Next week some of Shanghai’s best bars will celebrate Shanghai Cocktail Week.  Details appear sketchy but promising.  Participating bars will each offer a unique special menu of 50 RMB drinks, available throughout the week.  The event is being held to mark World Cocktail Week, a celebration that has been going on for a few years yet has somehow escaped my attention until now.  What can I say?  Every week is cocktail week at my place. . .

Participating bars include: The Alchemist, The Apartment, Arcade, Fennel Lounge, The Geisha, HoF, Jade on 36 (Pudong Shangri-La), Lost Heaven Lounge (Bund), The Martini Bar (Langham Xintiandi), Otto e Mezzo Bombana, The Public, The Ritz Bar (Portman Ritz-Carlton), Yucca.

Unfortunately there isn’t much info on exactly what different bars have in store.  Perhaps this means hitting them all up to find out? Rumor is that The Public will mix up New Orleans inspired drinks, Jade on 36 will offer a cocktail flight charting the evolution of the Martini, and Fennel Lounge will be experimenting with Chinese flavors.  My picks for reliably good drinks would be The Public and The Alchemist, with Yucca probably also worth a look.  As for the rest, there are a couple of venues I’ve never even heard of, and others I’ve heard of but never tried.  Last time I visited HoF it seemed to be a bakery.  Who knew they did cocktails too?

Oh, and the occasion being marked?  None other than the first printed definition of the word ‘cocktail’, in a New York newspaper on May 6, 1806.  A reader had written to the paper to ask what a cocktail was, and further wondered whether over indulgence in this potion might explain the confused political beliefs of Democrats.  The editor’s enthusiastic reply was both partisan and precise: “Cock tail, then is a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water and bitters it is vulgarly called a bittered sling, and is supposed to be an excellent electioneering potion inasmuch as it renders the heart stout and bold, at the same time that it fuddles the head. It is said also, to be of great use to a democratic candidate: because, a person having swallowed a glass of it, is ready to swallow any thing else.“

Havana’s numerous bars are in many ways all rather similar. All of the places listed here serve Havana Club as the house rum. Few have a decent rum selection besides the basic Havana Club range (i.e. the blanco through to the 7 Años). Those that do offer alternatives tend to do so only at the higher end. Popular top shelf rums include Santiago and Vigia 11 Años, and Havana Club Barrel Proof and 15 Años.

Bar Monserrate (Old Town – Oprapia St. near Central Park)

Popular bar with both tourists and locals. Fairly run of the mill place offering reasonable mixed drinks at reasonable prices. This place probably gets some overflow of tourists tired with the high prices at El Floridita, just a block or so away. Live music in the evenings. A good stop before or after El Floridita, for either a Mojito or a beer.

Cafe Paris (Old Town – Obispo St.)

Typical little local bar. Nice drinks and horrible food. Worth checking out provided you are not hungry.

Casa del Escabeche (Old Town – Obispo St.)

Another typical little local joint with live music at lunchtime. Unfortunately my visit was marred by an aggressive tout trying to sell me drugs. The guy was a tetrapack drunk (I was Havana Club 7 Años) and continued pestering me even after I shifted seats to put some distance between myself and his group. He eventually became quite threatening and I elected to make an exit. The staff did nothing to help diffuse the situation. The place seems nice enough, but (despite the delicious rum) I left with a bad taste in my mouth.

El Bodeguita Del Medio (Old Town – Empedrado St.)

Even more touristy than El Floridita, with trays of very average Mojitos sitting partially mixed and waiting for the crowds to arrive. The sad thing is that the crowds pulled in by the Bodeguita Del Medio publicity machine are flocking to a place that Hemmingway probably never patronized to drink a cocktail he never much cared for. Still, like it or not this bar has wrestled for itself the title of spiritual home of the Mojito. On the positive side, like El Floridita they partially justify their high prices by using Havana Club 3 Años rather than Havana Club Añejo Blanco as the house rum. Worth a visit just to say you did.

El Floridita (Old Town – Obispo St. near Central Park)

As per my previous notes from an earlier post. Worth a visit, but treat as a tourist attraction more than anything else.

Havana Club Rum Museum (Old Town – San Pedro St.)

I didn’t actually have a drink here. The bar looks nice enough though, albeit more like a tourist pit-stop than a genuine bar. I think I checked and was told they do not serve Havana Club Barrel Proof or 15 Años by the glass. That’s a shame given that it’s the flagship location for the Havana Club brand. Incidentally, this is where this rather cool video was filmed.

Hotel Ambos Mundos (Old Town – Calle Obispo)

Hemmingway wrote a chapter of For Whom the Bell Tolls while staying in this hotel, and naturally made extensive use of its bar. The lobby has been renovated, but the bar remains a nice low-key spot for a drink. There is also a rooftop bar. The clientele are mostly tourists, but there is none of the try-hard hype of El Floridita and El Bodeguita Del Media. The vibe is relaxed, the bartenders are good, and the result is one of the better spots for Hemingway fans to sit and meditate over a drink or twelve. On my first visit I shared the place with a pair of very drunk Russians who started thumping the bar and singing along to a somber Russian tune the pianist was belting out. Staff from around the lobby dropped their work to come and listen. All this at 10.30 am; Hemmingway would have felt at home that morning.

Hotel Florida (Old Town – Obispo St.)

One of the smaller of the old Havana hotels, this place has a quiet but nicely appointed bar. The friendly staff mix a good Daiquiri, and it makes for a nice retreat from the crowds on Obispo. Possibly a good choice if you are looking for a bar in the area without live music. Sometimes the Buena Vista Social Club clones can become a bit much.

Hotel Inglaterra (Old Town – Central Park)

The oldest hotel in Havana, located right on the central park, this place has nice terrace bar on the sidewalk. Touristy, but low key and well priced. The Mojitos are good, and they stock a couple of older rums from brands other than Havana Club. A nice spot settle down for some early evening people watching with a glass of rum and a cigar.

Hotel Nacional (Vedado – 21st St.)

A beautiful old Art Deco hotel with at least three bars. The outside bar near the lobby has the best selection of traditional Cuban cocktails I saw in Havana, including the famous Hotel Nacional Daiquiri. The west wing of the hotel has a large and well-stocked bar overlooking the swimming pool. This is one of the few places in Havana you are likely to find local exotica like aguardiente. I spotted a pink Piña Colada in this bar though, so maintain some caution. Finally, set apart from the hotel itself is a little cliff-top bar overlooking the Malecón. This last spot has great views, but a poor drinks selection. I ended up trying a Nacional Daiquiri in the outside lobby bar, and a Presidente in the bar near the swimming pool. Both were well made. Interestingly, the Presidente was made with sweet vermouth. I always thought it was supposed to made with dry, though I know lots of people use sweet. Anyway, my only complaint about this place is that the ice could be colder. Overall, a must visit.

Hotel Presidente (Vedado – Calzada St.)

A history-drenched Havana institution offering a small lobby bar and a larger but neglected-looking poolside bar. Unfortunately my experience was not great. The barman on duty seemed to have an attitude and I left without having a drink. I forget exactly what the issue was, but I think it involved me wanting an El Presidente cocktail (it was the Presidente hotel) and him being less than accommodating.

