Havana is a city that I imagine you know well – even if you have never been there to witness its rustic metropolitanism. The Cuban capital lives up to its stereotype. It is a beautifully dilapidated colonial city decorated in shades of pastel pinks and creams, splashed with lime and maroon. Beneath a beaming Caribbean sun, the constant soundtrack comprises the rumble of 1955 Chevrolets and rumba blasting joyfully from ever-open windows.
I first arrived in the Caribbean’s largest city in January 1989 to research the first independent guidebook to Cuba.
