Havana: Music, Mystique and More

The snug lanes of the Old Town (Havana Vieja) called for a slowdown. The cabbie sounded the horn, and the crowd that had been gawking at the crumbling exteriors of a period structure dispersed hastily to make way.

These derelict buildings, once brightly-coloured, line both sides of the street. The unhurried taxi ride facilitated a closer look at them. Most seemed to be living quarters. One housed an art gallery. A tiny puppy peeked out from another. Meanwhile, strains of that quintessential Cuban anthem Guantanemera were wafting through.

Before long, the taxi came to a halt in front of the building where our accommodation was booked. Save a fresh coat of paint, it looked no different from the ones we just passed by. Two bored teenagers looked up from their mobile phones and eyed us curiously as we hauled our bags out.

I could spot the source of the music just around the corner – a local bar where diners sat around nursing their pre-siesta mojitos in the lazy afternoon hour, while a quartet of musicians belted out popular melodies. It was hard to tell who was savouring the moment more – the entertained or the entertainers. On the kerb, an elderly couple walking past broke into an impromptu jig. A day long journey and stopovers in two countries later, we were finally, unmistakably, in Havana.

Historical incidents of the 20^th century saw Cuba taking an economic trajectory different from most countries, and the curious consequences of these are one of the first things that strike a visitor to the country.

Casa particulars, or private homestays, are one of them. They are, by far, the most preferred mode of accommodation for visitors to Cuba and has been so long before Airbnb was even a twinkle in its founder’s eye. The large hotels are mostly government owned and charge exorbitant rates for rooms that were kitted out at a time when trade with the rest of the world was still a reality.

Its external appearance notwithstanding, our casa particular, with its themed rooms and rooftop cafe was more boutique hotel than homestay. This kind of midrange accommodation in the Old Town is in short supply, and I was more than pleased to have scored a room so close to the action. Especially since booking a hotel room in Cuba from outside the country was anything but straightforward.

And for better or worse, that is one of the most charming things about Cuba – the adventure begins long before you’ve even set foot in the country.

Cuba has been unfairly red-flagged by most hotel booking sites, banks and credit card companies, and so it cost me one cancelled credit card and several phone calls to finally bag that hotel room.

The oddities don’t end there. Ration shops, fast disappearing in many countries, continue to be quite relevant in Cuba. Supermarkets are somewhat of a rarity, and since trade with other countries is largely limited, scarcities are all too common. When we visited, eggs were in short supply, and what was available was kept aside for tourists. While this may shock and grate against our travel sensibilities, locals are seemingly unfazed by this discriminatory arrangement. Tourism had, in recent years, grown to be the largest industry in Cuba, giving young Cubans a shot at a lifestyle that completely bypassed their parents. What difference would a few eggs make?

Havana sprawls across neighbourhoods that range from the cosmopolitan to the historic. Tying them all together is the Malecon – an iconic 8km long esplanade stretching along the length of the city. A world in itself, Malecon is where Habaneros gather to chill, exercise and just be.

After settling in to our accommodation, we made our way out through the maze of Havana Vieja, getting to the Malecon as the evening sun was just beginning to turn mellow. Having found a suitable perch on the sea wall, I looked around to take it all in. Well, that was the intention. But with vintage car after vintage car sashaying down the Malecon tantalisingly, like you’ve seen in hundreds of ‘Cuba’ images, it is almost impossible to peel your eyes away and look beyond.

Havana is not a city one approaches with a ‘to do’ list of sights. Sure, some monuments are more famous than others, and certain bars and squares have to be struck off the checklist. But, fundamentally, it is a city that needs to be deciphered. A good part of which involves finding your way around its most unusual rule book, starting with the Internet.

In Cuba, Internet has to be purchased by the GB. Our hotel, we were told, was a ‘WiFi zone’ but that meant nothing until we had an ‘Internet card’. And so I joined the snaking queue outside the local telecom office to buy one. Customers would be let in only in twos or threes, and when my turn came, I was given the option of buying a 1 GB card for 1 CUC or a 5 GB card for 5 CUC, based on my estimated future usage.

