Sober – A Moment in Time
Images & words by Santiago Rodriguez Tarditi
A rusted fan, clanging as it turns, pretending to challenge the sweltering heat. It’s wobbly blades—wilted since the day the owners disassembled it to fix a leak coming from the hotel room above—flutter weakly, blowing thick cigar smoke across the room.
Every two turns, a mild gust floats downwards with enough might to flap the corner of a worn newspaper. The fold is quickly straightened by the hands of a foreign journalist, a regular for whom a table is always available.
Using a crumpled silk handkerchief stained with the ink of a leaky fountain pen, the sun-kissed correspondent wipes a drop of warm, trickling sweat, and raises his eyebrows towards the bar.
The ambiguous signal goes unnoticed by other patrons—some too busy solving the day’s crossword puzzle, others focused on perfecting their domino moves—but Arturo, the brawny man in charge of prepping the drinks, promptly recognizes it:
“Uno más, por favor”
White rum, sugar, lime juice, slapped mint; crushed with an aged wooden muddler and topped with fresh soda water. For a second, the sound of the stacked ice cubes twirling against the tall glass sync with the beat of rowdy timbals playing from the faded speakers that hang precariously on the corners of the aged room.
Guided by the notes of pumped-up trumpets and the güiro’s croaking sound, a young waiter—dressed in a pristine linen shirt and carefully ironed khakis—sways between chairs and tables, carrying the reporter’s order on a tray as steady as the congas rhythm in the background. Not a drop is lost.
In an unlikely rehearsed manner, the expat writer takes a sip of his verdant drink just as the instruments ring in unison, marking the end of a salsa marathon organized by the local authorities to celebrate the dog days of summer.
“Gracias por sintonizar Radio Rebelde, la radio del pueblo cubano.”
Before the official midday news transmission kicks-off, the thirsty foreigner has already gulped half the drink, his rosy cheeks warning of his inebriated condition. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal.
A whiff of freshly stewed shrimp in pineapple sauce captures his nose’s attention for a second, but he resolves, as always, to follow his gut instead: black beans and rice.
Praising the hearty pottage, the tipsy author takes a sip, a bite, and one last sip of his spirituous refreshment, realizing it’s almost gone. He glances back at the black-and-white medley, staples of hard workers and well-traveled gourmands; just like music, flavors merge souls.
Four mojitos will be enough for the day, but tomorrow, he’ll be back for more.
Santiago Rodriguez is a freelance writer and photographer who’s lived in Bogota, Milan, London, NYC, LA, Miami, Berlin, working for companies such as Monocle, Gestalten, and Faena. He is a vegan activist and environmentalist. See more of his work at www.rodrigueztarditi.com.
