This is not so much a list of everything we ate but more of the experiences and my failings to order in Spanish.

The staple meat diet is pork and that’s official, especially when ordering lamb which the waiters advice is not recommended although its on the menu. In fact there are other options “not recommended but the pork is good”.

‘Window of the world’ in the hotel Tryp is similar to that in the Hilton Park Lane but circa mid 80’s. Ikea would love this place with the chintz and frills that sets it a 5* establishment with the odd smell of the candle tallow burning – pork fat no doubt. From up here we can see vast sways of Havana across to the airport in one direction, the fort and old city in the other and out across the Florida Straits.
Just about every establishment has some form of entertainment taking place from small trios of musicians to single guitarists and then the full combo including maracas.

What some dishes lack in one area they need to lack one other major ingredient and that is the oil. Some of the meals could have swum here from Florida and what with the lack of presentation – whole squid fried in one piece no strips, no rings, nada. As for ordering a Coke, don’t get persuaded to have a special one as they are infused with too much alcohol. However I am yet to have a bad coffee.

Grilled, fried, grill fried or fried grilled the options are huge, but to be fair life as been tough on these people; when communism collapsed in the east in the early 90’s Cuba hit a crisis that lasted 5-10 years. Food was scarce, so scarce that they developed their own form of beef steak – grapefruit skins!

So why shouldn’t they maximise this period now accepting that when you walk into a bar or restaurant there are a few extras that need to be taken into account like music and toilets, so don’t begrudge a few pesos here and there.

It gets tough looking for a place to stop and have a break without getting pestered by musicians. Whilst the musicians never run out there are days when you try and get the basics like tea and they have run out. Quite often they indicate there is no milk but you can always get a good black coffee.

The biggest mix of people that I could watch are those sitting alfresco in the Hotel Inglaterra sometimes known as Del Louvre. Never thought of Havana as having sex tourism but I guess the oldest profession in the world infiltrates any location. He sixty plus, tall, wearing money, she early twenties wearing little in relation to other passers by. A three piece string and bongos accompany us whilst we sit amongst the chaos around. The organised retired European couple with their rucksacks and high tech walking gear sitting thumbing through the Cuba guide, pages marked with colour coded “post-it” notes whilst young Cuban lovers arm in arm sit just staring into each others eyes spellbound. Other couples sitting sipping Mojitos, starts early here, and amongst all our legs the hotel sweeper mops up disgorged food that never made it the mouths but journeyed to the floor. Eager the musicians get out the begging basket whilst only on their third musical offering – embarrassed scrabbling for a peso and then the worried look of what to put in! Too much and you get your own private serenade. The band plays then moves on.

You realise now that some scenes that we were used to years ago are quite alien now especially when you see queues at telephones and at post offices as very people possess mobile phones apart from those ‘with’ and the tourists. In some cases it looks like they are running their own business from these public phones as they pump them with numbers time after time draining the pre-paid cards that they use. Business over and the next set shuffle forward in the queue, to take their place; amusingly there is even a pair of policemen in the queue, phoning the office no doubt. We take for granted too much in our lives.

The bar in the Inglaterra turns over a couple of tables every few minutes, the musicians change every half hour and those young lovers need to get a room now!

Interestingly the smoking ban that is almost covering Europe doesn’t exist here so this is where all the European smokers are, be it cigarettes, cheroots or cigars there is a permanent haze in most locations. Yet it’s amazing to see so many heavy cigar smokers in all forms of attire including the smart hombre, beige suit and tie standing outside the Romeo and Juliet cigar factory, give him a Panama hat and he could audition for an Orson Welles part. Haven’t spotted Fidel on the travels but have seen many iconic Che Guevara images on walls, buildings, t’shirts and even on ceilings.

As mentioned the afternoon and evening opens up and the place takes on a new feeling. The bars down the Floridita are alive and once you are in get a table, a drink and sit back watching the place fill up with tourists and when the band starts the locals appear. Avoid the Guantanemera bands although it takes a while to spot them; once they are eliminated there are some brilliant bands and great music from real talented people. They do say that everyone in Cuba is either a musician or dancer. Some are both. One of the bands had drums, bongos, guitars, electric cello and a great revolutionary looking singer. Most of the crowd know the songs and sing and dance along whilst the tourists watch applauding politely.

