Havana

HAVANA

Walking through Havana for me was like time travelling. Actually, more like place travelling as not to brag but it constantly reminded me of so many other places that I have been. Walking down the grand Prado boulevard reminded me of strolling up Barcelona. Having lunch in a square reminded me of Florence. Rounded corner buildings with ornate wrought-iron railings reminded me of New Orleans. Creamsicle orange facades and Key Lime walls reminded me of Key West. The view from the walled El Morro fortress reminded me of San Juan and the choking petrol fumes took me bact to Kuta Beach, Indonesia. The chunky Russian concrete beach hotels of Varadero paired well with austere and grey architecture of Revolution Plaza in Havana and felt oddly Soviet; I'm now in Latvia. Another plaza with an ancient looking domed building took me to Rome and grand Greek steps with their classic ionic columns moved me to not to Greece but to Washington DC. The Mob created icon, the Hotel Nacional was soulless with it's cold heart and felt like it could be the hotel in The Shining. Or maybe it was the weather? A stormy and chilly early morning walking along the wave-crashing Malecon seawall seemed more like Scotland. Aggressive street vendors selling counterfeit cigars and bartering with street vendors over trinkets reminded me again of Indonesia. On an Art Deco tour of the city, some of the buildings were straight out of New York City. Only King Kong was missing hanging from the top clutching Fay Wray in his mitt.

If depressing paintings are your thing then Cuba's national museum, the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, won't disappoint. It's lined with loads of dark paintings of dreary people throughout the ages. There are some stunning works that you won't see anywhere else and the modern pop art section is a refreshing change from the usual Americana influences; Replace the colourful Marilyn's with trippy Ché's.

Havana is the perfect storm. There is no place on earth quite like it and there never will be again. Go now as it is already changing. The Hemmingway bars now are all cruise-ship tourist traps in the worst possible way. It will only be a matter of time before this cancer spreads to the rest of this Caribbean gem. On lanes where the pale pear-shaped tourists fear to tread, there are dozens and dozens of lively side streets, all with too many stories to tell, filled with dog shit and busy locals living their lives in the open amidst the fading crumbled beauty that is Havana.