Cuba: Havana

Let me begin at the end: on our last night in Cuba, Intrepid took us to a show entitled “Legendarios del Guajirito,” featuring traditional Cuban music and Latin jazz.  The musicians were phenomenal, including a couple of original members of the Buena Vista Social Club, and the dancers were spectacular.  Even though the pre-Revolution days of cool nightclubs with hot music are gone, the energy and delight of the entertainers and the audience captured the best of Havana today.

Havana is a sensual feast.  As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, music is ubiquitous.  Almost every bar and restaurant features an excellent live band. 

Horse-drawn taxis clip clop, people shout from balcony to balcony, pedicabs squeak and rattle, and kids kick soccer balls against the wall.

Havana’s architecture is either stunning, on the way to becoming stunning, or utterly dilapidated. 

Gorgeously restored apartment houses with intricate ironwork and gracious balconies abut shells of buildings with trees sprouting from the rubble.

We stayed in Habana Vieja – Old Havana – where narrow streets open onto spacious plazas, and forts and churches from half a millennium ago stand physical and spiritual guard. 

The Malecón, a miles-long avenue often drenched by spray from waves crashing against the sea wall, offers views across the harbor to El Morro and the modern “El Cristo de Habana,” a gleaming marble statue. 

Havana is famous for its beautifully restored American cars from the 1950s, and we had a chance to ride in several on our way to the Plaza de La Revolución.

This massive square contains a statue of Cuba’s national hero, José Martí, and faces buildings bearing enormous likenesses of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos.

A side note about the cars:  much attention is lavished on their exteriors, which are showroom fresh, though often painted in pinks, purples, reds, and yellows that would’ve blown people’s minds in the staid ‘50s.  Far less attention is paid to the interiors.  One car in which I rode – a cherry red Chevy convertible even older than I am – had a beautiful dashboard on which none of the gauges (fuel, speedometer, etc.) showed any signs of life.

I got the impression that in Havana, these beautifully restored cars are used almost entirely in the tourist trade. Elsewhere on the island, we saw plenty of old American cars, painted in more traditional colors, that I think were used mostly as personal vehicles.

Cuba is known for its art, and we visited two spots filled with vibrant murals, paintings, and statues.  The first, Callejon de Hamel, was begun by an underground artist named Salvador Gonzalez. 

Salvador (as he is referred to) found inspiration in the the gods and rituals of Santeria.  (The main Cuban religion is Catholicism, but it is zestily seasoned with traditional African deities and beliefs.) Eventually Salvador found official acceptance, and his legacy is an alley lined with his work and that of his acolytes. 

We also were treated to a wonderful dance exhibition showing Cuba’s African heritage, and a visit to Salvador’s fascinating house, still occupied by his family.

The second installation, with the goofily apt name of Fusterlandia, lies in the wealthier western part of Havana. 

It’s the creation of Alex Fuster, whose work melds Dalí, Gaudi, Picasso, and Fuster’s own fever dream imagination into a carnival of shapes and colors.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Catty-corner to Fusterlandia, a mural depicts Fidel and Raúl Castro, Che, and other leaders of the Cuban Revolution on the boat (the “Granma”) that brought them from Mexico to Cuba’s shores.  (The actual Granma is on display at the Museum of the Revolution.)

The neighboring wall sports colorful tributes to many of Cuba’s Latin American neighbors.

I’ll close this post (as I will subsequent ones) with a quick description of the places we stayed. We spent the first two nights in Havana at a guest house named “Reservas El Cristo 461,” also known as Casa Nancy y Fidel (Tel. (53) 7-862-8227). 

The accommodations were comfortable and I’d stay there again.  Unfortunately, my brother and I shared a room facing the street, and it was quite loud at night.  If you’re interested in staying there, ask for a room in the interior of the apartment. 

I spent quite a bit of time conversing with Fidel, who graciously slowed down his rapid-fire Spanish so I could follow along (it sped up again as he warmed to his topic).  He’s charming, knowledgeable, and a pleasure to talk to. 

On returning to Havana after touring the island we slept at Hostel D’Osbe, which was neat and pleasant but lacks WiFi.  Because we got in around midnight and left mid-morning, I didn’t have much opportunity to talk with our host.

Breakfast was included everywhere we stayed.  It usually consists of fruit, eggs (scrambled, fried, or an omelet, but super-salty in the Cuban manner unless you ask the host to use a less heavy hand), toast, cheese, fresh bread (as white as my face on some of the mountain roads; whole wheat is unheard of), coffee, and fruit juices.

Tomorrow’s post will end up in the beautiful Viñales Valley by way of a sustainable tourism project and a visit with a renowned Cuban artist.