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Close
your eyes for a moment and imagine you are there. Waves crashing
against a mildewed sea wall; a young couple cavorting in a dark,
dilapidated alley; guitars and voices harmonizing over a syncopated drum
rhythm; sunlight slanting across rotten peeling paintwork; a handsome
youth in a guayabera shirt leaning against a Lada; the smell of
diesel fumes and cheap after-shave; tourists with Hemingway beards; Che
Guevara on a billboard, a banknote, a key-ring, a t-shirt… 
No
one could have invented Havana. It’s too audacious, too contradictory,
and – despite 50 years of withering neglect – too damned beautiful.
How it does it, is anyone’s guess. Maybe it’s the swashbuckling
history, the survivalist spirit, or the indefatigable salsa energy that
ricochets off walls and emanates most emphatically from the people.
Don’t come here looking for answers. Just arrive with an open mind and
prepare yourself for a long, slow seduction.
Show in Lonely planet
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