We set off from our home on Aguacate, along Obispo and speedily past the tobacco store, heading for Centro. Just past the Capitolio we spied some rusting old steam locomotives and then headed west along Avenida Bolivar, taking in the astonishing Art Deco buildings which were on the verge of collapse, yet somehow managed to carry on as flats and apartments. Many facades hid cavernous workshops, where maybe, just maybe, sometimes work was to take place. Suddenly the faux gothic white spire of the Jesuit shrine of the Sagrada Corazon swung into view, which inside was resplendent with stained glass, Jugendstil reredos and a massive organ on the tribune. Bearing in mind the geographical associations of Alejo Carpentier, were we now in Cuba or in Paris?
We also stopped at a few small stalls along this wide boulevard specialising in the paraphernalia and souvenirs of Santeria, but somehow we weren’t quite in the mood for voodoo today. There was a wad of Moneda Nacional burning a hole in Simon’s pocket, and so we mingled with the locals (there are no tourists on this strip, nor are there any facilities for them…) by greeting them with the opening gambit “Que bolá?!” which is typical Cuban slang. Result! We started to spend our money on coffee, refrescos and amazingly tasty icecream.
After a left turn and a long hike, our destination suddenly became visible: the Plaza de la Revolucion. We were allowed to proceed right up to the most important seats, and so Jon made himself right at home in Fidel’s marble chair, whilst Simon gave a short speech to everybody in the crowd beneath.
All this hard work caused the famished pair to seek out a tiny restaurant, again working in Moneda Nacional, for a feast of tasty fried fish and black beans. But this was merely a prelude to the succulent, juicy and plump lobsters they devoured back at home that night.
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