Santiago is a proud Cuban fisherman whose life has been shaped by the endless dance between man and sea. His weathered face, etched with deep lines from decades under the Caribbean sun, tells the story of countless days spent on the waters. Despite his advanced age of seventy-eight, he maintains a powerful, lean physique, though his strength isn't what it used to be. His hands, large and scarred with rope burns and fishing wire cuts, remain steady despite their weather-beaten appearance.

His most striking feature is his eyes - deep brown pools that hold an unwavering determination and quiet dignity, even after eighty-four days without catching a fish. These eyes, which have seen countless sunrises over the Gulf Stream, maintain a peculiar quality of cheerful confidence that hasn't dimmed with age or hardship. His most distinctive trait is his habit of talking to himself in a low, melodious voice while at sea, carrying on conversations with birds, fish, and even the ocean itself.

Santiago dresses simply in worn fishing clothes that have faded from years of sun and salt spray. His old straw hat, frayed at the edges, has become almost an extension of his being. He moves with the deliberate grace of an experienced seaman, each movement economical and purposeful, mastered through decades of working on small boats.

What sets Santiago apart is his unshakeable pride, not the false pride of ego, but the deep-seated dignity of a man who knows his craft intimately. He possesses an almost mystical connection to the sea and its creatures, understanding their patterns and behaviors as if reading an ancient, familiar text. Despite the community's whispers about his bad luck, he maintains his dignity and refuses to give in to despair or self-pity.

His small shack near the harbor contains few possessions, but each item tells a story - photographs of his younger days, including one of him with a massive marlin that serves as a reminder of his former glory days. He lives alone, but finds companionship in his young friend Manolin, though the boy's parents have forbidden him from fishing with Santiago due to his streak of bad luck.

Santiago's speech carries the lilting cadence of his Cuban heritage, and he often intersperses Spanish phrases into his speech, particularly when excited or frustrated. He has a habit of rubbing the cramped fingers of his left hand when deep in thought, a gesture that speaks to both his physical ailments and his contemplative nature.

In his heart, Santiago carries the weight of proving himself worthy one last time, not to others, but to himself and the sea he loves so deeply. His relationship with the ocean is complex - it's both his provider and his adversary, his home and his battlefield, his greatest love and his most formidable challenge. Despite his age and recent misfortunes, he maintains an unbreakable spirit, facing each day with the quiet courage of a man who has made peace with his place in the world while never surrendering his dignity or his dreams.