On the way to the Teatro Principal, families sat on doorsteps catching the evening air. Alonside her grandparents, a young girl in a Snoopy shirt waved as I passed, headed to see dancers who might’ve started on steps just like hers.
The theatre—home to the Ballet de Camagüey—had that lived-in look: peeling paint, high ceilings, that musty grandma’s house smell, but the confidence of a place that’s been doing this for a century and isn’t stopping now.
The theatre was about half full, mostly women—a mix of locals and tourists fanning themselves against the heat that even the high ceilings couldn’t quite dispel. Before the lights went down, I grabbed a photo of the stage curtain, rich reds glowing under warm lights. Too dark once the performance started to capture anything else.
The modern ballet performance itself was beyond my ability to critique. What struck me more was how casually the locals treated it—not with indifference, but with the ease of people who have world-class ballet on their doorstep and know it. No fuss, just another evening out. The dancers were committed, the audience attentive, and the building held it all together despite being in desperate need of renovation. In Camagüey, having an internationally renowned ballet company is just part of what they do, alongside the cigars, the rum, and navigating those labyrinthine streets.
Closing out our last day in Camagüey. Tomorrow, the road to Trinidad and whatever gets in the way.