opportunity to meet and greet—until it’s closed to the public, something which occurred when Karl Lagerfeld and the House of Chanel presented their cruise wear collection along the Prado in 2016. After centuries of being a place of respite and recreation for habaneros, suddenly it was off limits. While it provided work for some Cubans and those living right on the boulevard rented space on their balconies for $10CUC a head, not everyone was on board (pun intended!) with the program. This came right on the heels of the Fast and Furious 8 filming in Havana where people were kept from walking their streets and accessing their homes during the shoot. In his 2017 book Cuba-US Relations: Obama and Beyond, Cubanologist Arnold August categorizes these two events (and many more) as “hipster imperialism,” a phenomenon that brings the global entertainment economy in conflict with Cuban values—in this case, access to public places. Rubbing salt into the wound is the fact that Cubans are huge movie buffs and fashionistas; they wanted to see all the wonderful clothing and perhaps snap a selfie with Vin Diesel. Still, the Hollywood/Parisian road show came and went and the Prado quickly returned to its normal rhythm.
On weekends, the entire promenade is flanked with artists selling their work, creating new ones and giving classes to local kids in painting, drawing, ceramics, and photography. On Saturdays, a semblance of Cuba’s system of trading houses is in full swing. Before buying and selling of homes was legalized in 2011, the only way for an individual to acquire a different home was to trade theirs with someone else. Known as the “permuta,” it was a long, laborious process (two years looking and finagling was not uncommon) with much jumping through hoops to find an available, appropriate house, pay some money under the table to cover the difference (“legitimate but not legal” as my professor friend says) and process the transfer of title and other paperwork.
Se Permuta, a full-length comedy by notable Cuban director Juan Carlos Tabío, is full of social commentary and insight.
Things have changed mightily since then—Havana is now peppered with real estate agencies sporting banks of computers and agents ready to pull up multiple listings across all neighborhoods with detailed descriptions and full-color photos. But the permuta system still works; you can see the old school action on the stretch of the Prado near Hotel Sevilla.
SPANISH CONQUISTADORES WERE LUKEWARM ON the crocodile-shaped island that Columbus stumbled upon in 1492, foiled in their attempts to find the motherlodes of gold, the apocryphal El Dorado, which drove many a conquistador to ruin. They gave short shrift to the Antilles’ biggest island as a result, preferring to run roughshod over Hispaniola and Mexico, where the streets were supposedly paved with precious metals. Early explorers even failed to agree on what to call the island: before settling on Cuba, a bastardization of an indigenous name upon which experts can’t agree, it was known as Juana, Fernandina, San Diego, and Ave Maria Alfa y Omega. Where to settle Cuba’s capital was also an improvised, uncertain affair, skipping from Santiago de Cuba to Batabanó, before San Cristóbal de la Habana was founded in 1519. Swampy, and prone to mosquito swarms and flooding, Havana wasn’t the ideal spot, but boasted a deep, navigable bay which proved highly attractive to Spanish sugar barons who berthed their galleons to offload slaves and packed the holds with sugar, getting filthy rich in the process. The geographical location, of course, was also perfect for pirates. The boom you hear each night at 9 p.m. sharp is the cañonazo (the cannon shot), a holdover from those days when the bay was closed to all boat traffic, a giant chain strung across the entry.
Habana Vieja, the colonial city that sprung up and spread like herpes in a whorehouse—quickly, virally, indiscriminately—is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and Cuba’s #1 tourist destination. People from all over the world come to ogle its spectacular colonial palaces, walk its cobblestone streets, and explore its beautiful (and not so) nooks and crannies. Managing a visit to Habana Vieja can be a bear—there are too many tourists for the too narrow streets, often trailed by aggressive hustlers (jineteros in local lingo) and what real life looks like is best appreciated off the beaten track and away from the carefully restored sections. The three best tips I have for folks wanting to experience this part of town with minimum hassle is: don’t book your accommodation here (it’s dead at night and you’ll be besieged by hustlers as soon as you step out the door); hail a bici-taxi for a cheap, backstreet tour; and spend a morning hopping from one beautiful plaza to another.
Cuba has seven cultural and two natural sites on the UNESCO World Heritage list. Check it out: whc.unesco.org/en/statesparties/cu.
My favorite of all is Plaza Vieja, a wide-open square lined with colonnaded buildings hiding interesting sites. There’s a luthier workshop, Fototeca (the national photo gallery), Cuba’s only camera obscura providing live, 360° views of the neighborhood—sheets flapping on the line, dogs wagging their tails—and various places to appreciate the best in Cuban contemporary art, including the Centro de Desarrollo de las Artes Visuales, a fine art gallery housed in a beautiful colonial mansion. For good people watching and refreshments, there’s a microbrewery on one corner of the plaza and a cafe on another—the whole bean coffee here makes a special gift or souvenir; both places have outside tables. Heading northeast, you hit Plaza de San Francisco de Asis, nicknamed “pigeon plaza” by Cubans who like to come here and whip the birds into a feeding frenzy around the central fountain. Anchoring this irregularly shaped plaza is the Lonja de Comercio, a luxurious office building housing international press bureaus, joint ventures, and apartments like you might find in Manhattan. Looking up is always a good way to pull back the veil on Havana’s charms: across the plaza is the Basilica de San Francisco de Asis, built in 1719 and adorned with one of the highest bell towers—it flirts with 125 feet—in the hemisphere. Once the house of worship for the city’s elite, these days the Basilica is a classical concert hall and headquarters of Ars Longa, the national baroque orchestra. International musicians are often invited to play here and if you get the chance to attend a performance among the gilded angels and the fabulous trompe l’oeil backdrop, grab it. Guarding the entrance here is a statue of the Caballero de Paris, a brilliant, but tormented fellow who wandered the streets of Habana Vieja reciting prose and poetry, dying in poverty but immortalized in bronze. Stroking his beard and making a wish is a Havana tradition long observed, which is why it shines so brightly.
A few blocks north is the Plaza de Armas. Originally established in 1582, it’s the oldest square in Cuba. Among its quirky attributes is the only wooden street in Havana (in front of the Museo de la Ciudad), the antique book bazaar ringing the central park, and the statue of La Giraldilla, the symbol of Havana crowning the ornate roof of the Castillo de la Real Fuerza (and emblazoned on every bottle of Havana Club rum); this is the hemisphere’s oldest colonial fort. On the northeast corner of this plaza is El Templete, a neo-classical pantheon celebrating the place where Havana was founded in 1519. In reality, the ceiba tree—an important symbol to Cubans the world over—spreading its crown over El Templete is what actually marks the spot of the first mass in Havana and the founding of the city. But like much in Cuba, even this symbolic tree is a trick: city authorities have cut down and replanted ceibas here repeatedly, as recently as 2016 when the previous tree was confirmed to be termite-infested (the metaphor was not lost on locals). No matter for superstitious Cubans married to their traditions: every November 16, people stand in line for hours to take three turns around the tree, intoning wishes for health, wealth, or a visa. Finally, two blocks northeast of here is the Plaza de la Catedral, site of Havana’s baroque cathedral, built between 1748 and 1787. It’s prettiest at night, when the crowds slip away and the unequal towers and facade are