Everywhere people are polite and welcoming and not just because the peso counts; they want you to share and they are proud. Late into the evening the squares come alive and one near the cathedral has a stage set close to the only restaurant with the music made up of maracas and drums and is quite mesmerising; in fact the dancer seems hypnotised as she dances and wails almost pseudo African and black magic. I recollect that these dancers are from one of the James Bond movies where it was heavily reminiscent of sacrifice and voodoo. The throng around the square is enormous with some individuals in their own dance trance now.

Earlier we noticed an aged white European with an ebony coloured young black girl; you can see some locals frown but mention nothing. Reading today that they do this not for money spent on drugs, a pimp or another habit but money to better themselves on clothes etc and a slim chance of a marriage proposal and a flight out of Cuba.

No matter how tough it may have been here in the earlier years of the revolution there is a huge adulation of the regime. The romanticism of Che Guevara, early Fidel and now Raul, they all love them and will not hear a bad word said. Even the harbour control office where we were invited up to demonstrated his loathing of Americans. He did smile wryly when talking about how the British smashed the Spaniards into submission after they captured the fort where the harbour control is based. Jose Fernandez had the harbour under control as demonstrated by the shipping logs; vessels entering waters, ports and departure including origination and final destination. There is no surprise that there is a heavy dominance of vessels from China and none from the United states even though its only 90 miles to Florida. These logs were all written in hand and the logs went back 50 years. In each of the pigeon holes there is a country national flag and surprising there is a United States flag although its covered in deep dust.

The tobacco factory or rather Patagas, oldest cigar factory in Cuba is in downtown central Havana. Its floors divided into specific tasking areas. Wasn’t sure what to expect but working throughout are young and old many female and the tour took its time so that a real imprinted vision was left with us even after the guide books stated that this is rushed and done in less than fifteen minutes. The important rule that is key to a good cigar is the presentation and outer leaf, prepared by sorting and stripping from the central stem, the radio was loud and they sang along and gave the impression that they enjoyed what they were doing whilst also ignoring the tourists. The fastest tobacco rollers, and its all done by hand, are the younger or rather late twenties and bearing in mind that they have to produce 25,000 cigars per day to cope with the global demand; this means a rolling workforce of over 200 meeting their quotas on tough shifts. Taking one leaf they select three to four other leaves bunching them and then once an adequate quantity or size is achieved they roll. There are pressed for fifteen minutes, turned and pressed again for the same period and finally the outer leaf, presentation leaf, is rolled on by other skilled operators. Packing and labelling is completed on the floor below. All these desks and tables have a work force attending where previous generations completed the same process as nothing has changed apart from the density gauge that they use to sample test.

The reader makes appearances reading the newspaper and political articles in the morning and reads from a novel in the afternoon. This afternoon will be Harry Potter in Spanish.

Magically the numbers and size of the cigars fit into the boxes exactly with no space to move. The factory humidor has every brand and size of cigar available to purchase.

In its day this was perceived as a striking example of opulence and technology albeit clever plumbing. Without plagiarising the guide book the hotel was completed in the late fifties just prior to the fall of Batista and was the jewel in the Hilton crown attracting the developing Cuban Mafia, mainly expats from Las Vegas.
The irony was that Castro ran the country in the early days of the revolution from one of the top floors when he still commanded the guerrilla army who in turn moved into the lower floors.
Fortunately the furnishings have been replaced since his rebel army deliberately put their dirty boots all over the new plush furnishings. That is too say that the current ones are a little sad, peach and cream, from the early 80’s and resemble a tired Hollywood set from Dynasty. Sitting here I am just waiting to see Alexi Carrington sweep down the stairs with wider glossy shoulder pads.
The district of Vedado is best described as the ‘not quite’ centre of Havana and has grown from the desire to create a mix of residential and commercial properties during the second quarter of the 20th century. There are large embassies, universities and government buildings all around interspersed with impressive housing (was in 1950 no doubt). Across the skyline you can see the ‘pagoda’ which is the monument at the Revolution square. It looks like a pagoda and was funded by the north Koreans and Russians in the 60’s.

