‘Havana was almost too intoxicating’

Obispo, which is alive with bars and restaurants. We’d been warned before stepping out that we might get the hard sell from some of the restaurateurs, but being asked to try their food was as far as it went, and the people attempting to entice us were always polite and engaging.

We opted for a place on the main street up two flights of stairs and found ourselves eating on a balcony in a family’s home, while the man of the house cooked for us. In one corner were two other tables; in the other a three-piece band played traditional music. The others had chicken and rice and vegetables, I had my usual fish and pineapple skewers. The bill came to about £7 per person, including mojitos.

And then Havana took us over: we booked a drive in a 1957 pink-and-white open-top Chevrolet; we gawped at Revolution Square, where Castro used to address the crowds; and then we ventured to Club Tropicana, the open-air cabaret that lures virtually every tourist. Forget what Wham! told you: at Club Tropicana the drinks are not free, but they are included in the price of admission. (A half bottle of Havana Club rum, to be precise, along with a cola mixer, a handful of peanuts and a cigar.) We started to giggle from the moment the music started and we were beside ourselves by the finale, when sequinned, bikini-clad dancing girls arrived, balancing what looked like enormous chandeliers on their heads. It was hard to work out what was most fascinating: the slightly awkward dancers or the bemused audience members from around the globe, all wondering what on earth they were doing there.

In Havana I felt as if I was walking through my own holiday history, too. At moments I was picking through my memories of Italy and then I’d turn a corner and I was evoking stays in Barbados, or the USA, or Spain and Africa. A huge array of influences have blended together to form this unique and exhilarating place – and the constant soundtrack of Cuban rhythms makes a stay here feel almost dreamlike.

Of course, we didn’t want to leave: five days was just enough to scratch the surface. But Varadero beckoned: 17 miles (27km) of white, sandy

HAVANA DRIVEGaby Roslin, below, and her family rode in a classic car, right