entered Plaza Vieja, bought a café con leche from a corner stall and sat on one of the many steps against a Delphic column, where I gathered my thoughts. I waited, wanting my old self to return.A further café con leche and I found my old self, rising through the shadows of self-doubt. As I sipped my coffee, I decided that I was a strange creature.I had put myself through an experience which was unfolding into someone else’s story. It couldn’t be happening to me. I’d always been sensible and disciplined and thought things through while travelling and passing through unfamiliar cultures.But the new story had turned into a burrowing worm, into a Dantesque soliloquy. I no longer wanted to stand on that podium of hellish self-vindication.Another coffee and my old humorous, adventurous, curious self slowly percolated to the surface. My constant sense of optimism and hope, which I carried like a mantle around my shoulders, began to whisper words of comfort.The sun-drenched plaza, with its bleached flagstones reflecting its dazzle, created a theatrical illumination as people sat in small groups under large white umbrellas or strolled across that vast space. Children ran around, with ice creams dripping over the tops of cones, leaving colourful trails of spots as they weaved in and out of each other. Their laughter was infectious.Waiting until I boarded the plane to Miami was going to be long and hot. In my heart, I knew he would not come, and I knew that I would never really know what had been done with that accursed money. What a mess money creates. Those of us who have it think we can do good with it, then we try to do good with it but cause problems of Olympian proportions.A swaying movement, a distraction from my thoughts, and I noticed a group of Cuban women walking closely together, their hips bumping and brushing each other, carrying baskets of colourful paper flowers on their heads, radiant white blouses slipping off their shoulders, tiered skirts gathered at their waists, with flip-flop adorned feet. From around another corner, a troupe of young girls and men emerged, some walking on high wooden stilts on the cobbled stones, dressed in tight-fitting, brightly coloured long flowing pants with contrasting rainbow ruffles at the bottom hem, their mid-riffs bare, and their painted faces with masked clown-like features. Slender girls wearing the “Bata Cubana”, a traditional Cuban dress resembling a Spanish flamenco dress, all tiered and ruffled and tight-waisted, walked alongside those stilted walkers.The carnival of smiles and laughter was shared with passing tourists, as they stood tiny next to the moko jumbie, having their souvenir photos taken. A Mardi Gras style of infectious gaiety had arrived, uplifting my spirits. Their fresh vigour infused me, and, for the rest of the day, I was able to find that part of myself that others found attractive and magnetic.As I sat, one of the moko jumbie girls came over to me with a black top hat but, instead of asking for money, sat next to me. She looked at me, her eyes soft and childlike, startlingly blue, her skin a soft buttery caramelised brown, a young girl of about eighteen. I noticed how she had balletically walked and settled next to me. I asked if she was a dancer and, of course, she attended the Alicia Afonso School of Ballet near the Jose Marti Square, which was named after the foremost Cuban ballerina.Without prompting, she told me that every year she and her friends took part in the Moko Jumbie carnival. They loved dressing up and soon she would be able to walk on the stilts. She smiled, saying she was afraid of heights.She asked what I was doing in Havana, and I briefly said, ‘Touring and waiting for a friend.’ At that, she looked at me curiously.I asked what her father did for work, thinking that to go to the ballet school her family must be quite well off or she had entered on a scholarship. He worked for the British Embassy in the administration department. She was quite coy about the statement, and I did not pursue it. We chatted a little longer, and she asked if I liked Havana, and how many times had I been.Suddenly, she stood up, hearing her name called, but then sat down again. Turning to me and, to my complete surprise, said, ‘Cuidate, be careful, Cuba can be dangerous. Many foreign women get hurt.’With that, she lithely stood up and walked away, top hat in hand, turning briefly to wave. I sat, perplexed, wondering what that brief episode had been about.The afternoon wore itself into early evening as the sun began to lose its intense heat, casting spikes of everchanging deep indigo shadows across the rooftops. Further above, huge white cotton balls of fluffy cumulus clouds scudded across the changing blue of the sky. I wandered back down the length of Obispo Street, which was always crowded with tourists, as it was the street of restaurants and bars. The party atmosphere reminded me again of Havana’s enchantment and hypnotic allure. Walking slowly, allowing my feet to feel the consciousness of other