The Hindu Business Line : Throwback to a gracious era

Old Havana represents all the contemporary contradictions of Cuba. Step into a world where genteel old mansions and cathedrals coexist harmoniously with cigar factories and a vibrant street-life.

Cathedral Square

On a visit to Cuba last year, one was intrigued by its mystery and its contradictions. A country that is supposed to be in the Third World and yet is extremely successful in the fields of medicine, genetic engineering and bio-technology, its main cities remind you of graceful, albeit crumbling European cities, proudly displaying their ethnic mixture.

And nowhere is this juxtaposition more visible than in the historical heart of Havana, called Old Havana, with its blend of cathedrals and cigar factories, museums and mansions, and narrow streets with houses whose balconies are rusted and full of piles of drying laundry.

It is said that only 101 out of 900 old buildings date from this century. Old Havana is 400 years old.

I walked down the Malecon (embankment or sea wall) that leads to Habana Vieja or Old Havana. It reminded me of Mumbai's Marine Drive, with a glittering curve of lights mirrored in the waters. Great plumes of spray come up over the wall, and the waters run towards the houses on the other side.

The houses are in pastel shades, with a continuous walkway. There is a move to restore them but this has caused resentment among the occupants who have had to be evacuated to crowded apartments away from the sea.

All along the beachfront boulevard, men were fishing, children were playing, young couples — obviously in love — were walking and fitness freaks running. Old Havana is the earliest colonial walled settlement, with two plazas — the Plaza de Armas and the smaller Plaza de la Catedral.

Plaza Assissi

Each square has its unique ambience, with its share of mansions, shops, museums and street life. Narrow streets radiate from the squares and these are closed to vehicular traffic by novel means... artillery shells embedded in the road!

The windows of the great houses are fascinating; ornamental, full-length ones with shuttered doors bright in colour... peppermint green and Havana blue with ornate balustrades and jewel coloured stained glass.

The Plaza de Armas is the oldest, built in 1519 by the Spanish, and even now maintains its tradition of holding a festive Sunday evening when people gather in an impromptu display of singing and dancing. Music is never far from a Cuban's life.

Imbued with an innate sense of rhythm, they possess an infectious repertoire of romantic and sad songs, and soulful jazz a la Julio Iglesias who, incidentally, is banned from Cuba for his anti-Castro sentiments.

In the Plaza are second-hand bookstalls, and Fidel Castro and Che Guevera look out from the covers of most books.

At one side of the Plaza is the Palace of the Governors that has been converted into a museum, with a splendid statue of Columbus sharing the courtyard with some freely roaming peacocks. Cuba was long administered from here and the hauteur and the grandeur persist.

Tucked away among the narrow streets is the pink Hotel Abbos Mundos, which was frequented by Ernest Hemingway who wrote part of For Whom the Bell Tolls in a dark, gloomy corner room on the fifth floor. Unfortunately, like many other houses that had been converted into museums, this hotel too was closed for renovation due to typhoon damage. Some of the shops nearby sell local perfumes and hand-painted fans.

In some of the streets, locals lingered in the still evening air, fanning themselves. Girls and boys flirted leaning on their cycles, while grandparents watched indulgently over their frolicking grandchildren. One woman was very disappointed when I told her I had only two children. She had six.

There is a 150-year-old cigar factory in this area. In a big room reeking of tobacco, sat rows of men and women who treated the tobacco leaves, graded them, stripped the veins and rolled them into cigars. They worked swiftly, making the world-famous Cohibas, Montecristos, etc.

Tradition had it that in the early days, men would read some of the great novels from the lectern — hence the name from Dumas — Monte Cristo. These days newspapers are read and music played to take away the mind-numbing monotony.

In front of the cigar factory are vintage cars — Packards, Chevrolets and Fords, all brightly painted. These are pre-War cars, which wheeze their way through the roads, lovingly maintained as taxis by their owners. One was told that foreign buyers are prepared to pay a packet for them but they are always courteously refused.

In the same area are a number of buildings, some baroque with caryatids (Grand Theatre) and one building — the Capitolio, a loose although bigger imitation of the Capitol in Washington.

In front is the palm shaded Jose Marti park where we sat and talked with some of the young men and women who were curious about us and wondered if we were from the "real India" or from "Canada India".

The smaller Plaza de la Catedral highlights the 18th-century Columbus Cathedral, which is supposed to have contained the ashes of Columbus. It was from here that the late Pope John Paul II delivered his address after three decades of "official atheism". The bar that Papa Hemingway liked to visit — El Floridito — is round the corner and still serves his favourite daiquiri.

Old Havana reminded me of an ageing, once beautiful lady in tattered brocades, hanging on to her past. But attempts are underway to restore her crumbling glory. It was named a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1982. Houses are being restored with an eye not only on tourism but also their usability. For example, an old mansion built in the mid-1800s is now a shelter for women with high-risk pregnancies. It is named after Jose Marti, the hero of Cuban independence, who was born in this area.

As I walked through the great squares, once the hub of life and wealth from Spanish ships, workers in yellow helmets shouted out to each other and electric saws were buzzing. They were building a future out of the past.

Pictures by the author

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