The old town justified as it was, built within the walls and up to the 19thy century was the hub of Havana although superseded by the expansion beyond them. These old walls exist in some parts of the city and there are also old sewers that have been opened up and are visible from the street so that the tourists can see the structures. Gladly they are not in use apart from the odd old tin can but it does help you see the brick work and arches.
The squares and open areas emit the sounds of bars and hotels each with their own band playing that rhythmic Latin and jazz mix which apparently goes down well with a mojito. Off the Playa de San Francisco is a small hotel/hostelry where all the staff are attired with monks course habits and a four piece wind ensemble plays and offers their music on CDs to the punters. The digital download hasn’t arrived yet, there again no one has much internet access.
The city lends itself to cavorting buccaneers, privateers and Orlando Bloom who should be darting around the streets chased by colonial Hispanic military in a swashbuckling movie as all the streets fit the scene.
Once the tourists have passed by and there is a gap within the groups the musicians stop and relax; smoking, reading the paper or just stretching their legs. It just looks such a chore and somehow you feel there is no heart in their music. The hotel of Monks is silent again.

Travelling out to the west of the city into the Buena Vista area where the roads are laid in grids, 50’s style housing/bungalows and a rather odd Russian embassy which in the days of the USSR was a listening/spy centre sit. Its twenty odd floors rising from this suburb, heavily guarded still with walled and wired perimeters you can understand the American panic; after all we are less than ninety miles to the land of dreams. Interspersed amongst the housing styles are large east European tenement blocks, the model straight from the Moscow suburbs – wry smile.

The central part of Havana still has a concentration of houses and habeneros. Some parts are extremely run down with buildings falling apart as you watch. Where they are habituated the owners/occupiers have cobbled together doors and windows to keep the elements out and yet adjacent is major renovation although some of the scaffolding on these sites has taken root with huge swathes of ivy and creepers extending skyward supported by flimsy poles. Those that are having small renovations taking place are supported by old 50’s style trucks either removing rubble or delivering sand and cement. What is clear is that there is no new modern construction from what I can see or have learnt.

The National Hotel is impressive and famous for the fact that in the late 50’s the great crime families from Chicago, New York and Miami met for a conference under the guise of a Frank Sinatra concert. Most of the references direct you to him being one of them. The main lobby has changed little with the original mahogany desks and reception area. The main dining restaurant is laid out for “royalty” and comes as a surprise in Havana but with Mojitos on the verandah facing the ocean as it pounds over the protective wall you are swept back fifty years.

Out to the east of Havana are the club Tropicana hotels, adjacent to the beach and in a complete time warp. No more than 4-5 floors with garish external paintwork in peach/cream or turquoise/aqua they are icons of fifties. Some of the exterior is flaking whilst others have been given a recent paint job – just to thwart the elements of wind, sea and sand of the Atlantic.

What you have to admire is that they work tirelessly to keep these buildings alive and some times unfortunately they succumb to the elements and you are witness to a beautiful colonial house or official building with only the exterior walls as the remainder has either collapsed or been salvaged to maintain another.
At first I couldn’t see the reason why there was a twenty four hour guard on a pile of rubbish but this is to stop the opportunistic “Bob the Builder” from helping himself.

The real gems are the hotels that existed before Batista’s departure and those that have developed from houses with courtyards and shuttered rooms of veranda’s. What ever happens with the future of this country the tragedy would be losing the most wonderful and diverse architecture that epitomises the culture and people.

