In Havana blends are incompatible.
This becomes evident as soon as the plane touches the ground in time faded from the walls, to the colorful cars of old stamps, parked on the quiet city streets, even in the elderly woman with a cigar in his fingers, which smiles on the other side of the street. Everywhere there is this amazing combination of incompatible — beauty and poverty. Cuba — Paradise for a photographer.
Havana still exists somewhere in a parallel universe, and the streets seemed filled with the 50-ies. But maybe in the life of the Republic will soon begin a new Chapter.
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