100 Places in Cuba Every Woman Should Go. Conner Gorry
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SOMETHING MAGICAL ABOUT HAVANA. It’s in the sea salt spray caressing the Malecón, the smell of night-time gardenia under a full moon, children laughing in the neighborhood park, and the smile of a grandma as she passes you on the sidewalk. Music pours from Miramar mansions, while a trumpeter improvises jazz under the crown of an old-growth ceiba. It’s this magic, I believe, which partly explains the levity Cubans carry when faced with frustrating bureaucracy and interminable lines. It’s also why visitors tend to fall fast and hard for Havana, not knowing precisely why. This indescribable energy enriches life here, makes sex better, and soothes grief. It can’t be bottled, this unique flavor and swing for which Havana is justly famous, but I hope we can retain, sustain, and grow it moving forward—otherwise, I might have to look for another place to live!
Poet Langston Hughes felt this magic, translating it into prose in his essay “Havana Nights,” collected in the thought-provoking collection Cuba in Mind.
One way to experience this magic for yourself is to set aside a dusk or two with a good friend or lover, or if you’re like me and enjoy your own company, alone, to fully appreciate a Havana sunset. A classic spot is at the bar atop the city’s tallest building, the Focsa, on Calles M and 17. Exiting the elevator at the top, site of La Torre restaurant (expensive and luxurious), you’ll see the entire western stretch of Vedado spread out below the wall of windows. Settle in with a beer or mojito and you’ll have a panoramic vista as the sun goes down in golden, pink, and purple hues. They make decent vittles at the bar, for a fraction of the price of the restaurant. Another iconic building, right on the Malecón, the Riviera Hotel and its iconic lobby bar oozes 1950s mobster ambiance—logical, since this was the pet property of Mafioso Meyer Lansky before he joined the wave of Batista cronies escaping ahead of the winds of political change sweeping the country. Have a cocktail here and gaze through the floor-to-ceiling windows with nothing but glass between you and the Malecón. Speaking of Havana’s seawall (nicknamed “the city’s sofa” because it serves as an extension of everyone’s living room), this is as perfect a place as any to watch the sun go down with a bottle of rum and a quality cigar, if you’re so inclined. A hugely popular spot for habaneros to swim, neck, and enjoy the sunset is Playa 16 in Miramar. Despite the name, it’s not a beach but rather a block-long stretch of coast covered with diente de perro (dog’s tooth) rock with steps descending into the sea. Carry some flip flops or swim shoes as the shallows are littered with sea urchins. The best access is at Calle 14 and 1ra, where there’s a simple cafeteria serving burgers and such, as well as 7 Días, a proper restaurant right on the shore which is hit or miss but occupies a prime sunset location. Two other favorites are La Chorrera, at the western end of the Malecón where the beer bongs are tall and cold and just beyond that the Jardín Japonés (see Chapter 14); both are seaside.
SOMETIMES HAVANA GETS TOO OVERWHELMING—LIKE today, when my building has no running water and neighbors are knocking down walls accompanied by really bad music. That’s when I know it’s time for an excursion to Parque Almendares. Languishing on a riverside bench, strolling beneath trees so grand they feel like rain forest, or pumping hard on a playground swing is panacea—for the banal, tiresome, and just plain annoying. I imagine it was precisely this tranquility and escape of which urban planner and landscape architect Jean-Claude Nicolas Forestier dreamt when he laid pencil to draft paper. The legendary French designer responsible for elegant gardens and parks throughout Europe (Champs-de-Mars in Paris; Parc de la Ciutadella in Barcelona) brought his talent to bear on the Gran Parque Metropolitano, to which the Parque Almendares pertains, during the city’s halcyon years in the mid-1920s when poets and painters, flappers and dandies fueled by reefer and rum jammed sidewalk cafés and bars to wax eloquent. If you think Havana is wild circa 2018….
Ultimately, Forestier’s vision of a corridor of connected parks and green spaces from sea to Boyeros and beyond didn’t come to fruition, but a renewed commitment to re-imagining Havana as a sustainable city is now underway and the park is both cleaner and safer thanks to a revitalization project episodically pursued. New riverside landscaping and lighting, fresh coats of paint, and more modern playground equipment have the park feeling downright spiffy these days; if a couple of serviceable public bathrooms were installed and a decent café, this would fast become one of the city’s top recreation destinations.
Parque Metropolitano covers 1,700 acres and is known as the lungs of Havana for its expansive tree cover and green space; the heart of these lungs is Parque Almendares, accessed by crossing the eponymous bridge at Vedado’s western extent. Immediately upon descending the stairs leading to the park you’ll start to see (and smell) part of what makes this park so enigmatic for habaneros: the forest running down to river’s edge here is an ideal setting for Santería rites and sacrifices and rotting sacrificial flora and fauna dot the cityscape here. Renting a rowboat at the pier (35 cents/hour) and heading down-river delivers an unparalleled excursion through the park’s heart and a glimpse of El Fanguito, one of the city’s most vulnerable neighborhoods.
The Bosque de la Habana—that of the jungle-like canopy—makes for a cool, pleasant stroll and is a hot spot for Santería rites; should you happen upon one, respect the privacy of the adherents and definitely refrain from taking photos. In 2017, the amphitheater here was re-opened (this lovely, several hundred seat venue saw its last concert in the early 2000s when a Cuban rock guitarist now residing in Spain got too political at the microphone), and there are regular Saturday evening concerts here in the summer. Acerbically droll Cuban folksinger Frank Delgado holds forth here most Saturdays, putting together an entertaining mashup of word and song with invited musicians, poets, and playwrights. The music gets going around 7 p.m. when the sun dips soft and luscious below the horizon—a good option for a cheap, low-key music outing with the kids. Occasionally there are raucous, outdoor music festivals hosted in the parking lots and playgrounds of the park, including the Festival de Salsa each February and Festival Havana World Music in March. Dancing under the stars with hundreds of happy Cubans? Unforgettable.
HILARITY (OR FRUSTRATION, DEPENDING ON my mood) ensues whenever I mention to Cuban friends Parque Lenin and my desire to go to the rodeo. “What rodeo in Vedado?!” they ask me, in a loud voice, gesticulating with their hands like Cubans are wont to do. “There’s no rodeo in Vedado. Have you gone mad?” I am then forced to clarify, sounding out slowly, like a child: “Not Parque Lennon, Parque Lenin: L-E-N-I-N. As in Vladimir Ilyich.” Such are the trials of a native English speaker in a Beatles-crazed, USSR-influenced, Spanish-speaking land. Similarly sounding, these two parks couldn’t be more different in concept, layout, and purpose. While Lennon Park is easily accessed from any point in the central part of the city, the 1,655-acre park named after the Soviet ideologue is way out on the suburban outskirts, more of a draw for local families and school trips than the stuff of tourist itineraries. Nevertheless, the vast green expanses, varied activities and sites, and chance to mix and mingle with Cubans of all stripes and types make a good side trip—especially if you’re traveling with the little ones.
You’ll recognize the entrance to the park when you start seeing grazing horses and a larger-than-life-size statue of revolutionary hero Celia Sánchez Manduley, rifle swung smartly over her shoulder. This multi-purpose park was one of her bright ideas, designed to encourage Cubans to get out and enjoy nature, art, sports, and other healthy pursuits; it’s one of the major public projects of the revolution and though a bit rough around the edges in spots—for instance, you’re better off bringing a picnic or buying some barbecue from the cluster of cafeterias than visiting one of the depressing restaurants on the grounds—a recent influx of Chinese investment is having an impact. Attending an event here provides some of the most raucous, authentic experiences