iLifeStyl
Our living room at the El Paseo Penthouse in Vedado, our home for the 9 days we were in Cuba. Check it out here
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Even though our trip to Cuba from Ft. Lauderdale was on a modern Airbus A320, our descent into the airport outside of Havana felt like we made the trip on a single prop bushwacker. The surprising flat landscape of this area of Cuba was a patchwork of small farms speeding by until the tires of the jet chirped on the runway.
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Everyone exited the plane, orderly and mellow, various immigrant paperwork clutched in our hands, humid air engulfing us. The scrutiny of the customs agent was expected, and what little apprehension existed for me left as we walked through baggage claim to ourselves be claimed by our driver Carlos, in a black and cream ‘53 Chevy Belair surrounded by the aroma of diesel exhaust. In fact, the aroma of diesel exhaust was everywhere as soon as we stepped outside the airport. And we found that the aroma of diesel exhaust would follow us everywhere through the day.
Cuba Day 1: Saturday November 17, 2018
Carlos deposited us at the pink coral and pale purple building on Avenida Paseo, a boulevard split by a lush linear park heading straight to the Caribbean Sea a few blocks away and lined with the slow decay of majestic residences, that would be our home and launchpad of exploration for the next 9 days. The Plaza de la Revolución was a few blocks up the boulevard. This area of Havana is called Vedado, and was home to the mansions and embassies that housed the corrupt democratic aristocracy of the American puppet Batista government of pre-revolutionary Cuba.
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Carlos led us up 4 flights of spiral travertine stairs and through a brass gate to a landing where we entered this penthouse dwelling - shutters thrown open to the sea allowing the breeze to pass unencumbered through the rooms, fresh flowers held by monster vases, the lazy spin of ceiling fans - and were handed over to our host Antonio, and our housekeeper/cook Gigi who almost immediately started to make a pot of Cuban coffee and made sure we picked a time for breakfast.
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We were transported to 1930s Havana.
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Conscious of our dropped jaws, we closed them and regained our composure, moving past the initial reaction of time travel.
Brian in Carlos's '53 Chevy Belair on our 30 minute ride to Vedado from Jose Marti airport outside of Havana.
The covered alcove at El Paseo Penthouse. Breakfast in the tree tops is served here every morning, and it's a great place to finish that book you always wanted to as the hummingbirds fight at the feeder.
Our good friend Barbara soaking in first impressions
Our host Antonio is from Madrid, and emigrated to Cuba after marrying his Cuban husband Pepe. A tour of the residence was a mixture of practical knowledge of Havana and the surrounding area, history lesson, and his recommendations for food and exchanging money. We ended the tour on the private rooftop balcony, with a view over the Havana rooftops towards the Caribbean, accessible by a narrow metal spiral staircase perched at the edge of the building, complete with an outside shower.
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With our newfound knowledge of the neighborhood, we set out on foot in search of pre-dinner cocktails. Quickly, we find that this part of Havana doesn’t believe in street signs, so we count the blocks on the map Antonio scribbled on, and found ourself at the doorstep of a high-rise old-time mafia hotel across the street from the sea wall called the Hotel Riviera. Of course we had no problem finding the bar, small but functional, and preceded to figure out how to place an order from the non-English speaking handsome bartender. Us being non-Spanish speaking, come to find out he speaks fluent Italian, which one of us does. So here we are, sitting in an old-time frozen in time mafia hotel bar, breakers spraying sea foam on the windows, talking Italian about Cuba with the handsome bartender, stunningly beautiful Cuban women playing violin in the lobby behind us accompanied by cheesy Latin music videos on the tv above the bar, with pretty much every corner of the globe represented sitting in tables around us.
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Surreal... and essentially Cuban.
We then headed up the boulevard to Decamerón for dinner. Tucked away on a side street and hidden behind a limestone wall and tropical vegetation, but opening up to an inviting patio and interior straight from medieval Europe... but with clocks. Clocks everywhere. Old wooden clocks that have those weights dangling on chains with shimmering metal faces, and all supernaturally set at the same time. All except one. Nothing is perfect in life I guess, but this was close to it. The pescado de la dia was swordfish. Yes please. And the wine flowed freely. As did the conversation with ourselves, and the young congenial waiter - more friendly Cuban hospitality.
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The night ended with a leisurely stroll the short distance back to our flat along crumbling sidewalks and much needed sleep from the long day of travel. Going in the opposite direction where young Cubans heading toward one of the jazz clubs near the hotel along the breakwater, wearing their costumes for the night, while older folk relaxed on benches watching the parade pass by.
Dinner at Decamerón was a pleasant surprise just down the block from where we were staying for our first night in Cuba.
