DEC 13, TUE: Walk around the VEDADO neighborhood
Woke up to rain and no hot water and brightly painted 1950s US cars (fins 'n all) cruising the street outside and an old man smoking a cigar on the stoop next door (yes, for real). Our abode is opposite the Estadio Latinoamericano, the home stadium of the Industriales baseball team, the Cuban equivalent of the Yankees. The flat is on the ground floor of a tall apartment building painted in blue and white (the colors of the team) with 'Industriales' written in large italics down the facade. Maida came by with breakfast - meat patties with cucumber and tomatoes sandwiched between light white bread, and coffee in a thermos. 'Hamburgesas,' they're called, though they bear only the faintest resemblance to their American cousins; and the coffee was dark and sweet, prepared in a stove-top espresso maker at her flat -- not quite the thimble-full of 'Cuban' deliciousness you can get at trendy establishments in San Francisco or Ann Arbor. She sat with us at the table and fed Alison and talked of her daughter (with the circus in Venezuela) and her various ideas for fixing up the flat.
Walking distance from the Plaza de la Revolucion, we set out on foot in that direction. Vedado turns out to be a neighborhood of grand town-planning statements in what is otherwise a largely residential neighborhood: people waiting on the sidewalk for buses, one or two entrepreneurs selling a scant selection of vegetables (onions, sweet potatoes) out of wheelbarrows, young children in maroon-and-white uniforms on their way to or from school accompanied by their parents, small shops selling shampoo and little else. We stumbled upon the art deco Biblioteca Nacional Jose Marti (closed for renovation) with the names of great thinkers etched on the walls (including Washington), and the Terminal de Omnibus (the main local, rather than tourist, bus terminal) where we stopped to admire a roadside vendor's roasting hunk of marinated pork and bought a couple of delectable 'lechon asado' sandwiches for 5NP (that's 20c US). Across the road much squeaking emanated from a dilapidated concrete Startrek-spaceship-inspired structure, and we discovered the Sala Polivalente Ramon Fonst (the Madison Square Garden of Havana, perhaps?) and youths practicing their lay-ups in one corner.
Finally we completed our loop 'round to the piece-de-resistance of Vedado, the Plaza de la Revolucion itself, reminiscent of a North Korean parade ground, with a 109m tall modern monolith visible from miles around, fronted by an oversized parking lot ringed by a 5-lane highway-boulevard. The monolith is part of a memorial to national hero Jose Marti (1853-1895), and backs an 18m high statue of him in Rodin-Thinker pose. The elevator that goes up the tower to stunning views was, regrettably, out of order, and the museum on the ground floor didn't look compelling. It turns out that though only constructed in the 1950s, the plaza and memorial were designed in the 1920s by Frenchman Jean Claude Forestier and were intended to echo the Place de l'Etoile in Paris with avenues radiating out from the center.
Across the parking lot from Jose Marti are two nondescript squat ten-story 1950s buildings -- one the Ministry of the Interior and the other the Ministry of Informatics and Telecommunications -- interesting only for the eight-story-high wrought-iron 'line-drawings' of the faces of Che Guevara and fellow guerrilla commander Camilo Cienfuegos that adorn each, added respectively in 1995 (based on Alberto 'Kordo' Gutierrez' iconic 1960s photo of Che and made from steel railings donated by the French government) and 2009 (another 100 tons of steel). At night the faces are lit up, so you can still read the "Hasta la Victoria Siempre" ("Always Toward Victory") and "Vas bien, Fidel" ("You're doing fine, Fidel") stencils that accompany each. The square is inhabited by non-tourists only during political rallies, and speeches by Fidel Castro (given every year on May 1st and July 26th), and the odd visit by the Pope (John Paul II visited in 1998, a first after the 1959 Revolution, and Benedict XVI is due to visit in 2012) -- when over a million locals gather here.
