Our Girl in Havana: Salsa on the streets of Baracoa
I arrived to dancing in the streets. There was an all-women conga line proceeding down the dusty road, circling back on itself and returning to the small hall where it had started, a bottom-shaking, whooping caterpillar. As they wound past me - sweating under the weight of my rucksack - they beckoned me to join in. With just a moment’s thought, I threw down my bags and joined the party. That set the tone for my entire experience in Baracoa.