travellers’ feet, their global steps, mine was then added to theirs. Continuing down, I arrived at my favourite restaurant, Café Paris, with its Latin band still playing classic rhumba, salsa, and American-Cuban jazz.I stopped a moment before crossing over and, like a rewind video, saw myself dancing salsa on the pavement by the café with Jonnie. Later as we sat drinking coffee, he had looked at me and, with a small rueful smile, said, ‘Do you know what it is like to live in Cuba? It’s like living on a beautiful paradise island, but I am caged and cannot fly away. I am a prisoner here. I dance at the Hotel Tropicana every evening for so little money. I am young, but what will become of my life here?’I knew what he meant.I smiled at the memory of dancing with Jonnie as tourists stopped to take a video. I had felt carefree and realised the attraction of the island called Cuba.Café Paris’s culture allowed me to sit till late into the night, and none of the waiters disturbed me. Fresh diners came and went, laughing, chatting, arguing, drinking too much, unsteady as they arose and left with their bodies swaying like musical serpents. I spoke to no one, swallowed ice-cold mojito after mojito, daquiri, mojito, coffee, then daiquiri.More time passed. The evening began to wear its sultry cloak of soft darkness and I felt it wrapping around my bare shoulders.I had not called him all that day or evening.I slept deeply that night. The events of the last three days had siphoned off my energy, the oppressive heat draining me of my usual abundant effervescence. Embarrassment and shame had eaten to my core, and, for a few hours, oblivion hid me and healed me.In the morning, the phone remained silent, and I had to let go. Months later, I discovered what had happened and, if I had known at the time, I do not believe the later events would have been prevented.
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Limited Edition Hardback
As well as the paperback, there are a limited number of hardbacks signed by the author available only directly from this website.The exclusive signed hardback with dust jacket is available for £21.95 with 1st Class UK* delivery or £20.85 with 2nd Class UK delivery.
The hardback is also available, without the dust jacket, on Amazon:
If you prefer an e-book, you can order from Amazon using the button below.
Order a limited-edition hardback along with a copy of the paperback that you can give someone as a gift – £27.00 with UK* delivery options of 1st Class (£4.95) or 2nd Class (£3.95).
If in any doubt, just contact me.
About Beth Jordan
I have always felt a misfit with a burning rebellious soul and a thirst for knowledge of global cultures, especially the cross-cultural peoples of the world.I was born in India of Anglo-Indian/Eurasian parents, residing in old colonial railway colonies. We lived a charmed but borrowed european lifestyle, attending catholic convents, far from home and being taught by narrow-minded nuns. I escaped my early cloistered life through my parents’ immigration to the UK. Barely here I landed back in the arms of more nuns, until a further escape at sixteen to a teenage life of college.I followed in the footsteps of family into careers in nursing, teaching, and then breaking free by setting up my own business in design and textiles, manufacturing out of China and India.Love, marriage and a child came along to divert the course of my life but I continued studying, particularly anthropology, which further fired my passion for travel and cultures similar to my own. I wrote down their stories, kept copious notes, and gradually melded them with my own heritage. Diary keeping and photography became an obsession and soon, I became a scribbler, until my scribbles became my debut novel – Thank You for the Kiss.
Cards and Postcards
Hi All,Greetings and happy to say that having spent the last 2.5 years, roaming around the Highlands of Scotland, taking photos, I've now taken a few and am selling them as postcards and greetings cards.Purchasing them is very easy, just send me an email through the Contact page and request a mini-catalogue of all the cards, with prices, (which includes packaging) and I will forward you all the information.Super easy to pay for them.Cut-off date to get them out in time for Christmas is 12th DecemberLooking forward to hearing from you.See below a selection
It's that bell-ringing time of the year. Yes, Christmas is just around the corner and so are the Christmas Market Fairs up here in the Highlands of Scotland.My next venue is at the Christmas Fair in Dornoch, an old Victorian town by the coast, with long sandy beaches.There will be an indoor and outdoor market and I will be in The Hub with lots of other Scottish authors and crafts people.Besides selling my book Thank You For the Kiss I will have postcards and greetings cards of some of the photos I have taken in the last two-and-a-half years living in the Highlands.Hope to see many of you at this wonderful Christmas Fair. I've been told it will be full of surprises!
