Energy is pouring out of the house. About 20 worshippers dressed in white, some in a trance, are dancing and chanting a call and response mantra to the frantic tempo of three drummers. Leading the proceedings is a young man dressed in African-style blue and gold robes. Like a whirling dervish he spins round and round until the room cannot contain him and he spirals out into the street.
Possessed by the orishas, the gods, he hugs some of the flock who have been peering through the window. On spotting me — “Hah! Gringo!” — I receive a sweaty embrace, much to the amusement of the locals. And then he runs back in. This is Santeria, the Afro-Cuban religion bought here by Nigerian slaves and the most practised faith on the island. And, like so many things in Cuba, music is at its core.
Before the whirling babalao, the priest, pointed me out I’d already been clocked as an outsider by a group of teenage girls. I caught them peeping at my right foot, which was tapping spontaneously to the beat — and reduced them to a fit of giggles. As I looked around, I saw why. Cubans don’t shuffle their feet mechanically to music, their whole bodies sway sensually with it, every muscle in harmony.
Music is the second religion in Cuba and in the capital it’s laid on thick for the tourists; from the tacky Tropicana — one of the world’s most famous cabarets — to the quartets strumming Buena Vista classics and Guantanamera in every bar and restaurant.
This soundtrack will accompany you on any tour of old Havana, which has the finest examples of colonial architecture in the Americas. You could wander around for a week and still not see everything, but after hearing Guantanamera once too often it was time to see the rest of the city.
Fortunately, I had the perfect guide in Victor Marin, a renowned local architect. He is passionate about his home town and his enthusiasm is infectious. When he takes me on a tour of Havana’s famous western suburbs, he stops the car when we see one of his favourite buildings. An exotic mix of neoclassical, art deco, Spanish villas and Italian-style mansions — some are restored, many are about to collapse.
It’s obvious why Unesco chose the city as its Latin American headquarters. There is hardly an ugly building in Havana. Even those neglected for decades have style, plants creeping out of the crumbling pastel walls, laundry draped over the ornate balconies. And thanks to the United States’s embargo, Cuba has never had the money to throw up ugly, modern tower blocks. To see ugly you need to go to east Havana where dour Soviet-designed monoliths were built in the 1960s.
I glimpsed these briefly when I was on the road to Playa del Este, an 8km stretch of golden sand on the turquoise Caribbean. With a beach like this only 20 minutes’ drive from Havana, I wondered why it hasn’t been exploited for tourism. Soon, perhaps, it will be, but for now it is used by Habanos at the weekend. They come to escape the heat of the city and, of course, listen to music.
As I sat down to tuck into freshly caught red snapper, an eight-piece salsa band pitched up behind me. They sounded so damn good it made a good meal into one to remember, which is something to treasure in Havana.
According to the Cubans, the three greatest successes of the revolution are health, education and sport. The three greatest failures are breakfast, lunch and dinner. There are many charming restaurants in Havana, but there is a chasm between the fine surroundings and what comes out of the kitchen.
On my last night in Havana I get a glimpse of new Cuban music. At the legendary Salon Rosado a few hundred youths have gathered to listen to hip-hoppers Los Aldeanos. Rap music has taken off in Cuba, and while they haven’t imported the bling! factor from the US, it is just as angry — and these guys have a lot to be angry about. Los Aldeanos have a heavy urban sound and hard-hitting lyrics. They’re rapping about racism, social injustice, housing, unemployment, corruption.
Despite his omnipresence in all aspects of life, Fidel Castro’s name is rarely heard. There is much talk of change in Cuba right now, indeed much need of change. But there’s also so much to lose. Whatever you think of Castro, under his rule Cuba has never been more genuinely Cuban.
It may be poor, but I’ve never been anywhere as culturally rich as Havana, and can’t help feeling that part of the reason is its refusal to embrace the corporate monster. Come the end of the revolution and the Miami bans pile back, malls and McDonald’s in their wake, you fear they’ll turn this wonderful city into Little Miami. But that doesn’t bear thinking about. — Â