100 Places in Cuba Every Woman Should Go. Conner Gorry

      ONCE UPON A TIME THERE was a Spanish millionaire named Don Antonio Gómez-Mena who made a fortune in sugar and set to spending it. Gómez-Mena bought four sugar mills, a yeast factory, a distillery, and invested in real estate in and around Havana, consolidating his wealth. His most outrageous purchase was the Manzana de Gómez, a property covering a square block in the heart of Havana bounded by Zulueta, Monserrate, Neptuno, and O’Reilly streets. Construction began in 1890, but only the first floor was complete when Gómez-Mena bought the centrally located building; the other four floors went up between 1916 and 1918 when global sugar prices skyrocketed during World War I. Cuba’s sugar class was suddenly flush with cash, earning the nickname “fat cows”; this period in the island’s history is universally known as the time of the “vacas gordas.” Tourists flocked to the Manzana de Gómez to shop in its elegant arcaded mall and send hand-tinted postcards of the building to the folks back home. Eventually the boom went bust, politics intervened, a revolution was launched and won and the Manzana de Gómez slid into neglect and disrepair. Anyone who wanders the streets of Havana will find the city’s seedy side, and Manzana de Gómez in the 1990s, when I first visited, was a dark and grimy place, the columns caked with centuries of urban grit, the passages shadowy in feel and deed. The stores of the commercial center were as bare and abandoned as the people who drifted inside just for a look, hungry for a simple change of scene.

      Then rumors started circulating a handful of years ago that the Manzana de Gómez was slated for a major overhaul. This was good news, if true: the Manzana de Gómez sits at the intersection of urban blight and nouveau riche bling, with luxury hotels and fabulously restored buildings renting to foreigners alongside overcrowded one-room homes and well-worn laundry drooping from balconies verging on collapse. The rumors proved right: scaffolding went up, heavy machinery lumbered to the site, and construction and restoration began on the historic building. News drifted out that it was being transformed into a luxury hotel, with first-class, first-world boutiques on the ground floor and prices to match. It was the first construction site I’ve ever seen in Havana working two shifts—the stadium lights beaming rays into the dark streets seemed to say: “This is a serious endeavor, a new era in Havana construction where we’ll finish on time, within budget, and to specifications.” The press reported on the progress, while locals from the overcrowded homes with droopy laundry salvaged the windows and sashes, fittings and bricks from the guts of the building unceremoniously dumped on the curb. Then new rumblings and rumors hit the street that hundreds of workers from India were contracted to “speed up construction,” according to national press reports. Cubans were affronted, yet understanding. As my friend Alberto said: “How can we import labor with so many people needing jobs? Then again, this way construction will actually get done, with less theft and slacking.”

      It was in this environment that European luxury hotel chain Kempinski Hotels opened the Gran Hotel Manzana Kempinski to guests in May 2017. It was a revelation—like nothing we have ever seen on the island. It fairly shimmered, backlit in the Havana twilight. The restored, enlarged building gleamed and the commercial arcade was floor-to-ceiling windows and every corner was Swiss-clean. Forget that Montblanc and Versace are selling $3000 pens and $2000 handbags in the swanky shops. Forget that neighbors from those one-room homes are quickly shuffled away from wealthy tourists lingering at the hotel entrance. Forget that the most talented, award-winning Cuban scientist could never afford to book a room. Forget all these contradictions and take my advice: stay here if you’ve got the money, honey because this place is simply incredible (and no, I’m not getting paid to write this!). Every detail is over-the-top elegant, from the fresh white cala lilies that are so abundant, you can smell them from the glass elevator, to the in-room espresso machines. Flat screen TVs, high-tech bathroom glass that frosts at the flick of a switch, luxurious king-sized beds in a chic color scheme and (wait for it!) free Wi-Fi, await once you slip your card in the door. This is real, European-standard luxury, heretofore unknown in Havana.

      Sure, there are other “five star” hotels in the vicinity, but the Gran Hotel Manzana Kempinski knows no competition. Hands-on, detail-oriented General Manager Xavier Destribats explained the strategy to me: “This is Kempinski’s first property in the Americas, it’s our flagship, and we worked very closely with City Historian Eusebio Leal to honor the history and charm of Havana.” Destribats points to the courtyard between the hotel and the Museo de Bellas Artes, which will soon be landscaped to create a public green space, the restored plaza and fountain nearby, and the long section of Habana Vieja’s original wall dating from the 1600s that has been restored and preserved in the hotel museum. The overall layout emphasizes privacy and luxury, with several patios, balconies, and lobbies, planted and exquisitely furnished, that are ideal for a business meeting or tryst. The views of the Bacardí building, an art deco jewel, from the spa sundeck and the bird’s eye view of the Floridita from the Bar Daiquirí are a location scout’s wet dream. The Jacuzzis, saunas, private massage rooms, and salon in the spa are Palm Desert quality (day passes available) and there’s a gym so well-equipped you’ll feel guilty not using it.

      Even if you can’t afford a night here, splash out with drinks and dinner on the 6th floor where you’ll be treated to Havana’s money shot: uninterrupted views of the Museo de Bellas Artes, the Gran Teatro, Parque Central, and the Hotel Inglaterra. Unfortunately, the neon blue infinity pool here is only open to guests.

      YOU’VE SEEN IT IN PHOTOS—AT daybreak, at sunset, with waves breaching the sea wall and gushing into the avenue. Probably you’ve seen it in movies, too—the now classic Buena Vista Social Club and more recent Fast & Furious 8 jump to mind. A Google search on “Havana’s seawall” results in dozen of pages and hundreds, if not thousands, of images of what has become the iconic symbol of Cuba, figuring large on travel websites, in music videos and fashion magazines, and on the cover of guidebooks. It’s to Havana what the Eiffel Tower is to Paris and the Empire State Building is to New York. Yet ask a Parisian the last time they visited the Eiffel Tower or a New Yorker the last time they went to the observation deck of the Empire State Building and the answer may be “never” or “the last time my relatives were in town.” While it’s logical that emblematic sites are co-opted for marketing hot travel destinations, the difference with the Malecón is that Cubans hang out, have parties, make music, fish, swim, and contemplate life there all the time (the other difference from the aforementioned sites is that the Malecón is free). As I type this, I guarantee a kid is doing a back flip into the waters below and a guy is baiting his hook somewhere along the eight miles of Havana’s seawall. Sometimes referred to as “the city’s sofa” because folks settle in so comfortably here on blistering summer nights, the Malecón holds such power over the Cuban psyche it is the first place emigres visit upon returning to the patria and the last place they go before moving overseas. This isn’t hyperbole: I’ve attended two going away parties on the Malecón in the past month.

      So why such mystique around what is, when all is said and done, just a wall? What would drive Martha Gellhorn, former resident and wife of Ernest Hemingway, to grow weak in the knees after four decades away to write: “The first morning in Havana, I stood by the Malecón, feeling very weepy with homesickness for this city?” Why are there hundreds of people clustered together on the wall at the base of Vedado’s La Rampa every single night and still hundreds more spread out like birds on a wire east toward Habana Vieja and west toward Miramar? I’ve thought a lot about this because the Malecón’s allure has infected me too: when

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