National Geographic Traveller (UK)
Q&A with Rolando Fernández González, barman at El Floridita
Normally about 40 bottles of three-year-old Havana Club. Our most popular drinks are, of course, daiquiris, so we need to use quite a lot of rum.
Well, thanks to Hemingway, there’s a big focus on the daiquiri, but really our mojitos are pretty good, too. Some people just order beers, though.
It depends. At the moment, we don’t get so many Americans, but there are quite a lot of Canadians and some Europeans. We get many Russians, too — it’s easy for them to visit Cuba and they like it in winter when it’s cold in their home country.
I’m not sure. I think a lot of them just want to try to drink like him and people don’t talk so much about the books.
El Floridita is located at the corner of Obispo and Monserrate streets in Old Havana
infamously than Ernest Hemingway.
‘Papa’ not only downed daiquiris in this 200-year-old bar, but loudly endorsed the place — marketing that its management still uses today. Ordinarily packed with tourists looking to have a cocktail in the manner of one of the 20th century’s most famous drinkers, I find only a handful of people inside, although this includes Hemingway himself, cast in bronze, propping up the bar.
With Havana only just reopening, its ordinarily booming music scene is working on word-of-mouth recommendations. I feel very lucky, then, to hear about a Haydée Milanés concert at the Eclectico restaurant to the west of the city centre. The daughter of the celebrated Cuban singer-songwriter Pablo Milanés, Haydée is an established artist in her own right who’d be capable of pulling in a good crowd on any night. But, under the circumstances — almost two years with no live music — her intimate, open-air set seems to take on extra meaning. She seems to sing as if it’s significant, too. The wonderful sound of her voice is captured and amplified by a decorative parasol, while her neck strains towards the most sublime notes.
By the time Saturday comes, Havana is almost back in full swing. On Plaza Vieja, the madly popular Cerveceria lifts the shutters and is instantly busy. Dozens of tables spill out onto the old square, a three-piece band performing for tips in between them. While this ragtag group work the tables, I order a cab to head out to one of Havana’s iconic venues, the undying Tropicana Club.
The Second World War had just begun in Europe as this venue was opening its grand doors in a private estate in the Marianao neighbourhood. Then, as now, its al fresco stage hosted an unabashedly glamorous cabaret night under palm trees. It’s particularly satisfying that in Tropicana the drinks really are free — a half bottle of complimentary rum, depending on the ticket you’ve booked — and, for the time you’re inside at least, it feels as if there’s enough for everyone.
I’m seated right next to the stage in intimidating proximity to the dancers. Everyone in the place is transfixed by the performers. Their legs kick high, their hips turn to liquid. Sequins shimmer in the night sky like an aurora. Smiles are tacked taut like guy ropes. The drums are infectious, the clapping relentless. The problems beyond the club’s walls haven’t gone away, but for now, they’re just noise.
Wheels of time // There are thought to be as many as 60,000 vintage cars on the streets of Havana. As well as the famous US brands, expect to see Soviet and Chinese marques