Читать книгу 100 Places in Cuba Every Woman Should Go - Conner Gorry - Страница 24

THERE’S 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.