Jazz Café (Vedado – Paseo Ave. near Riviera Hotel)

Swanky late night club geared to well-heeled locals as much as to tourists. There are nightly performances of live jazz, but nothing much happens before 11pm or so. Good Mojitos and average food. I noticed locals (or at least Spanish speakers) drinking Havana Club Añejo Reserva with coke – nice choice. Incidentally, the Cuba Libre seems to be one of those drinks where a higher grade of rum is occasionally called for. I never noticed Cubans specify what rum they wanted in their Daiquiris or Mojitos, but they seemed fussier when it came to their Cuba Libres.

Lluvia de Oro (Old Town – Obispo St.)

Pleasant and recently renovated bar with a mixed tourist and local clientele. The Mojitos are tasty (that magic touch of Angostura), and the food is well above average for Cuba. They often have live music happening and the prices are reasonable. Havana Club 3 Años is the mixing rum here, suggesting they make an effort to offer quality. This was one of my favorite places in Havana.

Los Nardos (Old Town – El Prado, opposite the Capitolio)

Not a bar, just a restaurant with good Cuban food. The grilled chicken is excellent, and of course you can have a glass of rum with your meal. I made my a Havana Club 7 Años.

Prado y Neptuno (El Prado, on corner with Neptuno St.)

Italian restaurant with good food and a surprisingly large range of rums and other spirits – including lots of imports. One of the few places you can taste Havana Club Barrel Proof or 15 Años by the glass. They were out of the 15 Años when I visited, but it is listed on the menu and I heard from others that they usually stock it.

The Havana Club (Miramar)

This complex in the far western suburbs of Havana (not far from the Hemmingway Marina) is the famous Havana Club from Graham Greene’s Our Man in Havana. I made a point of dropping past here to try the Daiquiri, described so famously by Graham Green: “They had another free daiquiri each, frozen so stiffly that it had to be drunk in tiny drops to avoid a sinus-pain.”

These days the Havana Club is a members club, and supposedly one of the most exclusive places in town. I got in by showing up on a mid-week afternoon, mentioning Graham Greene, and asking nicely for a Daiquiri. The guard at the gate ran a liberal entry policy, but made me promise to leave before it got late and the real members showed up. I entered and found the place deserted. Casual visitors might not get in easily on evenings or weekends when the place presumably gets busy.

The complex offers club facilities, a private beach, and a couple of bars. The main bar is downstairs, with the upstairs bar apparently open only during functions. The drinks were good quality. Naturally I started with a Daiquiri. In one of those rare occasions where life proceeds almost exactly like fiction, the drink really did arrive “frozen so stiffly that it had to be drunk in tiny drops to avoid a sinus-pain”. It was the stiffest Daiquiri I found in Havana, and perhaps also the tastiest. Unfortunately, unlike in the novel, my Daiquiri was not free. However, it was surprisingly cheap, perhaps cheaper than anywhere else I visited. Membership clearly has its privileges.

Taberna de la Muralle (Old Town – Ignace St. in the Plaza Vieja)

Mircrobrewery with draft beer and passable hamburgers. This place gets good reviews but I found the food merely edible. Worth a visit for the tasty beer – makes for a break from rum. Predictably, they also have live music.

The Daiquiri at the Havana Club, straight from the pages of Graham Greene

While in Havana, when I wasn’t drinking Mojitos I could often be found in close proximity to a Daiquiri. I already discussed the Daiquiri in detail here, so there is no need to say too much more. Still, it would be a shame not to share a few observations on how the drink is made in Cuba.

First, when you order a Daiquiri in Cuba you are generally asked how you would like it. No, you don’t get offered fifty flavors ranging from blueberry to bubblegum. You simply choose between a Daiquiri Naturál or a Daiquiri Frappé. That is, you can have either a shaken drink served up or a blended drink served with a straw (in some bars the Frappé version is created by shaking with crushed ice rather than blending). Flavored Daiquiris exist too. For example fancy hotel bars may offer Banana Daiquiris and so on. But in your typical Cuban bar a Daiquiri is a simple affair that a drinker can enjoy in either of two ways.

An elegant Daiquiri Naturál in the Hotel Florida

Rather than sweetening Daiquiris solely with sugar or simple syrup, many bars also add a dash of liqueur. This concoction generally remains a simple ‘Daiquiri’ – it does not get labeled a ‘Floridita’ or something similarly fancy sounding. Triple sec is the standard addition, but maraschino is also common. The liqueurs used for this are domestic brands. I never got around to tasting them straight, but I assume they are fairly average.

Possibly I just have the look of a problem customer, but bartenders would often ask how sweet I wanted my Daiquiri. A very sensible question, and one that should be asked more often. Even better, if I asked for a drier Daiquiri I got one. Awesome or not?

There seems to be no real agreement in Cuba as to what glass a Daiquiri should be served in. Depending on the bar you might get your Daiquiri in a cocktail glass, wine glass, or simple tumbler.

Finally, although Daiquiris are widely available in Cuba, they are less popular than the Mojito and Cuba Libre. Tastes have probably changed since Hemingway’s day. These changes may partly result from the recent popularity of Mojitos in the West. Mojitos are definitely the tourist drink in Cuba these days.

A straightforward Daiquiri Frappé at the Hotel Ambos Mundos

So where is the best place in Havana for a Daiquiri?

It certainly isn’t the famous El Floridita.

For those determined to feel the spirit of Hemingway while sipping on their Daiquiri, Hotel Ambos Mundos scores highly for a nice dry version. The simple tumbler they serve it in may appear a touch homely, but Hemingway often drank Daiquiris from tumblers (check the photographs in my earlier Daiquiri post – link above). Naturally, since Hemingway spent several months living and writing in the Hotel Ambos Mundos, he would have drank Daiquiris in this very bar. Not a bad choice.

Slightly further down the street, the quiet Hotel Florida serves a nicely balanced Daiquiri in a wine glass. They also serve Banana Daiquiris should the need arise.

For me, the Most Memorable Daiquiri Award goes to the Havana Club, where my Daiquiri Frappé came elegantly garnished in a cocktail glass, and “frozen so stiffly that it had to be drunk in tiny drops to avoid a sinus-pain”. This really was life as fiction, a drink straight from the pages of Graham Greene’s Our Man in Havana, and well worth the trip into the suburbs. This memorable drink was the stiffest Daiquiri Frappé I came across in Havana, a touch sweet, but still very tasty.

Drink appeared a year or so back and has contributed plenty to improving cocktail knowledge in China. There was a time when knowledge-thirsty Chinese bartenders would chase me out of bars. No, they weren’t requesting I settle my tab. They simply wanted me to write down my famous recipe for Pernod and water, which went: “put Pernod in glass, put water in (same) glass”. Thanks to Drink I now get ignored.

Times really have changed. At one time, Pernod and water was my drink partly because Pernod was one of the few imported liquors nobody had got around to faking. Standards really were low. These days, at least in Shanghai, you are spoiled for choice when it comes to finding a decent cocktail.

The cool thing about Drink is that it is a bilingual publication. Rather nicely, this means I get an article published in Chinese without having to actually write the thing in Chinese. It also means Chinese bartenders get good information in their own language, alongside the same material in English. The English very useful, since English is the best language for those inclined to do further research on drinks-related matters.

