Havana Nights

Location:
Cuba, Havana

Havana, 60 year old bartenders, cocktails

By Oliver Atkins

A gentle breeze smelling of the sea blows in through the open window of Café Paris, a short stroll from the old port in Havana Vieja. Outside, crickets sing of dusk and warm summer evenings. Taking a sip of my daiquiri I exchange a wry grin with the bartender as the nightly trade begins to pick up. Like most islands in the Caribbean Cuba relies heavily on tourism, yet despite the immediate charm and friendliness of the people, there is a distance to be felt, a strange mix of uncertainty and suspicion hidden behind the brilliant smiles and shinning eyes.

To me, Cuba has always been something of an enigma. Tucked away in the shark and barracuda-filled waters of the Caribbean, behind a veil of revolutionary propaganda and U.S trade embargoes, this former backwater of the Cold War still provides the modern traveller with the chance to discover one of the last true cultural frontiers.

Never one for the tourist haunts I leave the seductive cool of Havana Vieja behind me and venture into the backstreets of Havana Central. Here the poverty and neglect is far more evident, yet despite the contrast there is an abundance of charm and electricity.

Having spent many years behind a bar; mixing cocktails for the well-to-do of both London and Sydney, I like to think of myself as somewhat of an aficionado when it comes to cocktails and bars. Which is precisely what drives me this evening in my search for that hidden gem, the diamond in the rough that will unlock the mystery behind the Cuban’s eyes.

At first glance there is little to suggest it is a bar at all. The rolled up shutters give it the appearance of a mechanic’s workshop, and were it not for the faded wooden bar top and the few posters advertising Cristal beer – La preferida de Cuba – I probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all. The place is empty, save for two aging bartenders smoking cigarettes and gazing into the dusty street.

I stifle a grin and walk up to the bar. I guess the man in the red waistcoat is around sixty. Short-cropped hair the colour of ash frames a dark, lined face and two twinkling eyes that hide nothing. He breaks into a broad smile and asks me what I would like to drink. Before long the conversation is flowing, along with the booze, and it is to their immense satisfaction that I’m not just another tourist but a fellow bartender, or was. It was at this point that Luis – the chap with the red waistcoat - began spinning me a tale of when he was a youngster working in a bar where the Ron Collins was invented. Considering that its predecessor – the Tom Collins – dates back to the 1800’s I didn’t have the heart to doubt him. With the story of course came the drink. He poured a thick, pale-green liquid into a highball glass – which he later told me was a mix of limejuice and sugar – and then a large measure of rum and some soda water. Stirring this all together he added ice and a lime wheel for garnish. The drink was delicious and I told him so.

It was about time to bid them a fond farewell and push off, when suddenly they were both struck by the idea of introducing me to the women who lived upstairs. “Yes. Rosa!” They both exclaimed, somewhat hysterically. “If there is any woman to show you a good time in Cuba it’s Rosa”. At this point I started to fumble madly for some coins to pay the bill and get the hell out. To my horror, Luis, who must have had a few stiff rums before I arrived, started yelling up at the ceiling: “Rosa. Rosa” From somewhere above came a woman’s voice, heavy footsteps and then the sound of a door being flung open. Cursing under my breath I threw some coins onto the bar top, gave them a hoarse adios and slipped into the dusk, just in time to see a pair of large, bare legs thumping down the stairs.

And perhaps there in lies the answer. If you are able to put aside any preconceived assumptions and prejudices, forget your inhibitions, and offer yourself naked and free, then a country and its people will open up to you, come out from behind the veil and allow you the chance to discover the very intimacies that make travelling so rewarding. Just remember to keep your wits about you, otherwise you may find yourself in for a bit more than you bargained.