Havana, Cuba

Outside the terminal we find the driver and car waiting for us provided by our hotel. We are tired and it is late but as the car passes low lying concrete buildings and palm trees on the outskirts of town, I have no sense that Cuba is any different from any other Caribbean island we had visited until I saw signs proclaiming 'Viva El 43 Aniversario' and 'Viva Fidel'. As we enter the city limits passing through what had been a very wealthy residential area, I become mesmerized and jolted out of my post-flight fatigue. Beautiful, but crumbling, two-story mansions on tree-lined boulevards race by us. Even in the darkness their elegance and faded beauty are evident.

From the 14th floor of the modern high-rise Melia Cohiba Hotel the next morning, I gaze out on a large unobstructed view of the sea and El Malecon, the 4 1/2 mile seaside pedestrian walkway. There are a few other high-rise buildings, but the rest of the view consists mostly of empty lots, concrete parking lots and small concrete buildings. No sign of those lovely Spanish neo-colonial houses. Our hotel is in the Vedado, a residential and commercial section between la Habana Vieja (old Havana) and the Playa. We take a half-day city tour that stops at the centers of pre-revolutionary and post-revolutionary seats of government. We visit the Palace of the Captain Generals with its crowning dome similar to the US Capitol and seat of the pre-Castro government. Further out of the city center is the Plaza de la Revolucion surrounded by present government agencies, one with a huge looming, Rorschach-like image of Che Guevara. Images and reminders of the revolution are ever present.

At the end of the tour we set out on foot to explore old Havana, now a UNESCO World Heritage site. As we walk, the sounds, the smells and the sights hint at a pulse and vitality that course through the narrow streets despite the crumbling decay and years of neglect. The garlic and onion seasoned aroma of traditional Cuban food, a mixture of Spanish and Afro-Caribbean influences, drifts from paladares, small family owned restaurants. Son, traditional Cuban music, fades in and out as we wander from street to street. Bricks, mortar and stone sometimes tumble from once brightly colored but now faded Spanish neo-colonial buildings forcing pedestrians to mind their steps walking along cracked sidewalks. We pass vacant lots not knowing if anything ever stood there or if buildings had just collapsed and the materials carted away. We peer into courtyards and alleyways to see men playing cards and laundry hanging from second story windows and balconies. Along the sidewalks on either side of one street sit dozens of schoolchildren; little boys with red shorts and little girls with red skirts, both with white shirts and blue ties waiting patiently to go home. In the Plaza of the Cathedral of San Cristobal a large black woman in a white billowy dress wearing a red turban sits at a table and reads tarot cards for a young woman. Sprigs of green foliage jut out from crevices of the Baroque-style facade of the cathedral. At night as the heat retreats, the fluorescence of the day gives way to the luminescence of the night. Light from street lamps, storefront windows and the few electrical signs casts a soft, yellow glow in the darkness and there is always the sound of music playing somewhere.

At the end of our first day I find myself wondering what this place once looked like. The Spanish colonial and art deco architecture, the 1940s and 1950s era cars give only a hint of the past, faded glory of Havana. Despite years of neglect and deprivation, there is a palatable life force in the city. There are few consumer goods, no internet cafes, no cell phones, and newspaper stands are almost non-existent, yet one is left with the impression that behind the crumbling buildings, and underneath 43 years of political repression, Havana is alive.

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