Cuba Libre

Havana, Cuba
July 4, 2001

I arrived illegally in the country that is a declared enemy of the US on our own independence day. How fitting. I must have fallen a long way from leading Marines in Desert Storm!

That being said, the Cubans I met seem to love Americans and most cannot understand the animosity for Castro. I see classic 1955 Chevy´s plying the roads here, reminiscent of American Graffitti, as well as a time of friendship with the United States.

Walking the Mercado in Havana, which runs along the waterfront, the place can easily be mistaken for Bombay. Run down buildings interspersed with outdoor cafes under fluorescent lights adjoin lovely restored buildings in warm pastels. Young couples strolling arm in arm complete the scene.

Ambling through La Habana Vieja, the historical district of the city, transports one right back to Spain, with Barcelon-esque alleys and pedestrian Prados opening up to a hidden square facing a cathedral, lit softly by orange lights in the bell towers. Underneath, short palm trees set off a section of umbrellas like a sprouting off mushrooms in the moist shelter of a tree. Here, revelers sit to the evening breeze, drinking Mojitos and Cristal, the local Cuban brew. Salsa music plays in the background.

Regal hotels rise alongside billboards proclaiming the revolution with a portrait of Che, as he is know here, sans last nombre. Cuba presents a mixture of modern culture, with jazz clubs and partying youths; set alongside the tributes to revolutionaries, whose time seems to have passed, but whose legacies loom large.