There are lots of events happening in November!First of all, it's Book Week Scotland from 13th to 19th November.On 15th November I shall be doing an author's reading of my debut novel Thank You for the Kiss - A Memoir at Dingwall Library - look out on my social media for all the details.Then on the evening of 16th November I'll be at Pipers Coffee Shop in Tain for an Authors' Reading with two fellow writers - Veryan Cooper and Claire Walsh - Out of the Box Books - look out on my social media for all details. An opportunity to hear excerpts of stories from Writers in Scotland - of three different genres, followed by chats, and an opportunity to buy a new book, for yourself or as a gift.And on 25th November I'll be at Ardgay Public Hall Christmas Fayre - details of times to follow on my social media - where I will be selling my books and some of my favourite photos taken up in the Highlands of Scotland.
New 'Authors Chat' on YouTube
The fifth edition of interviewing self--published authors, to give them an opportunity to 'shout out' about themselves and their books,
whether it is a debut novel or their second or third.
This new chat is with Matthew Bird, who wrote Jackfruit Treasure Trap, an historical novel set in the 17th century in Suffolk and the Far East.A story of family treasure to be found, pirates, sailing the high seas to the Far East, love, romance, greed, fortune. The best ingredients for easy reading, family adventures
and fun.Watch the video interview here.
From Saturday 19th July you can hear my interview with The Writing Wall. Here's their announcement:FIRST PODCAST INTERVIEW WITH @The Writing Wall. The interview will shortly be available to hear and will post on the website and FB/Twiitter/Instagram.We are excited to introduce our first special guest this season & her debut memoir Thank You for the Kiss. Meet #author Beth Jordan next Saturday 19th August on our #Podcast & follow her across social media.
Kyle of Sutherland Book Fair
I'm going to be at the Kyle of Sutherland Book Fair on Friday 11th August from 10am to 2pm.Also – it's going to be so much fun to be a part of the St. Duthac's Book Fair in early September at one of the pop-up book shops. Click here to find out more about the Book Fair.
Local is great – Getting to know our local libraries
I’m finding my local libraries very supportive in helping me promote my debut novel.I’m doing a ‘Meet the Author’ at Nairn Library in the Highlands of Scotland.Nairn is a lovely coastal town with great beaches and cafes.Would love to see a few familiar faces at the reading and Q&A on:Tuesday, 13th June, 10.30-11.30 am
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️Thank You for the Kiss by Beth Jordan is about a middle-aged woman who goes to Cuba with her cousin Ella for a dream vacation. Both women, loving Salsa dancing, decide to go to a club, hoping they can dance the night away. They meet two men, Jonny and Alejandro, both who teach Salsa. Gina notices a connection between herself and Alex and wonders if there can be something more than just dancing. After Gina and Ella return to their homes in England, Gina continues corresponding with Alex and realizes that she can’t get this man out of her thoughts. Wanting to know if this is something to pursue, Gina returns to Cuba, this time by herself.The story was one that I found to be very sad. The main character, Gina, is divorced. Her husband of many years left her for a younger woman. Not long after that, her mother died. The woman is in a very vulnerable time in her life, and she meets a much younger man and fools herself into thinking that he wants her just for herself. Time and time again, he asks her either for money or asks her to purchase items for him and his family. Against her better judgment, she always gave in and turned over her hard-earned money.She doesn't understand that he is only with her for her money and what beneficial things she can do for him. Cuba, as well as other countries, have residents living below the poverty level. We cannot imagine how they can live in the conditions that they do. They think all Americans are wealthy and see us as their ticket to a better life. Women will sometimes take physical and emotional abuse from their partners so that they will not be alone.I loved how the author painted a beautiful picture of Cuba with its lush scenery, plentiful fruit, and vegetation. The country’s culture was described brilliantly. You sensed you were there with their brightly colored garments and energetic music. The author’s style was easy to comprehend, and I only found a few errors, so for this reason, I gave the book 5 out of 5 stars. This book suits anyone who enjoys reading about Cuba and its culture. You might also enjoy this book if you are interested in reading about the many obstacles middle-aged women face trying to date younger men, especially if they are in another country.
