Cuba is like no other place I have visited before, an enigmatic land of contradictions, fascinations, and the occasional frustration. Like almost everyone I spoke to, I wanted to see the country that has been stuck in time since its 1959 revolution “before it changed” and “before the Americans arrived”. But the truth of the matter is that the relaxation of the US trade embargo is only one element at play here, and change is already well underway.

The change seen in Cuba today is being driven by Raul Castro, younger brother of Fidel and successor to the presidency. Introducing laws allowing private enterprise, a right most of us take for granted, is having a massive impact on the cuban economy and way of life. Before this everything was state run, and everybody worked for a state salary (circa $25 per month). That is not to say that there is now complete freedom, everything in Cuba is tightly regulated and monitored, none the less this is an important step towards greater liberties for the Cuban people.

After a night stopover in Cancun, Mexico, and brief 55 minute flight I was in Havana, but it would be another 5 hours until I finally made it to my hostel!! We weren’t even off the plane and I was waiting in my first of many Cuban queues – it took 45 minutes of waiting on the runway, before there was a spot available at the terminal. Once inside it took another three hours to get through immigration, collect baggage and change some money. It was nightfall by the time I wearily jumped in the back of a beaten up old Lada for the drive into Havana.

After getting settled in at the hostel a group of us headed out to a place around the corner for a delicious dinner of grilled chicken with the quintessential Cuban sides or rice and beans, fried plantain chips and “salad” consisting only of slices cucumber and tomato. Contrary to my plans for an early night after a long day of travelling I ended joining in for a night out at one of Havana’s hottest nightclubs. First though we all piled into a 1950’s colectivo (local shared taxi) for the drive across town. Our destination – Fábrica de Arte Cubano– was part nightclub, part modern art gallery and part live mucic venue housed in an old industrial building. Inside, with a mojito in hand we explored the sprawling labyrinth, taking in some surprisingly good art, before heading down to the concert hall where one of Cuba’s top musicians (who’s name I cannot remember) was performing until the wee hours of the morning.

My first couple of days in Havana lacked any real plan, and was really just a time to wander around and get a feel for the city – and what a city to explore by foot. My hostel was based in the hear of Habana Centro a substantial sized grid of narrow streets lined with towering terraced dwellings. Apart from the main avenues the streets were mainly devoid of cars, and the daily life of Havana’s inhabitants spilled out onto the street. There was a great sense of openness and community, friends clustered, chatting on doorsteps, kids played in the street and housewives hanging laundry from their second and third storey balconies gossiped with each other from across the street.

The juxtaposition between the exuberant attitude of the people and the dilapidated buildings they occupied was profound. It certainly seemed that maintainance had all but ceased, since the 1959 revolution and the once grandiose colonial structures were slowly crumbling away. The predominant colour was the grey of raw concrete, usually accented with hints of moss, mildew and peeling paint deviod of any real colour. Occasionally bright splashed of colour and street art arrested your attention, livening up the built environment, but nothing compared with the people. The combination of a lively demeanour and brightly coloured wardrobe (including fluorescent coloured lycra pants worn by almost all of the women) certainly kept things interesting!

The festivities of New Years Eve and Día de la Liberation – celebrating Castro’s 1959 victory – really made the streets come alive with a city wide fiesta! The celebrations were mainly a family or neighbourhood affair, with the rhythms of cuban music filling the street along with the delicious scent of spit roasted pork and joyous cries of “feliz año nuevo” from men sitting on their door step already well into their second bottle of Havana Club.

Our new years eve started at Ronaldos another hostel just down the street with a great rooftop bar, and eventually migrated to the malecon (waterfront promenade) where we saw in the new year with copious amounts of rum a couple of cigars and the sound of cannons firing from the Spanish colonial fort across the harbour, and then danced the night away in a local regaton club where I’m pretty sure we were the only foreigners!

Next up… Viñales