Trinidad is a little town in Sancti Spíritus province (central Cuba) that hums with life lived bright on quiet streets.
The cobbled streets, and the tour-bus clamour of the centre, stand stark against the bare blue sky.
But at the edges they fade into something rougher and yet much more lovely.
Colours seem to drift and fade into each other as light wearies with the sun’s slump, the pull of longer shadows.
Dusk sits still on steps and stoops, laughing and chattering about the play of sun of peeling paint.
The evening falls like a whisper.
finding life in a death 
Pure magic. it must be hard to keep perspective, but I am sure it is the people who help you manage …
the place is beautiful!
Magical final line. Your travel writing is superb.
This is really good.
I once spent an evening in Trinidad at Casa de la musica huddled under a leaky corrugated iron roof in a storm – stunning place – great music!
My memory of Trinidad is a wonderful afternoon between planes, being taken by a wonderful Indian cab driver to a restaurant owned by his friends. They were closed but served us wonderful food and conversation in a cozy darkened restaurant. Yes, I’d go back!
Lovely poetic description and wonderful, rich pictures!