Having bought the card, I went in search of the nearest WiFi zone, which happened to be the town square down the road. Flicking sand off the concrete bench, I wedged myself between two college goers, joining the fifty odd people sat in the square with their heads assiduously bent over their mobiles.

It speaks volumes about my priorities that I dwell upon the Internet situation before mentioning a more pertinent Cuban quirk – the fact that they have two currencies. There’s the Cuban Peso (CUP) and the Cuban Convertible Peso (CUC). Cubans earn they salary in CUP, which they use to purchase grocery and other supplies. As a tourist, you only deal in CUC, which when we visited was pegged at 0.93 CUC to 1 USD. This is why tourism is such a valued asset in the country. It allows those employed in the sector to earn in CUC, a far more valuable currency than the CUP.

The peculiarities of day-to-day living, however, did not make us waver from one of the main motivations that brought us to Havana in the first place – its music.

One of the first bits of travel advice that I came across while planning this trip was that no matter how big a fan, one must stop listening to Buena Vista Social Club weeks before heading to Cuba. Given how many iterations of the iconic band’s songs we heard during our week long stay, I do understand the rationale behind the counsel. But I had no complaints, considering we travelled from the other end of the world for precisely this!

The musical action usually kicks off around lunchtime. While elsewhere our usual practice was to saunter around perusing menu after menu until we found something intriguing enough to eat, in Havana it was the music that was the deciding factor. Every corner bar and restaurant would have a local band playing, and lunch would end up being at the one that drew us in with their music.

Perhaps just as well, as food, though delicious, is not one of the top draws in Cuba. Ropa Vieja, a shredded beef dish served with rice, is the nation’s staple. From pricey state-run restaurants to home-cooked versions, we had many versions of Ropa Vieja during our stay.

Having been disconnected from the rest of the world for many decades now, those inescapable global influences which other countries have been subject to have pretty much evaded Cuba. While that is palpable in many aspects of Cuban life, it is most evident in its food, which, in its simple meat-based dishes, rice and plantain remains resolutely loyal to its roots.

While many of the bars with live bands were clearly catering to tourists, there was no denying that jazz and other forms of local music were very much part of daily Cuban life. And so we ventured beyond the Old Town and found ourselves at La Zorra y El Cuervo late one evening. Somewhat of a local institution, this dingy basement bar hosted the most enviable line-up every night. The music certainly didn’t disappoint, and the clientele even less so!

Equally memorable, but for a totally different reason, was the taxi ride back to our hotel in a rattling tin can of a car – so crammed that my huddled up knees threatened to smash into my jaw bone every time the driver hit the brakes. Clearly, all ‘vintage’ cars are not made equal.

Havana is more of a night-time city, which is not to say the mornings are lack lustre. Getting lost in the by-lanes of the Old Town is the most legit way to get a feel for the city. Bars famous and undiscovered, boutiques old and new, snacks sellers, artists and candy-coloured vintage cars present an overwhelming cocktail of stimuli!

In addition, the Old Town is also heaving with history at every corner, and a guided walk peppered with chronological anecdotes from its past was exactly what was required to appreciate the many tribulations Cuba had been through. More so, since Cuba’s ‘now’ is still so very different from that of most other countries of the world.

Along with the chequered history and its consequences, there’s one other thing that looms large all over Havana and, indeed, the rest of Cuba – the aura of Che Guevara.

Having spent a good part of my growing up years in a Communist corner of India, Che was very much a part of our idealistic young lives. He was quoted, read and celebrated. I put this veneration down to the romance of rebellion associated with a charismatic foreigner from a faraway land. Finding the same sort of brazen fandom in the country that was responsible for his fame certainly came as a surprise.

There have been several notable figures from José Martí to Fidel Castro who have shaped the destiny of Cuba, but none of them can rival the mass appeal of Che. Che imagery, was understandably, part of anything and everything a tourist might want to make a souvenir of, but his defiant gaze also stared out from public squares and government buildings.

