“My heart is in Havana (ay) Havana” goes the song and I can surely understand the sentiment!
“We should go to Cuba while it’s unspoiled” said my friend, meaning that once the communist country became open to Americans then there was a fear that it would swiftly become over-commercialised and crowded with tourists. I already knew many people who had visited our largest Caribbean island and all reported loving the experience. So when the opportunity arose to join a small tour group from Trinidad, we quickly signed up. The idea was to escape from the wild bacchanal of Trinidad’s carnival in early February.
It was not the most promising experience to arrive in Havana’s international airport at midnight. There were long lines of tired and grumpy people to get through customs and immigration. Once through, the group’s luggage was soon delivered on the one large carousel; all except mine. We waited and waited, observing enormous balls of tightly wrapped suitcases being ejected out of the chute, sometimes bouncing off the circling carousel in a dangerous fashion. After about an hour, the carousel stopped. I was in despair until a fellow passenger came across wheeling my bag, saying that it was the last one out of the chute!
Now we had to change our money into local CUC pesos, a special currency that must be used by foreigners, but not by locals. This required another lengthy queuing process to get into a small cambio on the outside of the airport building. As we were warned that our credit cards would not work because they relied on an American bank, we had to pay for everything with cash. Moreover, converting US dollars attracted a 10% tax. So we had brought sterling, euros and Canadian dollars to exchange.
Finally, we piled into a very old mini-bus which slowly took us into the city, sometimes driving on the wrong side of the road to avoid pot holes (presumably). Our taxi eventually began to manoeuvre through narrow alleys, lined with tall, very shabby apartment blocks; we were being housed in different ‘casas’ which are government-controlled B&Bs, operated by private individuals. When we stopped to deliver one passenger at her casa, we could see that it looked lovely inside. At this point, the rest of us also had to disembark and walk the rest of the way behind our guide through dark, cobbled streets, bouncing our wheeled suitcases behind us. What had we let ourselves in for?
We stopped outside an old building that looked like a warehouse – no proper windows on the ground floor but we could see signs of a garden on its high roof. Our guide rang the bell and we waited and waited. He rang again and it occurred to me that our landlord would be sleeping soundly at two in the morning! Were we doomed to spend the night outside in this scarey place? Fortunately, the door was opened, but only to reveal a long flight of endless steep steps . There was no prospect of an elevator but thankfully, the men accompanying us carried our larger bags up to our room. I counted 54 steps to the second landing where the room, that 
my friend and I were sharing, was located. The stairwell and corridors were dingy and narrow, with bundles of cabling snaking near the ceiling. When the landlord opened the burglar-proofed, paneled door, the difference was startling. The room was a work of art! Not what we expected at all after that scruffy entrance. Having been up for over 25 hours of travelling, we quickly hit our beds.
The next morning, I observed the apartment more closely. There was a sun-lit shuttered window on the opposite wall to the front door that illuminated a kitchenette along the left wall. This consisted of a black granite counter top, green floor cabinets, a small stainless steel sink with a modern high arc faucet in Venetian bronze, and various decorative pieces such as stylised candles and artsy bowls placed on the counter.
Along the right wall was a three-seater sofa that served as a pull-out spare bed. Under the window was a small fridge and an occasional table with a Tiffany-styled lamp on it. Above the square dining table was a modern chandelier featuring three metallic cylinders. Lighting sconces that matched the Tiffany lamp beautified the cream walls above the sofa. Orange and white tiles graced the floor. These were hand-made especially for this apartment, I later discovered.
Perhaps the most striking aspect of the room was the quality of the art work adorning the walls. These ranged from a large portrayal of a beautiful woman lying across some old wooden steps (above the sofa) to images of stylised faces painted on miniature plates (hung above the kitchen counter). There were several landscapes of various sizes on the other walls, some of which were apparently for sale, as well as a couple of bizarre modern-art depictions. Even the key holder next to the door depicted a glazed and colourful image. I had heard about the high quality of the arts in Cuba and this room epitomised this reputation.
The bedroom was equally artsy, while the bathroom was startlingly modern. It featured white tiles throughout with a crimson and white sink and also toilet. The large tiled shower stall displayed expensive-looking miniature toiletries, though we had brought lots to distribute to the owners of the casas where we were to stay. We were surprised, as we had been advised that the people were very poor and it was difficult to get ordinary items like shampoo in Cuba.