There is a beautiful Buick with purple exterior and white leather interior parked up by revolution square and although at a distance looks perfect closer inspection reveals that its in need of some TLC. What’s also amazing is that you never see the same car twice as there are just so many of them. Where you see a fully restored 50’s American classic there is easily two hundred odd rust heaps held together with Cuban ingenuity. Some of these cars don’t even sport their original axles/wheels as they are either set forward or back depending on where they have been welded on the chassis. Those set back look like cartoon acceleration where the body is moving faster than the wheels. What you do not see is the equivalent of the beige Morris Marina with a purple door. Here the doors get re-cut from sheet metal and banged into shape, in some cases not quite fitting, but at least they match the cars body colour as its subsequently been re-sprayed. The ostentatious hood furniture is extremely alien but here it seems to work although I haven’t a clue what it represents. I am sure an aficionado of hood furniture exists especially with these iconic 50’s classics.

Take your life into your own hands and get in one of the mustard coloured tennis balls set on three wheels. Slight weight disadvantage on the left but helped going left for the driver, little tougher on hills and attempting right turns. Once was enough but if there is no other alternative then I guess that’s the best for the occasion.

But a ride in a 54 chevvy is a must or rather rust. This one took us from the San Carlos La Cabana back to the hotel. All parts of the car seem to be magically held together and the exterior paint job applied with a wall paper brush; not the highest quality. From the sharp rasp of the engine and the juddering into motion it ticked along at a fair lick. Thunderous echo as we entered the tunnel heading for Malecon. Hill climbs not a speciality and when it came to announcing the cars intention two wires had to be held together for the horn to sound, whilst still steering and changing gear. Needless to say he couldn’t separate them for a few seconds. He was very proud of his fifty five year old car even though he was quick to offer it for sale, “good price”.

These classics will be on the streets still in years to come as long as they continue to tinker and repair and not sell them.

What struck me the most is the complexities of the people and their acceptance of the norm. To them not having a President seems almost to be acceptable but I guess to replace what is considered their great man is quite a task. Considering that he brought around some resemblance of civility.

The hotel I am staying within is the largest 5* in Beirut and is positioned adjacent to the famous Holiday Inn which became target practise during the dispute, or rather their civil war between West and East Beirut.

Whilst this hotel is just on the edge of the downtown area it fronts a view of the marina and out to the Mediterranean sea. However just in front is the memorial to Rafik Hariri who was blown apart in a car bomb in 2002. The exact location has a tribute built on the traffic island with the national anthem playing from weatherproof speakers. A memorial to him stands further back in a constructed area with formal gardens and a bronze effigy of him. Day and night there are two well-dressed men attending to the entrance of this memorial garden. The buildings in the vicinity all remain bombed out and shells of their former self. This is and will remain so as a mark of respect. Although the real estate must be worth something!

The areas of Beirut I have now seen are the route from the airport, which is a well-constructed freeway with over passes and tunnels. None are in disrepair and have been built in the last ten years. The routes rise above the streets and like Shanghai pass through the city at an elevation.

The main Corniche runs from Rauche, a district in the west round the coastline and way past downtown. Not having gone beyond Rauche I know this to be the area hit badly two years ago during the attacks from Israel.

From the hotel towards Rauche the Corniche runs with a wide paved area with high kerbstones to ensure motorists stay firmly on the road. Where there are access points they are blocked by concrete barriers. Those synonymous with roadblocks, Beirut has quite a number set at strategic locations and even the hotel has its own set with car barriers lowering into the road and x ray machines set in the roadway. Each access has its own security guard with modern bomb detection.

The Corniche has been crowded most evenings and was especially busy all day Sunday with its families and multiple single men who were mainly on the rocks fishing or swimming.

The people seem friendly irrespective of their religious persuasion and happy to chat. Although I am often confused for an American, but why not as they were here in their droves at one point.

Language seems not to be an issue with many people speaking English and French. My Arabic has got very ropey and has gone back to basics.

Beirut sits very much on the coast with hills surrounding the main downtown area. These are built upon and the 1.5 million population are predominantly housing themselves in high rise apartments. Those that survived the civil war still have all the marks with filled major holes or many multiple bullet holes. Life goes by for them and these are patched up or interspersed with new builds.