Previous Chinese language bar industry magazines could be spectacularly bad. I remember an article on Champagne illustrated exclusively with photos of Trappist beer bottles. A story on wine in the same issue revealed that a sophisticated and well-bred woman is instantly recognizable because she will always add her ice cubes before she pours her wine, never afterward. Another piece introducing the major families of spirits and liqueurs did fairly well until confronted with bitters. Aware only of Angostura, unaware of how it was used, but spotting details for a Dutch distributor on the label, the writer winged it. The result was an improbable account of elderly Dutch men swigging from Angostura bottles in between tending to their tulips.

When I get around to it, I will post a couple more articles I have written for Drink.

Street scene outside the famous Bodeguita Del Medio, the little bar that has spent well over half a century promoting itself as the spiritual home of the Mojito

The tropical heat can be a killer, and while in Havana I made sure to stay properly hydrated by drinking lots of Mojitos. This constitutionally prudent habit turned out to have useful side effects, such as affording an excellent opportunity to learn how the Mojito is made in the country of its birth. Little did I know at the time, but the long hours spent lapping up knowledge in stifling barrooms would eventually provide the launching pad for a prestigious writing career with China’s preeminent drinks industry magazine, imaginatively entitled “Drink”. Naturally, I got started by writing about Cuba’s famous export.

A tastier and less touristy Mojito experience than you will find at La Bodeguita

The Mojito-related matter I was most curious to learn about was the famous Yerba Buena – the local name for the mint component of the drink. Yerba Buena is said to have its own unique taste, and every bartender I asked in Havana told me it differed from regular mint. On trying the stuff though I found it tasted just like spearmint. Perhaps Havana’s bartenders are as confused about the English meaning of mint as I am about the Spanish meaning of Yerba Buena? Perhaps I am not much of a mint taster?

Anyway, having tasted Yerba Buena I do not think anyone needs to feel shy about using spearmint in their Mojitos. Still, those trying to be authentic might prefer to go for plants with smaller leaves. The leaves of the Cuban version of the herb looked smaller to what I have seen elsewhere. They may simply be younger plants, but probably the variety is a little different to the common ones. Don’t get enthusiastic and experiment with peppermint. This is not a case where stronger equals better.

Cuban bartenders tend to mix a Mojito by taking a glass and adding sugar, then mint, then lime juice and soda, and only then doing the ‘muddling’. Their version of muddling merely involves light bruising and stirring with a spoon, and only rarely will you see them employ an actual muddler. In other words, Cubans muddle simply. The drink is finished by adding rum and finally ice, though sometimes the ice goes in after the muddling but before the rum. The goal is a clear rum drink with a refreshing mint accent, not a cloudy mess of pulverized vegetation and alcohol. Take note!

“My Daiquiris in El Floridita, and my Mojitos in La Bodeguita” reads the famous self-promotional sign hanging in the Bodeguita del Medio. According to acquaintances, Hemingway was not known for drinking Mojitos, and may never have visited La Bodeguita. The signature is said to be real though, penned by an extremely drunk Hemingway who did not much care what he was signing.

Never once in Cuba did I encounter a Mojito with lime wedges floating around in it. Cubans invariably use only the juice of the lime. Nor did I see Mojitos made with crushed ice. One tale goes that Cuban Mojitos stopped being made with crushed ice when the ice crushing machines broke down after the Revolution and nobody could be found to fix them. This sounds implausible. Virtually every bar in Havana can serve a Daiquiri Frappe, so crushed ice clearly stays out of Mojitos through choice rather than necessity. Therefore, I feel an authentic Cuban Mojito should use cube ice rather than crushed. Besides being slightly more straightforward to put together, the relative clarity of a drink made this way is not unattractive.

One interesting Cuban custom is splashing a little Angostura bitters on the drink as a final touch. Probably around half of all Havana bars serve an Angostura-spiked Mojito as their default, though I don’t think La Bodeguita del Medio is one of them. I rather liked the Angostura variation and have since adopted it.

Mojito production line at La Bodeguita del Medio. The quality here isn’t the best.

Cubans make their Mojitos on the strong side, placing the rum in the foreground rather than drowning it in soda. The soda is never much more than a splash. Occasionally they leave the soda out entirely, though this seems done more as a customer request than as the default style in any given bar. The glasses are not large, and if they are large (e.g. a standard Collins size) they tend not to be filled to the brim. If you are still struggling to adjust to the tropical heat you can yourself needing another pretty quickly.

Finally and most crucially, the better Cuban bartenders distinguish themselves by garnishing the drink with an additional sprig of mint that they gently slap between their palms to release the aromatic oils.

To read more about the Mojito checked out the article I wrote for China Drinks Magazine.

Art Deco meets Neoclassical in the lobby of Havana’s Hotel Nacional

Freely as the rum flows in Havana, the selection is limited. Most rum countries are like this, but Cuba may be unique in the total lack of imports. Even Bacardi is conspicuous only in its absence. No Bacardi is remarkable enough, but even more peculiar is that many Cubans name Bacardi as their favorite rum. More on that curious situation later. . .

The visitor is thus limited to Cuban rums, a bibulous restriction I can happily report is no great hardship. Still, the adventurous voluptuary seeking a trial separation from the ubiquitous Havana Club can face a hard slog. Havana’s more touristy bars exclusively pour the brand that bears the city’s name. While the top shelf occasionally offers alternatives, even there the pickings are slim. The house pour in local bars may be something cheaper, perhaps Mulata, but Havana Club is never far away.

Inside La Bodeguita del Medio. . .

For those on a real budget, supermarkets and bottle stores sell rum in cardboard tetrapacks. Havana’s legions of underemployed and under-resourced can often be spotted lounging in the sun and sipping from these tetrapacks. Rum tetrapacks even pop up in lower end bars, either sold across the bar or casually smuggled in. I never tasted these tetrapacks. They may contain what Cubans would consider ‘aguardiente’ (see below) rather than true ‘rum’.

A bartender pours Mojitos in Lluvia de Oro, one of Havana’s most pleasant bars

Cubans pour rum with tropical liberality. The Cuban pour is languidly generous, as though, having set to work, the pourer discovers that returning the bottle to the vertical will involve unanticipated effort. The sensible course is naturally to lighten the load some more before attempting this taxing maneuver. A drinker can feel that the only thing being rationed is the ice. And that brings me to another thing, perhaps even a ‘complaint’. Havana bars score low in the ice department – disappointing for an Ice-Nazi like myself. Ice is always wet, stored in ice bins rather than a chiller, and you don’t get very much of it. Leaves more space in the glass for rum mind you.

El Morro, Havana’s harbor fortress

The tale about Cuban bartenders pouring a little rum on the ground for luck when opening a fresh bottle is true. I saw lots of bartenders do this. It isn’t done with any ceremony. Flicking some rum into the air is simply part of the routine of opening a fresh bottle – twist, toss, flick, pour. The ‘toss’ comes from the habit of tossing the cap away, at least in the case of mixing rum. With rum the national drink, this makes perfect sense since a bottle is rarely sitting around half-empty for long.

Inspiring revolutionary mural art

Drinkers and bartenders use a curious ‘secret language’ to discuss rum brands. In speech, certain brands are not referred to using their current names. Havana Club is straightforward, but Caney is spoken of as ‘Bacardi’, while Santiago becomes ‘Matusalem’. Cubans told me that these were the original names before the relevant factories were nationalized following the Revolution. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of that version of history, but I do know talking rum with Cubans becomes a most confusing business.

