The clock is about to hit nine on a breezy, but warm Cuban evening. You are making your way down cobbled walkways towards the entrance of the Morro-Cabaña Complex in Havana. People are swarming in through a torch-lit hall lined on both sides with merchants and artisans. You make your way up a dirt and cement stairway to get a prime location amongst locals and foreigners like you, who don’t know what is going to happen next. Suddenly, everything becomes silent. People clear the pathways, expectantly.
You see how, slowly, a dim light in the distance becomes brighter and appears closer. All you hear is stomping on the ground – marching – followed by chanting. It’s a group of soldiers, dressed in colonial uniforms. They are marching towards the place where they will shoot the traditional cannon. It once announced that the walls were closing and that the City of Havana had to be vigilant of pirates and evildoers who could invade the Island stealthily while it slept.