100 Places in Cuba Every Woman Should Go. Conner Gorry
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gorgeous buildings inside and out. Dating from the 16th century through the early 20th, some are in disrepair or falling down, more are downright crumbling, while many others gleam. Others still seem to be undergoing perpetual renovation. File under this last category the Capitol building. Anyone from the United States will feel an eerie déjà-vu beholding the Capitolio—it was modeled on the US Capitol and looks like a carbon copy, albeit flanked by palm trees, its marble plazas a beehive of activity with skateboarding kids, peanut sellers and photographers. Before construction began on this monumental public work, this was a military parade ground, a bullfighting ring, a botanical garden, and train station—the city’s first.
As soon as the first shovel hit the dirt, the Capitolio project was beset with problems, from the cost ($20 million US, all told), to accidents and delays—ground was broken in 1912, but the building wasn’t finished until 1929. According to Claudia Lightfoot in her exquisitely researched book Cities of the Imagination: Havana, “a large slice of the $20 million disappeared in graft and straightforward theft....one politician’s house, now the Museo Napoleónico in Vedado, was supposedly entirely built from materials filched from the site.” Patterns set in motion a century ago still hold strong: the refurbishment of the Museo de la Música (a building of eclectic styles dating from 1902) has been ongoing for more than a decade and many neighbors have improved their living spaces with materials from the construction site. The Capitolio itself has been undergoing renovations since 2012 (who knows in that time how many resources have been “detoured,” as Cubans say) and was opened to visitors as this book went to print. Insiders tell me it’s spectacular and that the time to see it is now while the renovation is fresh and accessible to the public—word on the street is that this building, long the headquarters of the Ministry of Science, Technology, and the Environment, will once again house the Parliament once the renovation is finally finished.
Everything about the Capitolio is over-the-top extravagant, from the grand marble staircase guiding people inside to its 300-foot high dome. The Statue of the Republic guarding the entrance hallway is enormous, weighing 49 tons and covered entirely in 22-carat gold leaf. It’s almost 65 feet tall and if the statistics are credible, it’s among the largest indoor statues in the world. If there was any doubt about Cubans’ propensity for flaunting their wealth and gains, no matter how ill-gotten, the Capitolio dispels it—quickly. No expense was spared in the construction and decor here. Says Cuban historian Ciro Bianchi, the diamond embedded in the floor (known as Kilometer 0—from this point all distances in Cuba are measured), is from the crown of the last Russian czar. What Bianchi doesn’t mention is that the diamond was stolen under mysterious circumstances—further providing evidence for the Cuban grift and graft stereotype that’s so pervasive. Ironically, the two statues flanking the stairway entrance are entitled “Labor” and “Virtue.” The czar’s diamond eventually graced the desk of President Grau. Today, the real gem is kept in a bank vault—or so they say. The Salon de los Pasos Perdidos (the Room of the Lost Steps, so called because the cavernous hall plays acoustic tricks on visitors, their footsteps being swallowed in their wake), with its arched, gilded ceiling and geometric marble floors, is breathtaking. I admit I’m a sucker for libraries—my first job out of university was at the San Francisco Public Library and I’ve had a romantic interlude or two in some closed stacks—but the one here will make even the hardest of heart swoon. It can all be a bit overwhelming and give you a stiff neck admiring all the friezes and finery; when you need a break, head to the tranquil interior garden, a hidden oasis few know about.
PEOPLE TALK ABOUT “DOWNTOWN” HAVANA, which is a misnomer; asking a local how to get to downtown or the “city center” is met with a question mark written across their face. Havana turns on different axes, so “center” or “downtown” depends on your perspective. There’s Vedado, which for many young Cubans, is the center of all the action; there’s Habana Vieja, where tourists spend the most time (and money) and where Havana was founded 500 years ago, so technically could be considered downtown; and what about Centro Habana? Sure, central figures in the name of the city’s grittiest and liveliest of neighborhoods, but even Cubans can’t agree precisely where it ends and Habana Vieja begins. But there’s a center-of-the-Cuban-universe feeling provided by sitting on a shady bench in Parque Central, taking in the 1950s cars honking the Godfather theme, eavesdropping on the fellas debating the latest in baseball (known as the “esquina caliente,” the hot corner, this is a park highlight), and sneaking sidelong glances at the “Rastafarians”—in quotes because dreadlocks do not a rasta make. The center of the park is anchored by an iconic statue of “the Cuban apostle,” José Martí and directly across the street is one of the jewels in Havana’s architectural crown: the Gran Teatro de la Habana.
This theater has been the headquarters of the Ballet Nacional de Cuba since 1959, taking a brief (for Cuba) recess during renovations concluded in 2014. Upon re-opening, it was renamed the Gran Teatro de la Habana Alicia Alonso, but people still call it simply, the Gran Teatro or the Lorca—shorthand for the Sala García Lorca, the 1500-seat theater where main events are held. The building facade is a poem cast in stone, marble and bronze, exquisitely lit at night, with soaring sculptures representing Theatre, Music, Education, and Charity. Its majesty can be a bit overwhelming and stands as testament to the roots and power of Spanish wealth and influence in Cuba: inaugurated in 1915 after a major overhaul, this was once the Palacio del Centro Gallego, the social club and welcome wagon for transplanted Spaniards. Prior to the Spanish renovation, this space housed the Teatro Tacón, which opened in 1838 with a performance of Verdi’s opera Aida; since then, the list of luminaries who have tread the boards here is long, including Andres Segovia, Ernesto Lecuona, Eliades Ochoa, and of course, Alicia Alonso.
The renovations put a completely new face on the theater, which was in dire need. The facade was scrubbed clean of decades of Havana filth, the ceiling frescoes restored, new seats were installed and the floors now sparkle; the grand ballroom upstairs sits empty, but it’s easy to imagine the Spanish upper crust waltzing around the marble dance floor, peeking at eligible bachelors behind a flirty wave of a fan. There are some interesting sculptures up here and photography opportunities galore, thanks to the wall of windows wrapping around the corner. There are daily tours with a lethargic docent short on facts, but getting access to the renovated spaces and the art gallery upstairs make it worth the $5CUC. The theater re-do included the inauguration of an attached restaurant—Café Intermezzo and the theater’s La Cava is a wonderful place to get a post-performance glass of wine. During intermission, your best bet is to slip into the back bar accessible through a side door inside the theater, a local secret. After dance performances, the ballerinas often have a beer here.
ONE OF CUBA’S DISTINGUISHING CULTURAL features is the omnipresence of Afro-Cuban religions and their adherents: offerings to the saints can be found strewn around town, and the hypnotic thumping of drums used to invoke the deities heard for blocks. Born out of necessity (like much in Cuba), slaves were prevented from practicing their religion, but were permitted to keep and play their drums. In order to continue worshipping their saints or orishas without incurring even more mental and physical abuse from their overlords and other authorities, they masked their native beliefs by overlaying these orishas with saints from the Catholic canon. Similar syncretic systems exist in Brazil (candomblé) and Haiti (vodou).
One of the most striking manifestations of the practice of Yoruba, Santería, Ifá, and other faiths falling under the rubric of Afro-Cuban religions, are initiates clad in white from head to toe—down to their parasols, Bic lighters, and iPhones. You’ll see children as young as two years old dressed as initiates. The rites for initiation are strict and last a year. Technically. Cubans are born rule breakers so many tend to view the rules and rites as suggestions rather than dictums. You will also see people already initiated wearing the beaded necklaces in the colors of their saints (white and red, the colors of Changó, and blue and