There are places in this world that feel like whispers from a dream—familiar, yet elusive. Regla, one of Havana’s 15 municipalities, is one of those places for me. I’ve only visited three times, each brief and fleeting, but every visit leaves me with a strange, almost haunting sense of déjà vu. It’s as if I’ve walked these streets countless times before, though I know I haven’t.
Regla is a small borough, modest in size and scope, with a population of just over 44,000 as of 2022. At first glance, it doesn’t seem to offer much to the passing visitor. The main streets are quiet, often eerily so, with an understated air that some might interpret as unremarkable. It’s not a place that shouts its charm or flaunts its beauty. Instead, it murmurs. It invites. It whispers. It pulls.
For a wayfaring photographer like me—someone attuned to the nuances of light, color, and design—Regla reveals itself slowly, deliberately, like a secret meant for those patient enough to notice. At first, it might look and feel, well, “meh.” But in that quiet, that stillness, something extraordinary happens. I find myself entering what I can only describe as “the zone.”
The zone is a sacred space for any photographer.
It doesn’t happen often. It’s that state of mind where everything sharpens, and the world aligns. Shapes, textures, colors, and shadows seem to rise up to meet your gaze, begging to be framed and captured. Regla has a way of pulling me into that space effortlessly.
Its unassuming streets, its faded facades, its interplay of light and shadow—these elements create a kind of photographic symphony.
It’s not something I can fully explain. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight filters through narrow alleys, casting shadows that stretch like poetry across the walls. Maybe it’s the muted palette of pastels and earth tones, worn down by time but still vibrant in their humility. Or maybe it’s something deeper, something intangible, something unexplainable
Sometimes, the universe gives us gifts—places or moments that resonate on a level beyond logic. Regla feels like one of those gifts for me.
I didn’t earn it. I don’t know why it keeps calling me back or why it fills me with this deep, quiet inspiration. But I’m grateful.
Click.
In Regla, I don’t just take pictures. I receive them. They seem to materialize in front of me, waiting for my lens to find them. And while I could try to intellectualize it or find some grand narrative to explain why this small, unassuming borough feels so special, I think I’d rather not.
Instead, I’ll lean into Regla.
Some gifts aren’t meant to be dissected. They’re meant to be accepted with humility and gratitude. Regla is one of those gifts. And for as long as it keeps calling me, I’ll keep answering, camera in hand, ready to listen to what it has to say.
Click.
Jack.
