Havana: High fidelity and the two Ernestos
Cuba looks is a fabled isle where the fabric of modern legend is woven. It went from being the infamous playground of the rich and famous to the legendary battlefield of revolutionaries, a small land with a mysterious pulling power for the larger-than-life: from Ernest Hemingway to Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara.
Havana is a city with a lot of rhythm, a large soul and a touch of the blues about it. Its streets are a symphony of sound and a cacophony of colours and loud banter. Tall, short, fat or thin – bright colours and bare skin is the norm. In Cuba, a knee-length skirt is considered long and the louder your clothes, the better. On the afternoon we arrived, the grey clouds and rain had bled some of the town’s intensity away. But the following days we would see it in all its sunny, cracked splendour.
Havana is all about tempo: laid back, friendly, mixed in with an undertone of sadness and melancholy. Amid all the sunshine and hustle, looms the ghosts and phantoms of a lost time reflected in the crumbling facades of once-beautiful buildings – many now hardly fit for human habitation, yet inhabited nonetheless. Peering through doorways and catching glimpses in windows of brightly dressed people set starkly against the dark grimness of disintegrating walls.
One of the most enjoyable pastimes we discovered in Cuba was finding a public square and sitting down to watch the locals entertain themselves. Bars and restaurants are still few and far between and most Cubans can’t afford them anyway. But theirs is very much an outdoor culture, and a bench, a group of friends and a bottle of rum was were the simple ingredients for fun. At one such park/square, in Havana, there were uniformed office workers and revolutionary ‘social workers’ congregated for lunch and a chin-wag; a goat-drawn carriage full of ecstatic young kids; and a group of friends sharing a few laughs and a bottle of Havana Club. Two old ladies – one fat, the other exceedingly thin with horn-rimmed glasses – sat immersed in their own tales, oblivious to the commotion around them. Three old men dressed in cloth caps and stern frowns sat discussing the state of the world.
In fact, Cuba is conducive to chatting and chilling out with people – and, with a bit of imagination and patience, language proved to be no major barrier. From the educated Mexican mother and daughter we met in our casa, to the friendly curator of Cuba’s only Arab social centre, to the Belgian travellers we met en route,to the Cuban friends we made in other cities, people were generally keen to converse.
Music is a prominent part of the city’s identity and it sometimes felt like Buena Vista Social Club were on every street corner, particularly in the more touristy and restored Vieja district. In the poorer areas, Cuban youth have discovered the wonders of reggaeton and then there is the traditional casa de la trova. Cubans have no compunctions about playing their music at full blast and sharing their mood with the rest of the street. Although it might drive me mad if I lived there, it gave each road its own particular groove. Another advantage is that people who cannot afford their own stereos can still have access to music.
The beauty conveyor belt
Reputation and legend had prepared me for a Latin beauty pageant. “To live in Havana was to live in a factory that turned out human beauty on a conveyor belt,” I read in Graham Greene’s satirical novel, Our man in Havana. Although there were certainly beautiful women and good-looking men of a wide variety of complexions, the standard of beauty did not strike me as being quite so exceptional as Greene’s imagination would have us believe.
Perhaps, like so much of the countries other industrial infrastructure, the beauty factory has fallen into disrepair or ruin! Alternatively, the revolution’s smashing of Cuba’s pleasure, gambling and sex industry meant that more Cubans could get on with their lives without having to capitalise on their physical endowments.
“Sexual exchange was not only the chief commerce of the city, but the whole raison d’etre of a man’s life,” Greene’s novel observes. However, there are signs that Cuba’s ‘chief commerce’ is starting to rear its ugly beautiful head again. At bars and restaurants across the country, we saw attractive young Cuban women (and sometimes a few men) with their ‘rich’ foreign sugar daddies (and mummies). One particular foursome we encountered in Santiago de Cuba so revolted Katleen that we had a long debate about what could reasonably be done to staunch the tide.
Published just one year before Fidel Castro’s triumphant takeover of the country and a few years before the Bay of Pigs debacle and the Cuban missile crisis, the novel reflects the uncertainty surrounding the ‘old’ Cuba’s demise and Batista’s final hours, as well as delivering a satirical condemnation of the Cold War, capitalism and communism. And its main characters hilariously invented intelligence of communist military installations in the rebellious Oriente province of the country proved amusingly prescient. While Mr Wormold had the communists building a secret weapon which looked suspiciously like a vacuum cleaner nozzle, the real revolutionaries were crowded on a small pleasure cruiser from Mexico called the Granma. Catholicism had apparently brought Mr Wormold’s daughter closer to Cuba than himself. But Communism is the notionally dominant faith today.
Despite the corruption and social inequality of old Cuba, pre-revolutionary Havana has a certain mystique about it – which lives on in the people, the dilapidated automobiles, the music and the vibe. It was amusing throwback to have lunch on the old-world Hotel Anglaterra’s street-side terrace with a salsa band playing in the background. It was vaguely thrilling having mojitos (the best we tasted in Cuba) and looking out to sea on the hilltop terrace at the legendary neo-colonial Hotel Nacional – where political intrigues have played out and statesmen and artists, such as Winston Churchill, Nat King Cole and Ava Gardner once stayed. Outside the hotel is a big square with hundreds of black flags flying and revolutionary slogans everywhere, as if to demonstrate that the times had a-changed. It is right by the US Interests Section and anti-American rallies are held there regularly! Unfortunately, with Castro at death‘s door, we did not acquire the novel experience (for outsiders) of listening to one of his marathon eight-hour oratories.