Across the parking lot from Jose Marti are two nondescript squat ten-story 1950s buildings -- one the Ministry of the Interior and the other the Ministry of Informatics and Telecommunications -- interesting only for the eight-story-high wrought-iron 'line-drawings' of the faces of Che Guevara and fellow guerrilla commander Camilo Cienfuegos that adorn each, added respectively in 1995 (based on Alberto 'Kordo' Gutierrez' iconic 1960s photo of Che and made from steel railings donated by the French government) and 2009 (another 100 tons of steel). At night the faces are lit up, so you can still read the "Hasta la Victoria Siempre" ("Always Toward Victory") and "Vas bien, Fidel" ("You're doing fine, Fidel") stencils that accompany each. The square is inhabited by non-tourists only during political rallies, and speeches by Fidel Castro (given every year on May 1st and July 26th), and the odd visit by the Pope (John Paul II visited in 1998, a first after the 1959 Revolution, and Benedict XVI is due to visit in 2012) -- when over a million locals gather here.
Crossed a messy boulevard intersection to promenade down Ave. de los Presidentes which leads down to the Malecon (Havana's seaside drive), and is flanked by sheer limestone cliffs and punctuated by a grand circular mausoleum-like platform-with-statues at the 'inland' end (which turned out to be a monument to Jose Miguel Gomez (1858-1921), second president of Cuba (1908-1920)). The street had a pleasant boulevard feel to it, with greenery separating the directions of traffic and two-story classical-style dwellings along either side, and one or two eateries with outdoor plastic seating. Ready for a drink, we happily found at the corner of Calle 23 the refreshingly Cuban-looking Cafe Literario del 'G' with ceiling fans lazily circling, palm shaded alcoves, and dark-wood shutters. Definitely an upscale student hang-out, just around the corner from the Universidad de la Habana, with CUC 2 (approx USD 2) mojitos, a shelf of untouched revolutionary books (qualifying the place as 'literary' no doubt), and a young well-heeled crowd.
Calle 23 (previously known as La Rampa), though perpendicular to Calle G (the new name for Ave. de los Presidentes), also carries on until it hits the Malecon, with the seaside drive forming an arcing hypotenuse between the two. Within sight from several blocks away already was the 27-story tower of the 'most symbolic hotel in Havana' (though by no means the prettiest): the Habana Libre Hotel. Built as a Hilton under Batista and opened in March 1958 by Conrad Hilton himself, the hotel was commandeered by Fidel Castro in January 1959 and became his headquarters for three months. It's a block of concrete, steel and glass, its most memorable external feature being an immense blue-on-white Miro-like mural forming a band across the main facade. Turns out it's actually a mosaic, created by Cuban ceramist Amelia Pelaez (1896-1968), and titled 'Carro de la Revolucion' (the Revolutionary Car) -- a somewhat confusing or potentially misleading title, as it was erected before Castro's 1959 uprising. Across from the Habana Libre is the Yara cinema, purportedly Havana's most famous cinema, but like most of the cinemas we passed, its doors were closed and its marquee still announced the 33rd International Festival of New Latin America Cinema, which was held at various venues around the city from December 1st to 11th.
We successfully located Bim Bom, an ice-cream parlor at the corner of Calle 23 and Calzada de Infanta just before the Malecon (it's always nice to have a destination), and ordered 'one' to try the condensed milk flavor; no single scoop cone here, rather a five-scoop coupe appeared for each of us. Having whet our appetites with dessert, we sought out a 'paladar' for dinner, which is to restaurants what the 'casa particular' is to hotels. Same-same but different, really. Similar in that they are purportedly family-run, operate privately while paying a monthly tax to the government, and were also first licensed in 1995 during Cuba's 'special period' as a way for locals to benefit from tourism. Different in that they are not exactly a bargain -- in our sampling, a meal for two came to between CUC 27 and CUC 57 (which equates to about 10% more in USD). We selected Paladar Los Amigos from the Lonely Planet based on proximity and the comment that it was 'enthusiastically recommended by locals.' Reached by descending a narrow walkway along the side of a house, the setting was camp-cute enough, six or so tables on a patio (or was it an entryway?) closed on three sides, decked out in Christmas lights and fake plants which give it an indoor-outdoor feel. The menu had the standard offerings which we were to see repeated across the country, and the food was indifferent. I had the 'carne asado' (a pleasantly flavorful roast, a little dry), and A the 'Uruguay-style' pork (with ham and cheese, what in America often gets called Milanese); both came with rice and black beans (standard fare), a few slices of cucumber and tomato (what in Cuba largely makes something count as coming 'with vegetables'), and five or so limp green beans (a real treat, in retrospect).
