I left Cuba married and heartbroken.
You see, I fell madly in love with Havana. I adored her pastel hues, crumbling architecture, and the vintage cars. I loved the doorways that lead to concealed courtyards coated in dust and draped in nostalgia. Most of all, I loved the city’s decaying beauty; it’s as if Paris was stowed away in an attic for half a century. The love affair was a brief 16-hour whirlwind romance; I left Cuba intoxicated by Havana and wanting more.
Two days after the wedding we drove to Havana in a 60+ year-old vintage Chevy to don our wedding attire one last time for a photo shoot. As the city awoke we wandered aimlessly photographer in tow, champagne and cigar in hand. We ducked through walkways, into lobbies and through public squares. By mid-morning we had attracted a small crowd of admirers and paparazzi. I wondered what they’d do with the photos they snapped of us. Would they print them and put them on their fireplace mantles? Likely not, so why the invasion? They fired away with such dedication as we walked slowly, hand in hand down the cobblestone streets.
The result? Judge for yourself:
Photography by Photos by Wild Whim Photography + Design by Wade Carr*
There you have it. I wouldn’t hold it against anyone if they wanted to get married in Cuba just for the Havana photos.
*Photo credit is not an endorsement