In the Vieja district, we got immaculately restored glimpses of the old Cuba. The beautiful and colourful Spanish colonial villas, the stunning arcades, beautiful Cordoba-style patios and the expansive and imposing squares. At a hotel there, we saw the room where Ernest Hemingway first stayed when he arrived in Cuba.
Not far away is the imposing Cathedral of San Francisco di Assisi, which is a spectacular example of Baroque excess. Adjoined to the church is what was once a convent and the garden houses a statue of Mother Teresa of Calcuta (for some inexplicable reason). On the second floor, there was an interesting photo exhibition, with some fantastic black and white shots of Havana and its people. Unfortunately, the cathedral’s tower was closed due to its poor state of repair and so we didn’t get the chance to enjoy the vista it affords of the old city.
Music and the food of love
One intriguing spot to have lunch or drinks is the rooftop terrace of the Santa Isabel overlooking the Plaza de Armas. On the empty roof, we enjoyed the romance of solitude and the view over the oldest fort in Cuba and some of its oldest buildings. The panorama inspired us to reflect over the plight of the country, the revolution, the poverty, the past, the present and the future.
More humble lunches can be had at the many food stands frequented by Cubans. One popular local lunch are ‘pizzas’ which are basically some bread with a bit of tomato paste slapped on. This basic snack appeared during the ‘periodo especial‘ when the country went hungry following the collapse of the Soviet Union. A tastier Havanan lunch is stir-fried rice with ham.
One evening, we sipped on aperitifs on the magnificent and dazzling Plaza Vieja. The conversation flowed with the music which bounced off the 16th-century square’s impressive acoustics and the descending sun cast its orange hue across giving Katleen’s face a fetching glow.
Habana is about the only city in Cuba which has anything resembling an eating scene. The Hanoi serves good Cuban fare accompanied by an entertaining band. For fans on Asian food, be warned no Vietnamese food is served here, despite the name. Numerous places are named Hanoi in Cuba and this seems to stem from solidarity with another country that has suffered America’s wrath.
Since there does not seem to be a country you can visit without finding a Lebanese, Al Medina, Havana’s classiest Arab restaurant was owned by a Lebanese. However, the food did not taste completely Levantine, but its tranquil, candle-lit courtyard provided a pleasant backdrop to our meal.
But our favourite dining experience was Los Nardos, overlooking The Capitol. This is mainly because, unlike most other restaurants you’re likely to come across in Cuba, it is frequented mostly by locals – an emerging hip middle class. The service is also incredibly efficient and the food is good.
Capitalism and Communism with a capitol C
Havana’s Capitolio Nacional is a poignant symbol of the old, US-dominated Cuba. It looks remarkably like its Washington cousin, except that it is smaller and more ornate than the Capitol. Inside is one of the three largest indoor bronze statues in the world, the female embodiment of the Republic. Having seen Abraham Lincoln’s enormous bronzed figure in Washington, there only remains the giant Buddha in Japan to complete the list. The building has an imposing dome and thousands of square metres of intricate marble floors. Inside, quality contemporary Cuban art is for sale. Unfortunately, since we didn’t return to the capital at the end of our stay, we didn’t end up buying any.
The impressive Museum of Fine Arts is near the fictional abode of Graham Greene’s Mr Wormold, on the Avenida de Belgica, which marks the western extent of the Vieja district. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have started on the first floor with the dull colonial art, made up of hundreds of metres of portraits of ugly aristocrats – although there were some interesting pieces of religious art and some landscapes – because it meant that we had to rush through the last sections of the far more impressive modern art section. Wilfredo Lam’s painting were remarkable and I wasn’t surprised to learn that he is Cuba’s most celebrated modern artist. There was surprisingly little overtly revolutionary art in the museum and Che Guevara was the iconic image of revolution here, as everywhere in Cuba, rather than Castro.
The Revolution Museum, like the revolution itself, has fallen on hard times. It is housed in the crumbling former presidential palace. Having seen the magnificence of the Fine Arts museum, I had expected something similarly striking, particularly since that is one expects of a revolutionary dictatorship. It was almost as if no one could be bothered to go through the pretence of being passionate about the ‘marvellous achievements’ of the revolution (education and health care count as the revolution’s most shining accomplishments). In place of real photos were photocopies of photocopies but the place was a goldmine of revolutionary memorabilia, including the vehicles used in the daring campaign of 1959. In fact, by the time we’d finished the circuit, we decided we’d learnt more than we’d ever wanted to know about the revolution.
One peculiar thing about the museum and the rest of Cuba is the relative absence of Castro’s image. Coming from a region where one knows a thing or two about dictators, I had expected to find the big man to be watching over his flock everywhere. Whether this has always been the case or whether even his likeness has been removed from the public eye to prepare the population for the handover of de facto power to Raul as Fidel barely stays this side of life. The iconic image that is ubiquitous, like some sort of communist Christ figure or revolutionary messiah, is the silhouette of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, which is painted affectionately on people’s houses and walls everywhere. There are also photos of the revolutionary ‘rock star’ in every conceivable pose: playing chess, fishing, reading, meeting world leaders, such as Nasser, while always smoking a fat Havana cigar.
