Havana - Footprint

Fidel’s island fortress is a mind-blowing place. It's like travelling in a malfunctioning time machine where centuries merge and cultures and ideologies mingle. 1950s American cars lumber alongside horsedrawn carriages, swiftly overtaken by bright yellow egg shells on wheels. Sleek, art deco towers flank whimsical colonial mansions, tourists splurge on US$6 cocktails in palatial hotels, while habaneros gossip in the ration shop queues. American culture is all but outlawed, yet one of Cuba’s most lucrative exports is an American literary suicide.
Havana has been a pleasure zone since the 1920s when US neocolonialism injected its own brand of indulgence. A not so holy alliance of gambling, rum and sensuality lured America's thirsty exiles from the Prohibition years. Movie stars and mobsters came to unleash their fantasies and angst-ridden literati pitched up at bars to muse and booze. The cocktail industry boomed with the influx of flashy bartenders, suddenly on the dole Stateside. Rum wizardry culminated in the mojito, adored by Hemingway, now the signature tourist tipple.