Dancing to a different beat

Music is a religion in Havana. Gavin McOwan finds himself a willing convert
Hotel Sevilla, Havana
A pad in Havana ... the timeless Hotel Sevilla.

Energy is pouring out of the house. Around 20 worshippers dressed in white, some in a trance, are dancing and chanting a call and response mantra to the frantic tempo of three drummers. Leading the proceedings is a young man dressed in African-style blue and gold robes. Like a whirling dervish he spins round and round until the room cannot contain him and he spirals out into the street. Possessed by the orishas - the gods - he hugs some of the flock who have been peering through the window. On spotting me - "Hah! Gringo!" - I receive a warm, sweaty embrace, much to the amusement of the locals. And then he runs back in.

This is santaría, the Afro-Cuban religion bought here by Nigerian slaves, and the most widely practised faith on the island. And like so many things in Cuba music is at its core.

Before the whirling babalao, the "priest", pointed me out I'd already been clocked as an outsider by a group of teenage girls. I caught them peeping at my right foot, which was tapping along spontaneously to the beat - and reduced them to a fit giggles. As I looked around at everyone else, I saw why. Cubans don't shuffle their feet mechanically to music, their whole bodies sway sensually with it, every muscle in harmony, even when they're not dancing.

Music is the second religion in Cuba and in the capital it's laid on thick for the tourists; from the spectacularly tacky Tropicana - one of the world's largest and most famous cabaret shows - to the quartets of old boys strumming beautiful Buena Vista classics and Guantanamera in every bar and restaurant of Old Havana. This soundtrack will accompany you on any tour of Old Havana, which has the finest examples of colonial architecture in the Americas and some very elegant hotels (see box right). You could wander around for a week and still not see everything, but after hearing Guantanamera once too often (I counted nine renditions in two days) it was time to see, and hear, the rest of the city.

Fortunately, I had the perfect guide in Victor Marin, a renowned local architect. He is passionate and knowledgeable about his home town and his enthusiasm is infectious. When he takes me on a tour of Vedado and Miramar, Havana's famous western suburbs, he stops the car whenever we see one of his favourite buildings. An exotic mix of neoclassical, art deco, Spanish villas and Italian-style mansions - some are restored, many more are creaking or about to collapse. Pulling over at the Hotel Riviera, built by the American mafia in the 1950s, I ask Victor if the famous casino is still open. He looks at me as if I'm dumb: "Of course not, we are a socialist country."

It's obvious why Unesco chose the city as its Latin American headquarters. There is hardly an ugly building in Havana; even those neglected for decades have style and grace - plants creeping out of the crumbling pastel walls, laundry draped over the ornate rusting balconies. And thanks to the American embargo, Cuba has never had the money to throw up ugly, modern tower blocks. To see ugly you need to go to Alamar, east Havana where dour Soviet-designed monoliths were built in the 60s.

I glimpsed these briefly when I was on the road to Playa del Este, a five-mile stretch of golden sand on the turquoise Caribbean. With a beach like this only 20 minutes' drive from Havana, I wondered why it hasn't been exploited for tourism. Soon, perhaps, it will be, but for the moment it is used mostly by Habanos at the weekend. They come to escape the heat of the city and, of course, listen to music, which is blaring from every cabana. As I sat down to tuck into freshly caught red snapper, sure enough, an eight-piece salsa band (double bass and all) pitched up two feet behind me . . . but they sounded so damn good it made a good meal into one to remember, which is something to treasure in Havana.

According to the Cubans, the three greatest successes of the Revolution are health, education and sport. The three greatest failures are breakfast, lunch and dinner. There are many charming restaurants in Havana, but there is a chasm between the fine surroundings and what comes out of the kitchen.

The best places to eat are paladares, privately run businesses where paying diners eat good fresh food in family homes. The most famous and still one of the best is La Guarida. Stepping from the dimly-lit back street into the old crumbling courtyard then up three flights of marble stairs sets the scene for the atmospheric restaurant, but the quality of the nouvellish Cuban cuisine is still a delicious surprise: tuna tartar with radishes is tasty, the seared grouper melted in the mouth, cooked to perfection. What's more, the service is excellent.

On my last night in Havana I get a glimpse of new Cuban music and, perhaps, the country's future. At the legendary Salón Rosado, once the place to hear salsa, a few hundred youths dressed in baggy jeans, baseball caps and American basketball vests have gathered to hear hip-hoppers Los Aldeanos. Rap music has taken off in Cuba, and while they haven't imported the bling! factor from the US, it is just as angry - and these guys have a lot to be angry about. Los Aldeanos have a heavy urban sound and hard-hitting lyrics. They're rapping about racism, social injustice, housing, unemployment, corruption - there's no holding back. But they don't say the F-word.

Despite his omnipresence in all aspects of life, Fidel's name is rarely heard. There is much talk of change in Cuba right now, indeed much need of change. But there's also so much to lose. Whatever you think of Castro, under his rule Cuba has never been more genuinely Cuban. From the day Columbus stepped ashore in 1492 until the revolutionaries marched into Havana in 1959, Cuba was a colony, first of Madrid and then, only slightly less flagrantly, of Washington.