That Che was Argentinian and Cuba was merely where his karma brought him was hardly a matter for discussion. He’s every inch Cuba’s very own poster boy for revolution – peddling hope, resistance and change in one enticing package to the rest of the world.

One morning, halfway through our stay, it dawned upon us that we were down to the last of our dollar bills. It’s not the best kind of realisation on any holiday and even less so in a ‘cash only’ country. What ensued was a lesson in taking nothing for granted. The ATM machine refused payment, and the bank ended up blocking our card. Mobile phone signals are jammed once you enter Cuba. We therefore had to buy international calling cards, but the credit was not enough to make a call to our bank back home. Suffice to say, we just about managed to salvage the situation while on the verge of being totally cashless!

If music and classic cars made up the two vertices of the Havana experience for the foreigner, salsa dance was the third. From smooth Cubanos gliding through the floor with effortless ease to awkward tourists enthusiastically stomping through the evening as part of the essential ‘Cuba experience’, dance was just everywhere in Havana. Sometimes even when there wasn’t a dance floor.

Like that time in a nondescript square when I was approached for a dance by random twinkle toes. At that point, I was still reeling from my utterly forgettable Salsa attempt at an otherwise delightful little bar the night before. I said an apologetic no to Travolta and, in my mind, a resounding yes to the Salsa class I was contemplating.

And so, the following morning I found myself at one of the oldest dance schools in Havana. Salsa takes weeks to perfect, but all I had was two hours. My true to type suave instructor wasn’t too unhappy with my efforts, but he did leave me with one word of advice. ‘Salsa dancing is all about allowing the man to lead. Don’t try to resist that.’ Well…

I may not have got many opportunities ‘to be led’ during the remainder of our stay, but Havana filled our afternoons and evenings with music in a way no other city had. And always with a generous serving of ‘Havanesque’.

At the terrace of the stately Hotel Nacional de Cuba, a trio of elderly gentlemen went for it guitar, maracas and all, as we sipped piña coladas looking out into the Malecon. At Floridita bar, watched on by a statue of its most famous patron, Ernest Hemmingway, a band of singers crooned their way through the crowd of revellers who were downing glass after glass of the writer’s favourite daiquiri.

But perhaps the most memorable of them all was at the cleverly named Buena Vista Curry Club. At Havana’s only Indian restaurant the live music was just as piquant as the chicken tikka. Who knew curry and jazz could be such compatible bedfellows!

Our time in Havana was coming to an end and we spent our last morning soaking it all in from the rear seat of a 1952 Bel Air. Our first go at riding one of Havana’s iconic classic cars, a few days prior, wasn’t exactly mind blowing. For one, the car that showed up was not the one that we had pre-booked. The pink Chevy that arrived one morning when the heavens opened up was a treat to the eyes alright. But the pelting rain meant the roof had to be pulled up. And a covered roof does not a vintage car experience make. The smell of gasoline that started as just a whiff eventually got to barf inducing levels, leading to eventual abandonment of the ride.

This second attempt, in a bright blue beauty, more than undid the unpleasantness of the first. Our fedora-sporting chauffeur took us to the far reaches of town with halts and photo stops along the way – my favourite  being the John Lennon Park where I got to share a bench and a make-believe conversation with a bronze sculpture of the legend himself.

Riding back to the Old Town with bottles of Havana rum tucked away in our bag, the wind in my hair and the everyday sights of the Malecon zipping by, I couldn’t think of a more appropriate way to sign off from this most distinctive of cities.

At a time when, for many of us, travel has come to mean simply translocating our creature comforts to more exotic settings, Cuba stands out as being everything we are unaccustomed to. So much so that, even while I’m wrapping up this piece, I’m contemplating a part two – for there’s so much that remains unwritten.

The ‘hassles’ may not be everyone’s idea of a holiday, but in this day and age when cities are converging into a sea of homogeneity, Havana with its unique brand of quirk opens a window into a very different world. A world that’s sure to leave the visitor with an enduring sense of wonderment and a nagging urge to return.