Interestingly, Cubans do not seem to rate Havana Club especially highly. I made a point of asking bartenders their favorite rum, and none of them named Havana Club. The clear favorite was Santiago (‘Matusalem’ in Cuban rummy lingo), with Caney (‘Bacardi’) ranking second.

Morning drinks at the Hotel Ambos Mundos

Cuban bartenders deserve a favorable mention in any discussion of the country’s rum culture. Tending bar seems to be a vocation in Cuba, and many bartenders are middle-aged to elderly guys with decades of experience. Ordering a mixed drink is mercifully free of drama, suspense or surprise, and reliably yields a quencher that performs exactly as intended. Interestingly, despite living in a country with few imported products, bartenders are quite knowledgeable about foreign rums. Names like Barbancourt and Appleton’s Estate are well known and well regarded. Importantly, Cuban bartenders are a friendly and down-to-earth lot, and happy to chat about things drinks related.

The Hotel Havana Libre, appropriated by Castro as his temporary headquarters after the Revolution

Cuba has numerous rum producers and the largest liquor stores and supermarkets stock a comprehensive range. Every producer offers a similar lineup, running from a white mixing rum through to a seven year old sipping rum, with two or three stops in between. Everything is bottled at around 40% alcohol by volume, and rums aged longer than seven years are rare. For rum shoppers, the ground floor of the Hotel Havana Libre has a liquor store with a comprehensive selection of local brands. The souvenir shop at the Havana Club Rum Museum also sells the full range of Havana Club products, including the hard to find Barrel Proof and 15 year old versions.

Sadly not a real rum bottle! The Havana Club Rum Museum

The Havana Club Rum Museum offers a useful introduction to the manufacture of Cuban rum, with the focus naturally enough on Havana Club. I found the tour rushed and formulaic but still worthwhile. According to the guide, Havana Club is made from a mix of two molasses-based rums, distilled to around 76% and 96%, respectively. The first provides the ‘body’, while the second provides the ‘soul’ – and presumably most of the alcohol. Both rums are double distilled in column stills. The rum is all aged for a minimum two years in bourbon barrels previously used for Wild Turkey. The exception to this two year minimum aging rule is the white, which is a blend of aged and unaged rums.

Antique still at the Havana Club Rum Museum

Cubans distinguish two variants of rum, namely ‘rum’ (in Spanish ‘ron’) and ‘aguardiente’ (which in English translates to something like ‘firewater’, or ‘spirit’). The more prestigious and dominant category is rum/ron. Aguardiente is the poor relation, and its definition varies depending on who you ask. Perhaps the situation is like that of rum and clairin in Haiti, with aguardiente being the rural and homemade product and rum the refined and industrialized version. The difference between rum and aguardiente (at least in Cuban terminology) may lie in distillation method. Most bartenders told me aguardiente is distilled just once, and to relatively low proof, while rum is distilled twice, and to high proof. However, others told me that aguardiente is distilled from fresh sugar cane juice while rum is distilled from molasses. Perhaps the aguardiente category contains multiple product types.

A bottle of the elusive aguardiente

Some Cuban rum producers offer aguardiente alongside their rums. For example Mulata offers both clear and aged versions of aguardiente. Aguardiente only rarely appears behind bars though, and unable to try the stuff by the glass I ended up having to buy a bottle (pictured above).

I found the Mulata aguardiente totally different to the same company’s rum, with a rough edge, robust flavor and almost chewy graininess. Cuba will probably never be famous for its aguardiente, but the stuff made for an interesting change from the highly refined and polished rums.

I only got the one taste of my Mulata aguardiente. On my last night in Havana a guy stopped me outside my hotel, asking for money to buy a can of coke. I told him to wait a second, grabbed the aguardiente from my room, gave him his coke money, and suggested he try an aguardiente and coke. He seemed pleased, and I freed up space in my luggage for a bottle of Caney seven year old – or should I say ‘Bacardi’?

Revolutionary decor in Havana’s Coppelia ice-cream parlor

Well over a year after I left the place, I’m finally writing about Cuba. I didn’t stay as long in Cuba as I would have liked. The lack of Internet in Cuba made work, and hence a lengthy stay, difficult. My stay lasted only five or so days, but during that time I devoted myself fully to drinking in the sights – and the rum.

I left Guatemala on a dawn flight, transited in Panama, and was in Havana by early afternoon. From arrival Cuba had its own unique feel. Havana airport was slightly worn, but red painted girders and splashes of yellow made it seem bright and cheerful.

Expecting military uniforms, I was surprised to see the immigration and customs officials dressed in casual jackets and colorful t-shirts. While superficially reassuring, the mufti disconcertingly blurred the identity of officialdom, and made it harder to sense if you were being singled out for special attention.

Immigration was a breeze though. Cuba’s issues with the U.S. mean immigration officers don’t routinely stamp passports. If you want a memento of your trip you have to ask for an entry stamp. I asked, and got the stamp plus a smile. Viva la Revolución!

I had organized accommodation in a Casa Particular (basically a home stay type arrangement, and better value than most hotels), and so hopped in a taxi and showed him the address.

Rain was pouring down. The country smelled fresh, and the scenes we passed on our way into town were under-industrialized and attractively shabby. The driver didn’t speak any English but we managed to have a bit of a chat. For part of the journey he complained in the way taxi drivers everywhere are wont to. For the rest of the journey we chatted about rum. He liked Arecha and thought Havana Club was expensive.

Afternoon on El Prado. . .

My accommodation was on a quiet side street (Trocadero) just west of El Prado, the grand central promenade running between El Malecón, as the seawall is called, and the central square of the old town. My hosts were a kindly elderly couple, and in keeping with their personalities the process of settling in unfolded pleasantly, but ever so slowly. Keys were fetched, forms signed, coffee poured, water heaters demonstrated, restaurants recommended, rum mentioned, money exchanged, and eventually I ended up with a key in my hands and the freedom to head out for a wander. Lovely as my hosts were, the whole process had taken a couple of hours, and I was anxious to just get out, explore, and just possibly drink some rum.

It was late afternoon by the time I was wandering in Havana. The air had a cool post-rain feel, the streets were generously sprinkled with people, grand old buildings decayed attractively, children played football, and the vibe was welcoming. People appeared remarkably fit and healthy, with the women being slim and toned and the men looking like they worked out. Possibly the food rationing effectively put everybody on a healthy diet, perhaps the relative absence of cars meant people walked enough to stay in shape, or maybe a lack of alternative entertainment options made exercise popular. Whatever the reason, Cubans were physically impressive and I couldn’t help taking it as a subtle advertisement for the revolution. Racially the population was a mix of Latin and African, but mostly the former. Many people had a very Italian look to them.

Although I arrived on a Sunday afternoon, the absence of commerce was surprising. My immediate neighborhood seemed to have a bakery selling a single style of loaf, a couple of hole-in-the-wall groceries with little on offer, a dark cafeteria, a produce market that seemed to have closed for the day, and little else. There were more shops on El Prado and around the central square. Few had much to sell though, and in many cases what they had was displayed behind glass and could only be got by asking for a cashier for help. Havana was no shoppers’ paradise.

