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      SINCE 1772, THIS BREEZY BOULEVARD lined with marble benches and antique iron streetlamps has been a destination for habaneros looking to escape overcrowded conditions in Habana Vieja and Centro Habana—the two neighborhoods bifurcated by the Prado—for an evening stroll, a lunchtime tryst or to conduct a bit of informal business. It’s reminiscent of a European boulevard with good reason—Madrid’s Prado and Barcelona’s Ramblas were used as blueprints for Havana’s famous promenade. Over the years, various additions and renovations beautified this popular public space but it wasn’t until renowned landscape architect Jean-Claude Nicolas Forestier lent his vision to the Prado, adding the bronze lions guarding its entrance near Parque Central and the sorely-needed shade trees, that it achieved the elegance it exudes today. Forestier had a heavy hand in shaping modern Havana, having designed parts of the University of Havana, Parque Almendares and other iconic spots around town. Along with the Malecón (where the boulevard leads), there is no better place to watch the pulse and swirl of the city and its inhabitants than the Prado.

      The pastime provides free and ripe opportunity to meet and greet—until it’s closed to the public, something which occurred when Karl Lagerfeld and the House of Chanel presented their cruise wear collection along the Prado in 2016. After centuries of being a place of respite and recreation for habaneros, suddenly it was off limits. While it provided work for some Cubans and those living right on the boulevard rented space on their balconies for $10CUC a head, not everyone was on board (pun intended!) with the program. This came right on the heels of the Fast and Furious 8 filming in Havana where people were kept from walking their streets and accessing their homes during the shoot. In his 2017 book Cuba-US Relations: Obama and Beyond, Cubanologist Arnold August categorizes these two events (and many more) as “hipster imperialism,” a phenomenon that brings the global entertainment economy in conflict with Cuban values—in this case, access to public places. Rubbing salt into the wound is the fact that Cubans are huge movie buffs and fashionistas; they wanted to see all the wonderful clothing and perhaps snap a selfie with Vin Diesel. Still, the Hollywood/Parisian road show came and went and the Prado quickly returned to its normal rhythm.

      On weekends, the entire promenade is flanked with artists selling their work, creating new ones and giving classes to local kids in painting, drawing, ceramics, and photography. On Saturdays, a semblance of Cuba’s system of trading houses is in full swing. Before buying and selling of homes was legalized in 2011, the only way for an individual to acquire a different home was to trade theirs with someone else. Known as the “permuta,” it was a long, laborious process (two years looking and finagling was not uncommon) with much jumping through hoops to find an available, appropriate house, pay some money under the table to cover the difference (“legitimate but not legal” as my professor friend says) and process the transfer of title and other paperwork.

      Se Permuta, a full-length comedy by notable Cuban director Juan Carlos Tabío, is full of social commentary and insight.

      Things have changed mightily since then—Havana is now peppered with real estate agencies sporting banks of computers and agents ready to pull up multiple listings across all neighborhoods with detailed descriptions and full-color photos. But the permuta system still works; you can see the old school action on the stretch of the Prado near Hotel Sevilla.

      SPANISH CONQUISTADORES WERE LUKEWARM ON the crocodile-shaped island that Columbus stumbled upon in 1492, foiled in their attempts to find the motherlodes of gold, the apocryphal El Dorado, which drove many a conquistador to ruin. They gave short shrift to the Antilles’ biggest island as a result, preferring to run roughshod over Hispaniola and Mexico, where the streets were supposedly paved with precious metals. Early explorers even failed to agree on what to call the island: before settling on Cuba, a bastardization of an indigenous name upon which experts can’t agree, it was known as Juana, Fernandina, San Diego, and Ave Maria Alfa y Omega. Where to settle Cuba’s capital was also an improvised, uncertain affair, skipping from Santiago de Cuba to Batabanó, before San Cristóbal de la Habana was founded in 1519. Swampy, and prone to mosquito swarms and flooding, Havana wasn’t the ideal spot, but boasted a deep, navigable bay which proved highly attractive to Spanish sugar barons who berthed their galleons to offload slaves and packed the holds with sugar, getting filthy rich in the process. The geographical location, of course, was also perfect for pirates. The boom you hear each night at 9 p.m. sharp is the cañonazo (the cannon shot), a holdover from those days when the bay was closed to all boat

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