THANK YOU FOR THE KISS: A MEMOIR - TO CUBA AND BACK
AN OFFER FOR THE MONTH OF MAY
The month of May is always a month that creates great excitement in me. It heralds big whispers of Summer, trees in full blossom, the countryside full of songbirds, and towns and cities shrugging off winter's cobwebs.Promises of holidays looming and what better time than to buy a new book for summer reading. Lying out on a deck chair, on pebbly beaches or white sand, fringed umbrellas overhead, cool drinks at hand, and as you turn each page of your new book, you will be transported to new worlds, full of imagery, senses, feelings and thought provoking words.THANK YOU FOR THE KISS - set in Cuba - is just such a story. Full of imagery of cities trapped in a time warp,. Its countryside is buried in secrets, its people trying to shake off the shackles of former regimes, but still full of hope, love, laughter and music. And into this world steps a worldly wise woman, or so she thinks. She becomes embroiled in a situation that takes not just her but those around her, by surprise with an unexpected and shocking end.Take advantage of the new prices for the month of May.Would love your feedback on Amazon and Goodreads, once you have read the book.
For anyone who is curious about Thank You for the Kiss, I've added an exclusive free extract from the book to the website to whet your appetite.Just click the link below to get the taster chapter:Exclusive free chapter from Thank You for the Kiss
I've had some lovely reviews for the book, including this from Joanna Russell:Congratulations I absolutely loved your book! You have done a fantastic job & I really hope the book is a huge success as you really deserve it!... and this from @bitofabookworm on Instagram:
Launch Event Video
Here's the video from my book launch for Thank You for the Kiss.Many thanks for everyone who could attend at the time.
My book is now officially launched and I can call myself an Author or Writer. I have new choices.I shall be organising reading days at my local libraries in and around the Highlands of Scotland and will post dates/times/places on Facebook as well as here.I'm still in a state of shock that I've got myself over the line, with the help of many people, and published this book. I need to stop for a while and let it all sink in.I'm also hoping to get my book into Waterstones and am awaiting this news.
Two weeks to go
My book comes out in two weeks!Thank You for the Kiss is a memoir based on real life events, set in a country steeped in memories. Those memories which in some way have held back a country and at the same time, created an atmosphere of being in a time warp, which intrigues and enchants visitors, often not as they may expect.
The story's protagonist finds herself in a similar situation when she arrives in Cuba on holiday, and its pervading sense of time-warp encloses itself around her, leading her to make decisions she would not normally make.
Hello and Welcome
Hello and welcome to my new website! I'll soon be launching my debut book Thank You for the Kiss, and this is where you'll be able to see all my news up to and around the publication.The title is a hint of the story as it unfolds over the course of nine months in Cuba, a period of pregnant moments, giving birth to the unexpected.Thank You for The Kiss is a story inspired by real-life events, part memoir, part fiction, but which part will you believe?The book is due out on 14th March 2023, but if you want to be kept informed of publication news, simply put your email address in the 'sign up for news' box on the homepage.
All photographs on this page are © Beth Jordan, all rights reservedClick on an image to see it full-sized
First day in Havana – Sunday Worship
Intriguing Havana – Old and New
Classic Images of Havana
Faces of Cuba
A RIDE AROUND HAVANA FOR US$50/HOUR
He's not in a prison, but behind the bars in the safety of his house
Che Lives on in Havana
Down Obispo Street, balcony life
Moko Jumbie – Festival in Havana
Music – the Rhythm of Cuba
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