Last night in Havana, Cuba, Challenge Completed!

As the streets begin to cool, nocturnal Havana wakes from its slumber, and at around 8 pm, I step out into the warm night. The young, the old, and the middle-aged are all out, promenading along the palm tree-lined boulevards. Latin beats, car horns, laughter and conversation bubble around me. 

First is dinner. I arrive at a Paladar, one of the many small, family-owned and privately run restaurants the Cuban government tolerates. The food here is authentic, traditional, and really, really good. My friends are at the table, and they wave me over. Cheeks are kissed, and I sit down to dinner already laid out. Tostones, or sweet, golden deep-fried plantains, Moros y Cristianos, a rich dark-chocolate coloured stew of black beans, spiced with thyme and cumin, served with piles of fluffy white rice, empanadas, soft, flaky pastries, stuffed with vibrant fillings, and croquettas, crispy and golden, filled with a silky, savoury bechamel. Cubans take dinner long and slow, and we’ve been laughing, chatting, eating and drinking for almost two hours before dessert is served. Warm arroz con leche, an indulgent rice pudding flavoured with vanilla and dusted with cinnamon, and flan, a beautifully creamy custard pudding, topped with buttery caramel sauce. After that, small cups of strong Cuban coffee, sweetened with a frothy syrup called espuma, made by rapidly mixing espresso with sugar. Coffee taken and we’re off. Vamos!

We head for Jardines del 1830, a lush tropical garden with a grand old mansion set in the middle. This storied venue is a popular spot for locals and tourists alike to dance salsa, but first, we stop at the bar and grab a mojito. The minty, citrusy, bubbly coldness helps fight the still, hot air of the night, and puts some fire in my feet. Just enough to join the veteran salseros and salseras twirling around on the dancefloor.

The band picks up another tune, the rhythm goes quick, then slow, quick then slow. The drums tap out a complex, syncopated beat, the piano riffs along, bridging melody and groove, and the horns burst riotously out of the composition. It’s absolutely infectious and I get lost in music and movement as my partner and I step, twirl and copa across the dancefloor.

As the band begins to pack up, I look at the great clock in the grand garden and see it’s past 2 am. I’m about ready to call it, but here in Havana, the night is still young. We pile into one of the gleaming chrome Chevys that act as taxis and head for the El Chevere nightclub for something more modern.

Boom-ch-boom-chick, boom-ch-boom-chick, you feel it in your chest before you hear it. We pull up to a reggaeton party, one of the favourite genres of Cuba’s youth, which combines punchy, repetitive beats with Spanish lyrics, rapped and sung. The genre is an expression of the American continent, borrowing from Jamaican dancehall, New York hip-hop, and, especially here in Cuba, salsa and rumba. The dancefloor is packed, electric and very, very sweaty. Unlike the formalised, rule-bound steps of the salsa, this is freestyle dancing, everyone cutting their own figure, expressing their personality, but also coming together as a collective, experiencing the wild shared joy of a good night out.

The tropical sun is just peeking over the horizon as we pile out of the club. We head downtown to share a final hour on the seafront promenade, El Malecon. Here, we feel the soft morning breeze on our skin as the first few lights switch on in the apartment blocks. We watch the waves lapping the shore, and the first few people making their way to work, and I can’t help but feel a deep sense of companionship and admiration for this beautiful and diverse place and its people. Who, despite (or perhaps because of) a long and difficult history, know how to smile and dance. How to enjoy life’s small pleasures, and how to welcome strangers from far-off lands into their joyous, rhythmic way of life.