The vintage automobiles Cuba is famous for stood out immediately. While they don’t exactly dominate the traffic these days, they still comprise a fair bit of it. Walking around I occasionally felt I had stumbled into a vintage film. Mostly the visual clues of the 21st Century were there, but occasionally they disappeared momentarily and you were left with nothing but the 1950s – maybe a quiet back street with a single gleaming vintage car, and a guy with barber’s shop hair strolling past in pants, braces and a singlet, swinging an ancient leather baseball glove. The people had a slightly Old World air about them, a combination of their choice in music (tending to the Buena Vista Social Club variety), their clothes (the local stores were some years from the cutting edge), and their rather polite and subdued manner.

On hitting El Prado I turned left towards El Malecón. Havana’s Malecón is a beautiful sea wall, and the perfect front door for a grand old Caribbean capital. I ended up down there every morning and soaking up the atmosphere through a leisurely run. Besides looking impressive, the giant waves that sometimes explode across the top of the thing added an interesting dimension to my morning exercise. Dodging the waves meant constantly alternating between sprinting and jogging on the spot – kind of interval training I guess. The highlight of my route each day was the Hotel Nacional, which occupies a commanding vantage point on a low cliff.

The Hotel Nacional

After checking out the water it was time to head back up El Prado and towards the central square. I was starving by this stage and decided to hold off trying any rum until after dinner. I headed for a place called Murral, a brew pub with a reputation for decent burgers. The burger was nothing special (though good by the dire standards of Cuban food), but the beer punched above its weight, and carried a refreshing sour edge.

El Floridita, a lighthouse beckoning Daiquiri-seekers

With dinner out of the way I headed to El Floridita for a real drink. The legendary Floridita was a disappointment, but first I’ll concentrate on the good. The décor is impressive, and on the surface appears little touched since Hemingway was a regular. The place still looks rather 1950s, and much like in the photographs of its heyday. Quality could be better overall, but they don’t overtly pinch pennies – using Havana Club 3 años their basic mixing rum. So I guess you do get a little extra for the high prices, though there are plenty of cheaper bars in Havana offering the same for less. Their blender drinks also have a nice quaffable consistency, perhaps the result of either blending for a decent length of time, or not overdoing the ice. Blender drinks have a habit of separating into ice and liquor, but those in El Floridita don’t.

El Floridita’s impressively decorated bar, surely still instantly recognizable to Hemingway himself

OK, time for the bad. These days the bar staff at El Floridita do not measure anything, do not squeeze fresh limes, and use an overly sweetened sour mix rather than lime juice and sugar. Big Constante, the legendary barman from the days when Hemingway was a regular, would not be amused. The famous ‘Papa Hemingway’ is an abomination. Supposedly it contains maraschino and grapefruit juice, but the grapefruit juice is from a packet and lacks any edge, and on the day I visited they were out of maraschino and substituted triple sec. Overall the place does not offer much, having degenerated into a nightly tourist performance rather than a genuine bar with regular customers. You pay high prices for it too, with a daiquiri being over US$6, compared to $3 or less in most other places.

So in summary El Floridita should be mostly, though not entirely, avoided.

Churning out the Daiquiris in El Floridita

I left El Floridita to explore some cheaper and more authentic bars. There were several to choose from just off the main square, but I settled on the atmospheric Bar Monserrate. It was a little touristy, but compared to El Floridita felt like an authentic local bar. The décor was simple and the atmosphere relaxed, with quietly casual but efficient staff and live music – Buena Vista Social Club again.

The lively Bar Monseratte

There I bumped into a German guy who had been made redundant by the financial crisis. He had been to Cuba a few times before and had some suggestions for me. While we chatted I tried a Mojito, and both Cristal and Bucanero beers – all good. The Bucanero seemed to be the strongest local beer, but was only a percentage point or so stronger than the Cristal. The Cristal tasted a little crisper, while the Bucanero was sweetish.

On the recommendation of the German I finished the evening by taking a taxi to a place called Jazz Café, which was supposed to have good live jazz. In the stairwell of the shopping center where the venue was located I got waylaid by a hooker. My attempts to get past her prompted aggressive questioning as to whether there was some problem with her looks. I had to apologize and say she was possibly the most beautiful woman in the world but it was really too dark to be sure. She laughed. So I guess my bad Spanish joke went over OK.

Cuban liqueurs. . .

I thus safely arrived at the venue only to find I was too early, with the music not starting until 11pm.   Instead of waiting around in the Jazz Cafe I went for a walk, and eventually found myself hunkering down for a couple of Mojitos in a deserted little neighborhood bar. The Mojitos were well mixed, better than at Bar Monserrate, and the friendly bartender gave me a lesson in how Cubans make the drink.

One of the nice things about Cuba is the friendly and down-to-earth bartenders. They are all competent enough (at least in matters concerning common Cuban drinks), don’t exhibit the prima donna tendencies of some Anglo-nation bartenders, and happily dispense advise to strangers.

A late night Mojito in a quiet cafe. . .

The hooker in the stairwell was gone by the time I returned to the Jazz Cafe.

Unfortunately I didn’t much care for the the music and so did not stay long. They were playing that post-60s style Cuban jazz – loud and unrelaxing. I think I was hoping for more of the Buena Vista Social Club that was being played everywhere else.

The Jazz Café was one of those places where you pay a cover charge that you then consume against. Either the cover charge was very high, the prices were very low, or I was very drunk, since I seemed unable to consume all I had paid for. I had a Mojito or two (decent), a plate of spaghetti (horrible) to ward off a hangover, then took the rest of my cover in half a dozen bottles of water to go.

As I left I saw the hooker from the stairwell sitting at a table with another girl and two guys. They were sharing a bottle of wine and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Period decor at El Floridita

Leaving the bar I realized I was exhausted, plastered, spoke hardly any Spanish, and had left the card with the address of my hotel in my room. I jumped in a taxi, successfully negotiated a cheap fare home (failing to notice that the cheap fare resulted not from my sharp bargaining skills, but from the vehicle being a little three-wheeled motocab rather than a taxi as conventionally defined), somehow guessed the correct turnoff from the Malecon, and ended up directly outside my hotel door.

All in all, not a bad first day in Havana.

While offering pleasant sojourning, the Guatemalan rum landscape does not exactly excite with its variety. Everything comes from a single company, Industrias Licoreras de Guatemala, though that company produces at least two labels – Zacapa and Botran.

Zacapa represents the glamorous international face of Guatemalan rum: attractive, commercialized, definitely expensive, and while it makes for exceedingly pleasant company, you can’t help suppressing the occasional yawn and wondering how thick that make up is. Botran in contrast is the slightly homely stay-at-home sister, working a nine-to-five job and hurrying home to cook instead of mixing with high society, and generally getting taken for granted by all and sundry. Zacapa smugly preens itself from little clusters of high priced bottles in duty free stores and on the top shelves of smarter bars, while Botran runs itself ragged covering the shelves of local supermarkets and bars, where it jostles for attention with the anise liqueur that is ubiquitous in Latin America.The question then is this: does Zacapa deserve to be Guatemala’s Ambassador of Rum?

Being a rebel, and a fan of rum with a glow to it, I’m going to support the underdog and say I rather like Botran.

Exhibits A through E follow.

Botran X/L

A clear rum with a smooth sweet taste, and a staple in Guatemalan bars for mixing rum cocktails. The smooth sweetness is typical of Central American rums. An obvious comparison rum would be Flor de Caña, but Botran X/L is rougher, with a slight spiciness, and an almost chewy graininess. Not especially exciting but does the job.

