Viñales Soul Cuba woman female farmViñales SoulI stopped at a small tobacco farm near Viñales, just to have a look at the drying barn. She was there, leaning on nothing in particular, smoking one of their own cigars. She didn't pose. She just looked out at the fields like I wasn't even there, and I liked that. The air smelled of dry leaves, smoke and dust. I took a few shots, she said something I didn't fully catch, laughed, and went back to her cigar. One of those moments you don't plan.

Viñales, Cuba

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Mi ero fermato in una piccola fattoria di tabacco vicino a Viñales, solo per dare un'occhiata alla casa dove essiccano le foglie. Lei era lì, appoggiata a niente, a fumarsi uno dei loro sigari. Non ha messo in posa niente. Guardava fuori verso i campi come se io non ci fossi, e mi è piaciuto proprio per questo. L'aria sapeva di foglie secche, fumo e polvere. Ho fatto qualche scatto, lei ha detto qualcosa che non ho capito bene, ha riso ed è tornata al suo sigaro. Uno di quei momenti che non programmi.

Viñales, Cuba

 “A journey, after all, neither begins in the instant we set out, nor ends when we have reached our door step once again. It starts much earlier and is really never over, because the film of memory continues running on inside of us long after we have come to a physical standstill. Indeed, there exists something like a contagion of travel, and the disease is essentially incurable.”

Ryszard Kapuściński, Travels with Herodotus