Breakfast was served up another flight of steps on the roof patio. We were treated to a wonderful view of a variety of rooftops all around, many with gardens. We could also just see the tops of a couple of cruise ships in the harbour. The friendly staff presented us with much-needed freshly brewed local coffee and guava/papaya juice, followed by an expansive plate of sliced fruit (watermelon, papaya, guava, banana and pineapple) plus a basket of freshly baked breads with butter and marmalade. We were then asked how we wished our eggs to be cooked. This was certainly not a poor-man’s breakfast! It seems that the government strictly stipulates the high standard of food and accommodation for visitors.
It turned out that we were only a few steps away from the historic Plaza Vieja. From there, our local tour guide, speaking perfect English with a slight American twang, gave us a brief history of Cuba starting from its discovery by Christopher Columbus in 1492 to present day, just before Raul Castro stepped down as president. All of this given from the Cubans’ perspective (which was an eye-opener). It turned out that Pedro was a qualified surgeon who found that he could support his family better as a tour guide. He told us about the many advances in medicine and other disciplines that Cuba has contributed to the world, and all available for free to Cuban nationals.
Pedro took us on a walking tour of Old Havana, with its distinctive Spanish yet Caribbean feel – beautiful old buildings and churches, always with a plaza or garden in front, narrow cobbled streets lined with tall buildings (shops, hotels, bars, and residences) which were old and often in great disrepair. There was evidence of restoration work going on, presumably funded by the many tourists from the cruise ships who now crowded the popular routes. We asked about the long lines of people outside banks and 
pharmacies – apparently there is no queuing allowed inside these buildings! Eventually we crossed a wide avenue into New Havana with more modern buildings. Here we viewed the grand theatre and some luxurious hotels. At this point, we were ushered into 1950s open-topped Cadillacs – ours was pink and white and very glamorous. Our driver took us all along the city’s sea wall, stopping at a monument for photos, and ending at the 
famous Hotel National where we had our first Cuban mojitos. The rest of the days in Havana was spent exploring on our own, dining out and enjoying music and the arts.
Someone had said that they found that the local food was boring and tasteless. I was puzzled by this at first as our meals in Havana were mostly of a high international standard. For example, I really enjoyed my order when we popped into a restaurant for lunch
one day. The restaurant had the trappings of fine dining except that the building itself was crumbling and was missing part of its roof, though repairs were in progress. My meal was a skewer of fish, shrimp and lobster placed vertically in the middle of a chunk of pineapple and served with buttered cassava and other interesting trimmings – memorably delicious! Later, as we traveled outside of Havana, the meals provided were generally much plainer – generally unadorned meat served with rice and salad. Two things that never lowered in quality throughout Cuba were the local coffee and rum. I imagine others would count cigars in that too!
We were all on a mission to buy Cuban art, renowned for its quality as well as bargain prices. 
There are many art galleries in Old Havana where more expensive artwork could be purchased. This requires a special form to show customs as it is illegal to smuggle art out of Cuba. However, on recommendation, we headed for the huge indoor craft market on the docks. All manner of original paintings were on display around the edges of the marketplace, and we each made happy purchases of colourful canvasses. There were many lanes of various craft works to tempt us further, and the prices were excellent.
Music in Havana is everywhere. That salsa beat is contagious! We attended two special shows while we were there. The renowned Tropicana cabaret is a spectacular event à la Moulin Rouge but with Latin rhythms such as mambo, cha cha cha, and so on. The scantily clad dancing girls, wearing elaborate costumes with feathers and sequins, were in the aisles, up on a wall behind us, and alongside as well as on the circular stage. We were treated to a ballerina, a couple doing acrobatic dancing, singers, a dramatic slave-bolero performance, and finally a carnival free-for-all, making for an amazing experience.
The group also attended a show at the Gran Teatro de la Habana, which is as grand and graciously beautiful as its name. We thought it was to be classical ballet but it turned out to be contemporary dance which was energetic and well-coordinated.
The Cuban folk may be poor but they were always friendly and welcoming. Despite the rough look to parts of the city, we never felt unsafe. Crime and drugs are quite rare in Cuba with harsh penalties for perpetrators. We expected the old cars but not the modern vehicles – cars, trucks, vans and buses – which were imported from Russia, Korea and China when the US embargo was established after the Cuban revolution. The young people, engrossed in their mobile phones, dressed and behaved as any individuals would in any modern country in the world.
This trip was most enlightening and I came away with a new respect for Cubans who have endured so much for their lovely country and culture. I can understand Hemingway’s fascination with this place. I wish them well as their politics continue to change.
