socialist bent of the revolution was confirmed). Indeed, most activity swirls around the “Cuchillo,” literally the “knife,” an alley jammed with Chinese-Cuban restaurants employing aggressive barkers waving menus in the face of all passersby. But brave the gauntlet and meander around the adjacent streets where there are Chinese associations and social clubs, the Chinese newspaper Kwong Wah Po, and elders playing Mah Jong instead of dominoes. Another anomaly of the Chinese community in Havana is the Cementerio Chino, a dedicated cemetery for the Chinese community where the mausoleums are mini-pagodas and the epitaphs are in Chinese. It was restored recently and makes for a great photo session. If you’re craving good, authentic Chinese food while in Havana, a former resident of Shanghai swears by Tin Hao, far from Chinatown, at San Lázaro and Hospital streets.
I HAVE BIASES—WE ALL DO, those who claim they don’t are in denial. My personal bias (one of them anyway) is to recommend and patronize women-owned businesses whenever possible. My default for spending my hard-earned money extends to any business owned by society’s more vulnerable, including women and people of color, as well as any business pursuing an ethical, sustainable, and environmental agenda. While ethical and sustainable businesses are slow to take in Cuba’s sluggish economy where the bottom line is top priority and Cubans of color are under-represented in the entrepreneurial class, women are a primal force in the private sector; according to the latest statistics, 32 percent of private workers are women. The creativity and drive of Cuban women is evident everywhere you look—at home, work, in the street, and at play. If you’ve ever shared a meal cooked by a Cuban mom, you know they are magicians, inventing a delicious spread on a shoestring budget with minimal ingredients. When combined with a high-quality product or service, this thrift and savvy is what sets Cuban businesswomen apart.
Two places making their mark on the new economy are Clandestina and Pisco Labis, in Habana Vieja. For wholly original, handmade Cuban clothes, crafts, home accessories, and more, these boutiques are obligatory. Clandestina, with its motto “99% Cuban Designs” (according to the owners, 99 percent is more marketable and memorable than 100 percent), gained overnight fame after President Obama bought t-shirts for his daughters there. At $30CUC each, it’s not a place many Cubans can afford to shop, but for unique souvenirs, it’s worth making a special trip. Pisco Labis, meanwhile, is a cool collective of more than a dozen Cuban craftspeople where upcycled wine bottles are made into chandeliers, old jeans are transformed into fashionable A-line dresses, and candle stubs are repurposed into scented pillars. There’s a relaxed vibe here, allowing you to browse the two floors of merchandise at your leisure.
On the gastronomic side, Café Bahia, a block from the Cira García Hospital in Playa, is a guaranteed good meal no matter if you opt for the ceviche, fish of the day, or shrimp tacos. The maritime theme is simple, yet elegant and the outdoor deck shaded with a sail is a lovely perch to enjoy an ice cold lemonade or Cristal. Another simple place that excels at what they do is the Burner Brothers pastry shop (Calle C #719). Rather than two brothers, it’s actually a brother-sister team, with mom pitching in; Tony and Sandra taught themselves to bake, burning many of their first batches in the process (hence the name). Here you can try Havana’s best brownie, chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies, mini-cheesecakes, blue cheese tarts, and other inventive delicacies. I won’t temper my assessment of Dulce’s Nancy with any wishy-washy language: there is simply no better cake to be had in the city than those that come from Nancy’s kitchen tucked away in a lush garden festooned with orchids. There’s no storefront, you just have to know she’s there, baking her heart out (Hidalgo #8 between Calle 2 and 4, accessed off the Plaza de la Revolución); tell her Conner sent you.
If you want to shed calories after so many sweets, there’s no better way than a bicycle tour with Vélo Cuba, a women-owned and operated bike shop. They have multi-lingual guides, rent bikes and do repairs. When you’re ready to be pampered, O2 Club tucked into a privileged corner of Nuevo Vedado, offers a full menu of manicures, facials, and massages provided in clean, modern facilities. Twin sisters Omara and Odalys (O2, get it?) founded this space in 2012 as a straight ahead spa; it has since grown into a multi-service center for health and well-being with courses, a café, and beautiful garden.
ONCE UPON A TIME THERE was a Spanish millionaire named Don Antonio Gómez-Mena who made a fortune in sugar and set to spending it. Gómez-Mena bought four sugar mills, a yeast factory, a distillery, and invested in real estate in and around Havana, consolidating his wealth. His most outrageous purchase was the Manzana de Gómez, a property covering a square block in the heart of Havana bounded by Zulueta, Monserrate, Neptuno, and O’Reilly streets. Construction began in 1890, but only the first floor was complete when Gómez-Mena bought the centrally located building; the other four floors went up between 1916 and 1918 when global sugar prices skyrocketed during World War I. Cuba’s sugar class was suddenly flush with cash, earning the nickname “fat cows”; this period in the island’s history is universally known as the time of the “vacas gordas.” Tourists flocked to the Manzana de Gómez to shop in its elegant arcaded mall and send hand-tinted postcards of the building to the folks back home. Eventually the boom went bust, politics intervened, a revolution was launched and won and the Manzana de Gómez slid into neglect and disrepair. Anyone who wanders the streets of Havana will find the city’s seedy side, and Manzana de Gómez in the 1990s, when I first visited, was a dark and grimy place, the columns caked with centuries of urban grit, the passages shadowy in feel and deed. The stores of the commercial center were as bare and abandoned as the people who drifted inside just for a look, hungry for a simple change of scene.
Then rumors started circulating a handful of years ago that the Manzana de Gómez was slated for a major overhaul. This was good news, if true: the Manzana de Gómez sits at the intersection of urban blight and nouveau riche bling, with luxury hotels and fabulously restored buildings renting to foreigners alongside overcrowded one-room homes and well-worn laundry drooping from balconies verging on collapse. The rumors proved right: scaffolding went up, heavy machinery lumbered to the site, and construction and restoration began on the historic building. News drifted out that it was being transformed into a luxury hotel, with first-class, first-world boutiques on the ground floor and prices to match. It was the first construction site I’ve ever seen in Havana working two shifts—the stadium lights beaming rays into the dark streets seemed to say: “This is a serious endeavor, a new era in Havana construction where we’ll finish on time, within budget, and to specifications.” The press reported on the progress, while locals from the overcrowded homes with droopy laundry salvaged the windows and sashes, fittings and bricks from the guts of the building unceremoniously dumped on the curb. Then new rumblings and rumors hit the street that hundreds of workers from India were contracted to “speed up construction,” according to national press reports. Cubans were affronted, yet understanding. As my friend Alberto said: “How can we import labor with so many people needing jobs? Then again, this way construction will actually get done, with less theft and slacking.”
It was in this environment that European luxury hotel chain Kempinski Hotels opened the Gran Hotel Manzana Kempinski to guests in May 2017. It was a revelation—like nothing we have ever seen on the island. It fairly shimmered, backlit in the Havana twilight. The restored, enlarged building gleamed and the commercial arcade was floor-to-ceiling windows and every corner was Swiss-clean. Forget that Montblanc and Versace are selling $3000 pens and $2000 handbags in the swanky shops. Forget that neighbors from those one-room homes are quickly shuffled away from wealthy tourists lingering at the hotel entrance. Forget that the most talented, award-winning Cuban scientist could never afford to book a room. Forget all these contradictions and take my advice: stay here if
