Havana was a blast. I have never seen a place so steeped in music. I was staying in Old Havana down by the Malecon, in the Hotel Lincoln, a basic funky place where the frequent hilarious episodes included occasional breakfasts, an interesting bar and a dead rat. Rumbavana play there on the roof terrace on the weekends. Old Havana reminded me of some long-forgotten war zone, a place bypassed by time.
People collect water from tankers parked on street corners.
The hotel had its water delivered by tanker at night. Old Havana itself is very run down now, but the soul of the place shouts out from the faded paint and crumbling brick work. If Old Havana is the heart of the place, the burbs are the arteries, where faded old mansions in multiple occupation jumble with standard box-like Caribbean concrete and color, quite nice and very pretty. I dumped my bag at the hotel and hit an open-air event at Casa de la Cultura, a big open space with a stage where the Havana Jazz Festival is held. AfroCuba is playing here tonight.