On our way to dinner we walked along a portion of the Malecon, where we had to side-step a fervent sea spraying over the low wall, and stumbled upon the Callejon de Hamel, a treasure of a community art project with mosaic-ed streets and mural-ed walls and inventive embedding of sliced-up bathtubs as seats. Tobias, on neighborhood watch, invited us in for a drink and told us that he'd helped out the artist with construction.
Back at our casa, we heard cheering coming from the stadium; A turned on the television and tuned into the baseball game, for good stereo effect. Unfortunately, the home team Industriales lost miserably that night.
Calle 23 (previously known as La Rampa), though perpendicular to Calle G (the new name for Ave. de los Presidentes), also carries on until it hits the Malecon, with the seaside drive forming an arcing hypotenuse between the two. Within sight from several blocks away already was the 27-story tower of the 'most symbolic hotel in Havana' (though by no means the prettiest): the Habana Libre Hotel. Built as a Hilton under Batista and opened in March 1958 by Conrad Hilton himself, the hotel was commandeered by Fidel Castro in January 1959 and became his headquarters for three months. It's a block of concrete, steel and glass, its most memorable external feature being an immense blue-on-white Miro-like mural forming a band across the main facade. Turns out it's actually a mosaic, created by Cuban ceramist Amelia Pelaez (1896-1968), and titled 'Carro de la Revolucion' (the Revolutionary Car) -- a somewhat confusing or potentially misleading title, as it was erected before Castro's 1959 uprising. Across from the Habana Libre is the Yara cinema, purportedly Havana's most famous cinema, but like most of the cinemas we passed, its doors were closed and its marquee still announced the 33rd International Festival of New Latin America Cinema, which was held at various venues around the city from December 1st to 11th.
We successfully located Bim Bom, an ice-cream parlor at the corner of Calle 23 and Calzada de Infanta just before the Malecon (it's always nice to have a destination), and ordered 'one' to try the condensed milk flavor; no single scoop cone here, rather a five-scoop coupe appeared for each of us. Having whet our appetites with dessert, we sought out a 'paladar' for dinner, which is to restaurants what the 'casa particular' is to hotels. Same-same but different, really. Similar in that they are purportedly family-run, operate privately while paying a monthly tax to the government, and were also first licensed in 1995 during Cuba's 'special period' as a way for locals to benefit from tourism. Different in that they are not exactly a bargain -- in our sampling, a meal for two came to between CUC 27 and CUC 57 (which equates to about 10% more in USD). We selected Paladar Los Amigos from the Lonely Planet based on proximity and the comment that it was 'enthusiastically recommended by locals.' Reached by descending a narrow walkway along the side of a house, the setting was camp-cute enough, six or so tables on a patio (or was it an entryway?) closed on three sides, decked out in Christmas lights and fake plants which give it an indoor-outdoor feel. The menu had the standard offerings which we were to see repeated across the country, and the food was indifferent. I had the 'carne asado' (a pleasantly flavorful roast, a little dry), and A the 'Uruguay-style' pork (with ham and cheese, what in America often gets called Milanese); both came with rice and black beans (standard fare), a few slices of cucumber and tomato (what in Cuba largely makes something count as coming 'with vegetables'), and five or so limp green beans (a real treat, in retrospect).
On our way to dinner we walked along a portion of the Malecon, where we had to side-step a fervent sea spraying over the low wall, and stumbled upon the Callejon de Hamel, a treasure of a community art project with mosaic-ed streets and mural-ed walls and inventive embedding of sliced-up bathtubs as seats. Tobias, on neighborhood watch, invited us in for a drink and told us that he'd helped out the artist with construction.
Back at our casa, we heard cheering coming from the stadium; A turned on the television and tuned into the baseball game, for good stereo effect. Unfortunately, the home team Industriales lost miserably that night.
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