It may be poor, but I've never been anywhere as culturally rich as Havana, and can't help feeling that part of the reason is its refusal to embrace the corporate monster. Come the end of the Revolution and the Miami Cubans pile back from Little Havana, shopping malls and McDonalds in their wake, you fear they'll turn this wonderful and unique city into Little Miami. And that doesn't bear thinking about.

Landmark living

Hotels aren't merely places to stay in Havana, they're landmarks that tell as much of the city's history as its colonial cathedrals and forts. The glorious Nacional, declared a national monument in 1998, has a guestlist as impressive as any hotel in the world and a glamorous aura to match; the kitsch-cool 1950s Habana Riviera built by Mafioso Meyer Lansky is where Sinatra entertained his mob friends; the towering Hilton (now the Habana Libre) was open for business less than a year before Ché and Fidel marched into town and commandeered a whole floor to oversee the Revolution. Hemingway lived in room 511 of the Ambos Mundos for much of the 1930s and Graham Greene set Our Man In Havana in the Hotel Sevilla. (Al Capone did the commandeering here, taking up an entire floor for himself and his bodyguards.)

The Sevilla reopened last year after an extensive refurb that restored its early-20th century charm. It's Moorish-style marble and vivid ceramic tiles are gorgeously ornate, the rooms are bright and airy and the Roof Garden restaurant and cocktail bar, with great views of the city, has a magical air. There's also a large pool where you can escape the heat - a rarity in central Havana.

Any city would have trouble building new hotels to match these old masters; yet hard-up Havana has risen to the task with aplomb over the last decade, thanks to the government-run Habaguanex company. So far, it has meticulously restored or converted 16 dilapidated buildings into stunning hotels in Old Havana, simultaneously saving some fine buildings and helping regenerate the city's colonial core. The hard currency it earns goes into further regeneration - social and cultural programmes as well as hotels and the 50-odd bars and restaurants also run by Habaguanex.

I stayed in the Hotel del Tejadillo, an 18th-century house and now intimate 32-room hostal. The gentle salsa from the house band in the friendly bar wafts through the two open courtyards and into the rooms, where the light decor is in keeping with the white marble floors and high ceilings - which also keep the rooms cool.

Habagunex's other projects include the Hotel Florida - another colonial building, in the bustling heart of old Havana with an amazing entrance and courtyard - and the chain's latest hotel, the Raquel , of which it is justifiably proud. Here light rains through a stained-glass roof into an art nouveau lobby, creating a wonderful romantic ambiance.

Despite the polish, there was still the odd comedy-communist moment to remind us of Cuba's shortcomings: the wardrobe rail in our room collapsed in the middle of the night and one palatial restaurant we ate in was so under-patronised and overstaffed that waiters outnumbered diners by eight to one. In general, the food in government-run hotels and restaurants still has a long way to go, and while the service couldn't be described as snappy either, it has come on in leaps and bounds in recent years. The staff, as with nearly every Cuban I met, are extremely friendly and helpful.

And what the Habaguanex hotels may lack in power showers and fitness centres they more than make up for with their history and sheer class. Walking through the enormous wooden doors of any of its hotels into the shade of the lovingly restored Spanish courtyards can't fail to lift the spirits.

Yet even by the high standards Habaguanex has set itself, its next project, the Saratoga, a joint venture with the exclusive luxury boutique hotel chain One&Only, is highly ambitious. One&Only claims the Saratoga will 'blow the country's other hotels out of the water' - presumably with capitalist guns blazing. A project between one of the world's last remaining communist governments and a chain famous for its money-no-object gilt-edged service should be interesting, to say the least.

Way to go

Prices and booking: Hotels still quote prices in dollars. These are starting rates for a double room with breakfast. Habaguanex (www.habaguanex.com) manages Ambos Mundos (+7860 9530, $110), Hotel del Tejadillo (+7863 8830, $100), Hotel Florida (+7862 4127, $105) and Hotel Raquel (+7860 8280, $180). Hotel Sofitel Sevilla (+7860 8582, www.sofitel.com, $164). Gran Caribe (www.gran-caribe.com) manages the Hotel Nacional de Cuba (+7873 3564, promotional rate $119) and Habana Riviera (+7334051, $130). Hotel Habana Libre (+755 4011 www.solmelia.com, $110).

Getting there: From May 2005, Thomas Cook Escape (08701 111111, thomascook.com) offers seven nights B&B at the four-star Hotel Tejadillo from £648pp, or at the Sofitel Sevilla from £694pp, inc Gatwick flights. Air France (0845 0845111, airfrance.com/uk) flies daily to Havana via Paris from nine UK and Irish airports from £464 rtn, inc tax.

Further information: County code: 0053. Flight time London-Havana: 12hrs 25mins. Time difference: -5hrs.

Money matters: On November 8, the government 'banned' the US dollar from Cuba, the de facto currency for the past decade. Tourists with dollars will now have to pay a 10% commission to change them into Cuban convertible pesos and are advised to take pounds or euros.

£1= 1.82 convertible pesos.