Botran Anejo 12 Años

This aged rum near the top end of the Botran line is inexpensive and was my regular rum in Guatemala. It is fairly ubiquitous, though Botran also produce a cheaper Anejo 8 Años and Añejo Oro. Unfortunately I enjoyed the Añejo 12 Años so much that I never got around to writing notes on the two younger rums. Anyway, the Añejo 12 Años is a dark honey colored rum with a syrupy body, gentle alcoholic glow, pleasant dry spice notes and a hint of woody bitterness. I found it a rewarding but undemanding sipper, as well as a base for an exceptionally smooth and rich rum and coke – best with a touch of lime to temper all the sweetness.

Botran Solera 1893 Añejo

This tasty rum pours with a light copper-color and a viscous consistency, forming thick legs that slide slowly down the glass. The nose is sweet and rich, and carries a clear woody note reminiscent of incense – sandalwood maybe? A dash of cinnamon or canella also lurks in there. Tasting reveals sweetness with a soft glow (hotter than Zacapa), building into a mouthful of light woody spice. Though the body is sweet, the flavors are dry and austere, without the fruitiness of Zacapa. The taste does not evolve much, though an initial trace of wild honey slowly builds into something substantial. The aftertaste lingers long and pleasantly – the sign of a good rum.

I like this rum. It has a unique flavor, with all that spicy wood reminding me of a Catholic Church. That said, it is rather sweet, and while the flavors are interesting they are not especially deeply layered. I get the impression of sipping an intricately spiced cake syrup with an dry perfumed edge rather than a complex spirit.

My conclusion? This is a simple but interesting rum with unusual flavors I happen to like.

Ron Zacapa 15

I was keen to try this one. My first taste of Zacapa 23 impressed me, but it seemed that the more I tasted it the more I was left wanting something a little sharper. Perhaps Zacapa 15 was the answer? You don’t see the Zacapa 15 around very much, but I finally got my opportunity to try it in Flores airport, where the café was selling miniatures.

The Zacapa 15 pours a light gold rather than the very deep copper of the Zacapa 23, but has a similar viscous consistency. The nose initially reminded me of Botran, being light and spicy, but the fruitiness of Zacapa 23 was also there in a reduced dose. The taste was far more fiery and assertive than Zacapa 23, with a strong tingling bite on the front of the tongue, a peppery mouth feel, plus a lingering bitterness I didn’t recall from Zacapa 23. For a sweet and syrupy rum it came across as surprisingly sharp, though it didn’t have the dry edge of Botran. The flavors are intense but not particularly well integrated. There are strong fruity notes, but an odd underlying acidity makes it hard to place the fruit. Things improve as you get into it though, with pleasant vanilla emerging to smooth the rough edges. I end up thinking of vanilla ice-cream and stewed fruit – served in a bowl that accidentally got a drop or two of gasoline in it.

If the above sounds unfair, I should stress that a single taste of this rum was not enough. I would have to try it again sometime to give it a fair go. Still, if you are looking for Zacapa with a little more ‘edge’ the Zacapa 15 may not work, since it comes across as rather different to its older relative. Overall I was disappointed, and left thinking Zacapa 23 is still the better of the two.

Ron Zacapa 23

I already reviewed this rum here, so I’ll basically leave it at that. Nice but overrated. Though having said that, if you have never tried this rum it makes an interesting eye opener.

Zacapa and coke was a popular request among Americans staying in Antigua. Although I never partook I’m not sure I like the sound of it. Zacapa is already so smooth and sweet it hardly needs further sweetening and dilution.

There is some controversy about whether Zacapa have modified their formula over the years. Many say the old fully palm-wrapped bottles tasted better. A little palm-wrapped miniature Zacapa 23 stuffed in a display case behind the bar in my hotel in Guatemala City seemed to give me a chance to do a compare and contrast.

Tasting the dusty palm-wrapped miniature against a glass from a new bottle did reveal some differences. The older Zacapa had less fruitiness and acidity, more dark cane flavors, a warmer ‘rumminess’, and perhaps a little dash of the funkiness from Appleton Estate. Of course some of the differences in taste I noticed could have come from the length of time the miniature had been lying around, probably exposed to warm bar lights etc. There was something a vaguely ‘cooked’ about its flavor.

Conclusion

Zacapa gets all the attention but Botran is worth a closer look. Both are sweet rums, but Botran offers a drier style at a more attractive price. By giving Botran a go, Zacapa fans can broaden their horizons with an alternative Guatemalan rum, while Zacapa haters may finally find a Guatemalan rum they enjoy.

The Haitian earthquake was what greeted me when I got online this morning.

Haiti has never had it easy and the last few years have been especially rough. The country has had to deal with the Gonaive floods, the horrible school collapse in Port-au-Prince,  the political strife and social anarchy that followed the ouster of Aristide and led to Haiti playing host to a UN peacekeeping deployment, and now this earthquake. It’s too early to say how bad this earthquake really is. Maybe the casualties are light. Probably they run into the thousands. Key government buildings in Port-au-Prince have collapsed, and the devastation is almost certainly far worse in the shoddily built slums that dominate the city. Life in Haiti is difficult even at its best, and this latest event is simply tragic.

Now seems an appropriate time to mention a couple of things about my visit to Haiti that I somehow never got around to writing about earlier. . .

A sad fact of life in Haiti. . . Access to clean water appears to be one of the perks of employment. Certainly in both the hotels I stayed in, staff would carry canisters of water home at the end of their shift. It must be tough to spend your day cleaning beautiful rooms, preparing extravagant meals, and pouring drinks with silly prices, then stagger home carrying 20 kg of water for your family. Actually, since Haitians are used to all this they don’t really stagger. But from my comfortable vantage point at the bar it still looked like hard work. That was just a little thing I happened to notice. For some reason it has lurked in my mind ever since, lurking a little larger than most of my observations about Haiti.

Another thing. Although I never wrote about it, possibly the most memorable sight from my Haitian visit came during my flight from Cap-Haitien to Port-au-Prince. This was right after the Gonaive floods in 2008.

I was flying Tortug’ Air into Port-au-Prince, sharing the plane with one of those dressed-in-her-best-because-today-she’s-flying Haitian girls. This example was in a kind of white gauze fairy outfit, decorated with the obligatory ruffles, plus real forest leaves and an outlandish trail that her mother had to hold off the ground to keep clean. Our flightpath meant Gonaive should have been somewhere off to our right. There was no obvious city there though, just a mass of water, a mass of water creating chaos for invisible people somewhere below.

The day was gray. We flew through oppressive gray skies, gray water covered corpses in Gonaive, and Port-au-Prince revealed itself as a sprawling gray slum. As we circled the airport before landing, a formation of US Navy helicopters swept up from the tarmac, tilted their noses, and began clattering north to the disaster zone. Our own little plane touched down in the hive of activity the helicopters had just left. As I strolled across the tarmac with my bags, vaguely worried about what awaited me in Port-au-Prince, US marines scampered back and forth a hundred meters away, busy loading and unloading more helicopters. The tarmac at Port-au-Prince airport that afternoon was an inspiring sight. The fairy skipped through the middle of it, entirely oblivious to the harried Marines, and mostly obvious to her mother’s struggle to preserve the cleanliness of that dress.

