Hemingway

Cuba isn't short of heroes but most of them are revolutionary in nature and to be honest not much fun at a party. So it's not surprising that they adopted Hemingway; adrenaline junky, bon vivant, bull fighter, marlin murderer, war correspondent and all round piss artist.

Delving into the spirit of things we booked a government tour to Hemingway's last residence. The story we were told was that, after the 1959 Revolution he was told by the US government that, if he didn't return home in 1961, he would lose his citizenship (probably didn't like the fact that he was good mates with Fidel). As he shot himself soon after, the Cuban government decided to freeze all his assets (rather than nationalise them) and turn his house into a museum. It is surprisingly well maintained. You can walk around the estate and look in all the windows to see his desks and typewriters and bullfighting posters and portraits and bookcases and bottles of booze in all the rooms supposedly exactly as he left them.

Next we were taken to the small harbour, Cojimar, west of Havana, where he kept his fishing boat, the Pilar, and drank copious amounts of rum with his first mate who was reportedly the old man Hemingway based the protagonist of his Pulitzer an Nobel Prize-winning novel The Old Man and the Sea. (Incidentally, I read that before coming out and think that Frank (Dune) Herbert was robbed.) Of course, to celebrate the fact our guide declared it cocktail o'clock and we drank to Ernest under numerous pictures of him wrestling with marlin and shaking hands with Fidel. It was a tiny pub but they managed to fit in a band as well.

In fact, this tradition was repeated many times on our tour of Havana. The best part of the city is the oldest part, Havana Vieja, which is the block of streets between

Capitolio Nacional in the centre and the harbour to the west where the cruise ships arrive. Arriving from one of the two seemingly perpetually-used cruise ship berths you will see Plaza de San Fransisco straight ahead. Turn right (i.e. north) for 100m or so and you arrive at Plaza de Armas, a key place in the old city consisting of a garden square surrounded by second hand book sellers. There seemed to me to be a lot of duplication; each government approved seller apparently selling the same ancient copy of the lives and triumphs of popular revolutionaries. But there are bars (and mariachi bands) aplenty selling cool mojitos or pina coladas for a fiver. If you avoid all the women in fancy dress demanding money for pictures at the top of the plaza you turn right (north again)you will find Plaza de la Cathedral: great if you are into Cathedral architecture, better if you spot a small but energetic collection of bars just off to the left hand side. 

What's really good about Plaza de Armes is the narrow pedestrian street running eastwards all the way to the Central Plaza. This is Obispo Street, one that has all the life and energy. You start at the famous Hotel Ambos Munroe where it is always cocktail o'clock because, guess what, Ernest Hemingway drank there a lot (or drank a lot there) and supposedly wrote a few things as well. Continuing up Obispo there are  a plethora of old previously-owned American institutions now turned into museums for the revolution. We passed a lively-looking bar called the Cafe Paris where someone was strangling a saxophone (if we were on our own we would have popped in but we were part of a 27-strong Saga conga chain and to stop would have resulted in much confusion). At the top of the road next to small line of American flash cars was another famous bar called the El Floridita where, guess what, a chap called Hemingway had the occasional drink . . . 

Just think, if Oliver Read had taken time to write a few books and move to an exotic country he would be famous too and the English could bask in all the reflected glory.