I left the airport and found my driver. The fairy and her mother stood forlornly arguing (about money?) with a taxi driver. I tried to have my driver ask them where they were going, thinking we could maybe give them a lift. But his English was bad and by the time he understood the taxi rank was already behind us. Somehow it seemed too much effort to have him turn round, so I got driven to my hotel and the fairy vanished from my life as fully and finally as a pebble tossed in a river. I’m sure she and her mother made it to wherever they were going. But did the taxi driver rip them off? Should I have had my driver turn back?

I am not American, and I do more than my share of bitching about America’s foreign policy, annoying Americans, and so on.  However, in places like Haiti at times like this, America is the best thing out there at just going in and getting the job done.

The U.S. Red Cross looks to be perhaps the most organized outfit in terms of responding to this current Haitian disaster. Apparently they are in the process of taking all sorts of stuff from a depot in Panama and getting it over to Haiti. Haiti barely has enough stuff at the best of times, even without the disruption caused by an earthquake, so I’m sure this effort by the Red Cross will help things. They have the stuff, the reach into the places that really need it, and no hidden agenda.

Now comes the bit were I mercilessly tug at heart strings, reducing my readers to incoherent, barely consolable, blubbering wrecks of inebriated charity. . .

As drinkers, whether of rum or of cocktails, we surely recognize how much Haiti has contributed. Rum drinkers should give heartfelt thanks to Haiti for Barbancourt, and while they are at it they should probably say something polite about Clairin – lest they be forced to down some. Meanwhile, cocktail drinkers should graciously thank Haiti for its bitter oranges, without which we wouldn’t have Cointreau and Grand Marnier.

So what better way to express your spirited gratitude to all things Haitian than to raise a glass and donate to the American Red Cross Haiti Appeal*? [UPDATE: The New Zealand Red Cross has now formally launched its own Haitian Earthquake Appeal, so that's a handy option if you happen to be in New Zealand.] Better still, donate first and then raise a glass, since raising glasses is known to exert a disruptive influence on good intentions. Modern technology makes parting with one’s money frighteningly easy, and those in the U.S. can donate $10 simply by texting HAITI to 90999. I have pitched in $100 – about the cost of a really nice bottle of rum.

Now I’m not sure if gin, whiskey, beer and wine drinkers have very much to thank Haiti for (Prestige Beer anyone?), but if you’re feeling generous please donate.

Finally, lets hope La Maison Barbancourt, including all staff, family, warehouses and plant, has survived the quake.

* I linked to a U.S. based appeal because most people reading this blog are in the U.S. However, that U.S. website appears to have issues accepting non-US credit cards. If you’re not in the U.S. but want to donate you might need to think about alternatives. I used the New Zealand Red Cross.

The Merced in Antigua. . .

Far too late, I am finally throwing together a mini-account of my Guatemala trip. The last year has been somewhat messy, hence the lack of blogging. For some reason Guatemala was hard to write about (perhaps because I did amazingly little while there) leading to my blog getting stuck in Haiti. Anyway, I need to write something about Guatemala before I can move on to the more interesting subject of Havana.

Mostly I spent my time in Guatemala simply hanging around Antigua, working on my laptop, enjoying the excellent cafes and restaurants (a contrast to the Dominican Republic and Haiti), breathing in the charming atmosphere of controlled colonial decay, tasting the local food, occasionally browsing the cigar merchants and attempting to cultivate an appreciation of their wares, and vaguely plotting my next move. Excitement was mostly of the minor variety. I was hugely entertained in a café by a churchy looking man, attached to some charity group building houses for Guatemalans, caught searching for porn on his laptop. His discrete corner seat failed to provide the anticipated protection when a member of his group seated at another table returned from the toilet by an unexpectedly circuitous route. The poor man’s loud protestations that his computer must have contracted some mysterious virus only drew attention to his distressing condition. That incident probably made my week. So as you can see my time in Guatemala was underutilized.

The Plaza in Antigua. . .

Of course I also sampled the local rum. A little more on that latter, but for now I’ll antagonize many of my rum-loving readers by mentioning that I did not especially care for Ron Zacapa. When I first tried Zacapa, in Santo Domingo, I found it incredible stuff. Somehow though it became less interesting each time I drank it. Zacapa is a unique rum, but for me perhaps it ultimately lacks the requisite edge. So while Antigua does cafés far better than Port-au-Prince, it was disappointing that none of them served Barbancourt. As seems to be the case in most rum-producing countries, the range of imported rums available in Guatemala is limited. Bacardi is all over the place, and you often see Flor de Caña (from neighboring Nicaragua), but beyond that the selection is poor. The one joint in Antigua that described itself as a ‘rum bar’ sold exactly the same selection of local rums as every other bar or café in town. Maybe they earned the title ‘rum bar’ by selling the stuff in larger quantities than their competitors, but since they seemed to have no customers besides myself I have my doubts.

Given the lackluster rum options, it was no surprise that my future travel plans eventually crystallized over steak, chips and a Pisco Sour in a French bistro with a tempting cocktail menu. The Ramos Gin Fizz that preceded the meal was a disaster (I knew when ordering it was likely to be a mistake), but the Pisco Sour was delicious, and a welcome change from rum. As I sipped its thick bodied grapeyness, it suddenly became clear to me that after seeking the ultimate Daiquiri and Mojito in Havana, I should head to Lima and forage for the perfect Pisco Sour. While rum was all very well and good, it alone could not sustain a man – and certainly not a man  as spiritously ambitious as myself. To guard against rashness, I finished the meal by meditating with a Zacapa and a cigar, but by the time I swapped the warmth of the restaurant for the cool mountain air my mind was made up.

Antigua was charming. Many travelers criticize the town for being overpriced and overly touristified. No doubt it is touristy, but tourists descend on Antigua for good reason, and in any case are joined by plenty of well-heeled refugees from Guatemala City. The place has beautiful architecture, the strict regulations on advertising signage preserve the pleasant historical ambiance, the climate is pleasantly cool (particularly for an arrival from the sticky Caribbean), and there is some excellent food to be had.

I particularly liked an officially nameless hole-in-the-wall French place that everyone seemed to call Hector’s. After discovering it I ended up there at least a couple of times a week. It seemed to pitch itself to the solo diner who doesn’t mind being a little flexible, offering a choice of several delicious meals each night, and a wine list of the ‘whatever happens to be open when you wander in’ variety. You practically eat in the kitchen, with the restaurant having maybe a half dozen bar seats overlooking the stove, plus three or four little tables. The very personable Hector Castro (a hyperactive Guatemalan-British guy) made the place: introducing guests to each other, pouring wine or hammering out a rough-and-ready cocktail, then rushing back to the stove just in time to prevent disaster engulfing everyone’s dinner. It was always entertaining and the food was great. The roast duck with roasted grapes was particularly good, as was the Beef Bourguignon with fried potatoes. Another good French place was Bistro Cinq, though the execution of their impressive cocktail list was rather hit-and-miss.

I forget the name of the best place I found for Guatemalan food, but it was located about three blocks north of the Merced. Rather than having a printed menu it was the type of place that simply prepared a variety of food and sold it in vaguely buffet style.

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I made a few forays out of Antigua: climbing Pacaya Volcano, taking a day trip on Lake Atitlan, spending a couple of days in Flores seeing the Mayan ruins at Tikal, and exploring Guatemala City. Really though I did not do much. I should probably have gone across to Mexico, but somehow the weeks quickly flew past and it was time to head to Cuba. Safety concerns also put a slight damper on activity. While the hills around the town looked inviting territory for hiking, locals told me tourists who hiked through the countryside alone ran a real risk of getting robbed. The Coca-Cola delivery vans carried shotgun wielding guards, so possibly the advice was sound. Or possibly Antigua was just full of paranoid refugees from Guatemala City. Who was really to know?

Pacaya Volcano was an experience. An easy day trip from Antigua, it is well worth doing if you ever pass that way. You take a short hike through some forest, sticking close to a guide who follows an overly complicated trail; fences with hidden gaps, false forks, and other traps are all used to prevent guide fee dodgers from ever making it out of the woods. Above the forest you cross a short band of scrub, and then find yourself scrambling through a Mordor-like landscape of scoria. The guides do not take tourists right up to the summit of the volcano. Instead you go to an area on the slope below the main crater where glowing lava bubbles out of the ground and seeps down the mountain. Vaguely aware of safety, the guides certainly don’t allow themselves to stress about it. They use sticks to scoop up molten lava and light cigarettes, flick chunks of glowing lava around, and invite tourists to crouch right over the bubbling lava spring for photos. A couple of my group held back, but most went up close. Strangely, what seemed from a distance to be a thin and treacherous layer of cooled rock above the molten lava was solid and safe to walk on. Naturally you had to take care not to slip into the cracks – some of them quite large. The fierce red glow made being careful where you put your feet surprisingly easy to get the knack of.

Unfortunately my photos from Pacaya somehow disappeared from my computer when I reorganized things, along with other photos from Guatemala, so you’ll just have to imagine me crouching intrepidly over the lava.

Lake Atitlan was worth a look. The lake is almost impossibly picturesque: a deep volcanic crater lake, surrounded by a ring of high volcanic peaks. It is the type of scenery that you can easily imagine being dreamed up, but picturing it appearing through a fluke of nature is harder. Unfortunately, the worst type of tourist development takes the gloss off the place. The largest lakeside town, Panajachel, is overdeveloped and full of tacky shops and aggressive touts. San Pedro La Laguna, a smaller settlement on the far side of the lake, was more relaxed and laid back, but lacked the charm of Antigua. A different type of place I guess, and probably a good choice if you were after cheap Spanish classes and low living costs. The locals were friendly, and taking the ferry across the lake I got a couple of chances to practice my bad Spanish with elderly Mayan women. Unfortunately my lakeside Mojito was not good, with a spirulina glow reminiscent of something dredged from the lake itself. The boat trip back across the lake was nearly spoiled by a group of Israelis upset at paying the tourist price for their tickets. The Israelis refused to board the boat, meaning we didn’t have the numbers to leave. The standoff dragged on until I was in danger of missing my bus back to Antigua, so I offered to pay the difference for them. They turned down my offer and reluctantly got on the boat anyway. I just made the bus.

Flores was a slightly boring and touristy little town, with dull architecture and disappointing restaurants. Everywhere catered exclusively to tourists, and the arrival of the rainy season meant that many of the better looking places were closed. The town was saved somewhat though by its unique location – on a man made island in the middle of a lake.

Unfortunately, the day I visited Tikal the park was preparing to host the president of Guatemala, who had decided the ruins would provide a dramatic backdrop from which to address the nation. The ruins were open, but things were rushed since tourists had to be out before El Presidente and his entourage arrived. Perhaps I should have gone back for a second look the next day, but I decided to hang around my hotel in Flores and get some work done, then take a wander around the town in the afternoon. Somehow, even though things at Tikal had been slightly rushed, I felt I’d seen everything.

Silly and unnecessary comparison time: personally I think Tikal is not in the same league as Angkor Wat. I am not sure quite why, but Angkor Wat demands that you really take your time. When visiting Cambodia I found a full dawn-to-dusk day at Angkor Wat was barely enough, and a couple of days after my initial visit I went out to explore some of the more distant temples. If I were to visit Cambodia again, I’d definitely take a second look at Angkor Wat too. My rushed tour of Tikal wasn’t quite enough, but it came pretty close. Part of the difference may be the more intricate artwork and decoration at Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat also has more lifelike and less stylized depictions of humans and gods, and perhaps that brings the site to life.

All that aside, Tikal is still pretty amazing. The place has an inhuman scale about it, with enormous quantities of material having been moved around to construct the massive courtyards and pyramids. There is something mathematically perfect about the place, like a complex error-free equation; everywhere you look are perfectly proportioned slabs slotted precisely together. Some of the most obvious clues showing how humans interacted with this odd world they constructed for themselves are unsettling, namely the ball courts, where teams competed to avoid (or win?) the dubious honor of being sacrificed. The place feels uninviting. But then you wander into the living quarters of some long-forgotten noble, and you imagine how this stone box set on an elongated pyramid would once have been colorfully painted, with wooden doors, decorated wall panels, woven mats on the floor, and servants who went home told their families what they had seen and heard while working up on the stone mound, and suddenly it becomes almost comfortable. The views across the jungle from the top of the pyramids are amazing. Of course I guess that when the complex was inhabited most of the jungle would not have been there, so getting a sense of the place as it really was is hard. I wasn’t there in the early morning so unfortunately I didn’t see any of the famous wildlife.

Straight after visiting Tikal, and before leaving Guatemala, I spent a couple of days in Guatemala City. My ever-efficient New Zealand bank had decided put a block on my credit card after a purchase in Haiti aroused their suspicion. Helpfully, the only way to resolve the issue was for me to travel back to New Zealand, leaving cash my only option for purchasing tickets to Cuba. This left me having to do a fair bit of running around town, since finding an ATM machine that would accept my card was not easy. Incidentally, my wanderings took me along the perimeter of the airport a couple of times, where it was odd to see an enormous number of Guatemalans out watching planes land and take off. Some of them looked like families there to see off relatives. Others looked like they came to the airport to daydream about life in the United States. A few looked like plane nuts.

After sorting out my ticket I visited the national museum. The museum had a good display of Mayan artifacts, but sadly the famous jade hall was closed for renovations. I seem to have a knack for dropping in on museums in far-flung places only to find their prize exhibits are not on display.

My most memorable moment in Guatemala City came just after I arrived back there from Flores. The flight from Flores disembarked at a small private terminal across the runway from the main international terminal. The terminal was in an industrial area with no real transport links and my hotel (also not far from the airport) had sent a driver to pick me up. A young English backpacker with a prosthetic leg looked to be having trouble finding transport out of the place so I asked if he wanted to be dropped off somewhere. He was headed for the main terminal so hopped in my car and off we went. It was evening rush hour though, and before long we were gridlocked in traffic, our 15 year old driver growing ever more impatient. Frustration was building, and only grew with the wailing of an ambulance siren, annoyingly close, and moving annoyingly slowly. Just as the ambulance weaved alongside, our driver realized we had struck lucky, hit the accelerator, and tucked us into the ambulance’s wake. It was a brilliant maneuver, and saw us speeding (relatively speaking) through the gridlock, the three of us in hysterics, the prosthetic-legged backpacker slapping the roof in celebration.