In 1955, I took a job as a steward on a Cunard cruise liner. I was a young lad of about 17 and it was the first time I'd been abroad. For the next few years, I travelled the world, but there was one place I'd always longed to visit: Cuba, the "pleasure island", so called because of the huge numbers of American tourists who took their holidays there. On 8 January 1959 – the day my ship was scheduled to arrive – Castro entered Havana, completing his revolution. All trips ashore were cancelled, which put an end to my rum-and-Coke visit.
More than 50 years later, my plan to return to Cuba with my son finally took fruition at the end of last year. I rarely take holidays, so the concept of the trip – to remove myself from the distractions of 21st-century life – was an attractive one. It also turned out to be easily achieved, because my mobile phone stopped working the minute I landed. I thought I'd welcome the break, but feeling so cut off was rather unsettling. It left me feeling very isolated.
Then came all the fun you expect when arriving in a communist country. Immigration took hours. The baggage carousels were broken, so our luggage took even longer. The antiquated terminal was baking in 30C heat. But none of this diluted my excitement at finally being there. While I was a different man, and Cuba is certainly a different country, I had finally made it.
Havana was the last city to fall during Castro's revolution, and was to be my first port of call. We were based at Meliá Habana, a large, five-star hotel a 30-minute drive from the old town. It had all the necessary facilities, but lacked the charm of some of the older hotels in the historic city centre, and also meant we had to jump on the hotel shuttle bus every time we wanted to get into that part of town.
The British image of Cuba is of a revolutionary Marxist form of dictatorship, a country full of unhappy people with ancient, patched-up cars. But the reality is quite the opposite, including far fewer of the old-fashioned American gas guzzlers I was expecting to see everywhere. Havana is a dynamic, energetic city. People packed the narrow, cobbled streets of the old town as we began our first day of exploration. They constantly stopped to greet each other with a handshake, a kiss or a song. They didn't walk down the street so much as dance down it. Many cities become so valuable to business that residents are pushed out of the heart of them. Here, however, people are king. Old cannons sit mouth-down in the roads, denying access to any vehicles – certainly more effective than traffic wardens.
One thing that did live up to my cliched image of Havana was the architecture. The buildings were beautiful, with an air of faded glory. Glancing up, however, I could see the true state of their disrepair. The government owns all properties in Cuba, but sanctions and incurred national debts have limited its ability to regenerate residential properties. While tenants pay no rent and no one can be made homeless, a lot of people have been forced to live in a very small amount of space.
The state owns an overwhelming amount of things in Cuba, from small businesses, cigar factories and tobacco farms to hotels and restaurants. As a tourist, you must use a special tourist currency – the CCP, Cuban convertible pesos – while locals use Cuban pesos or CUP. It's not really too hard to work out, but it did manage to get me in trouble when tipping. I left the equivalent of £15 in convertible currency for the chambermaid, who immediately threw her arms around me to express her appreciation. I then learned that she earned only £30 a month, and was suddenly fearful that the embrace might provoke comparisons to the French politician and the American maid.
Later in the afternoon, we made our way on foot towards El Capitolio, the National Capitol building, which was the seat of government until the revolution. The neoclassical architecture reminded me of Congress in Washington DC, though the building is now home to the Cuban Academy of Sciences. A short stroll from there led us on to the Plaza de la Catedral, a grand square dominated by the Catedral de San Cristóbal with its Cuban baroque facade. I am not a religious man, but confess to being very moved by its grandeur. Work was started on the church in 1748 by Jesuits, and the sheer scale of it reflects the tremendous power, influence and dominance of the church during the preceding 200 years.
Restaurants line the sides of the square, so we stopped for a meal and listened to the roving musicians playing Cuban-African jazz versions of The Girl From Ipanema. Food tends to be fairly simple – pork, chicken and rice – but perfectly tasty, and one advantage of the sanctions is that there are no international chains. You won't find a McDonald's, KFC or Starbucks. Sitting in the sun, taking in the music, I wondered why I hadn't had this kind of holiday in decades. I ordered a Cuba libre (rum and local cola) to celebrate.
Cuba has a rhythm in its heart, so it was no surprise to find that the island has a vibrant music scene. Any excuse for a party goes, and jazz festivals and carnivals happen throughout the year. One of the country's most famous nightspots is the open-air Tropicana nightclub, which opened in 1939. It remains one of the most exciting live venues in the world. Guests are served their meals while hundreds of performers take to the stage, dancing to live salsa and rumba in elaborate costumes.
We booked a table for our second night and were not disappointed. I was handed a cigar. I don't usually smoke, but I thought, "Sod it." With another rum and cola in hand and the air full of cigar smoke, we watched the girls go by in their colourful feather creations and I felt as though I was experiencing the Cuba that I'd imagined all those years ago. It was worth the wait. Viva la revolución.
The next day, we took a day trip to Viñales Valley, a lush, green national park. It is home to the caves of Del Indio, where there are colourful rock paintings, celebrating the revolution. You can explore them by foot, or by boat on the cave lakes, which was our choice. The paintings are huge and quite awe-inspiring. They reflect the pride the people took in their revolution and the vibrancy of the culture of Cuba.
Viñales is also where some of the world's best tobacco is farmed. We later stopped at a cigar factory and watched the mainly female workforce rolling the leaves into Cuba's world-famous cigars. I saw none of the reported rolling on the thighs, I am sad to report, but it looked like hard work, and for very little pay. Change is under way, though, under the leadership of Raúl Castro, who is introducing a new form of liberal market for agriculture, encouraged by the thawing of relations with the US. In China, such changes are called a "socialist market economy". Fascinating stuff to a politico like myself.
The following day, we left for Varadero, a beach town east of the city and on a peninsula that extends 20km from the mainland. The white sandy beaches and clear blue waters of the Caribbean have long made this a tourist destination. It's a beautiful place, though not one that feels distinctively Cuban – you could be anywhere in the Caribbean. We were staying at the Meliá Varadero hotel, which was in the same vein as its sister hotel in Havana, a large, unremarkable building with all the amenities, including five restaurants and an enormous swimming pool.
I'm not much of a beach man, but I was interested in possibly sampling the water sports. I'm trained to dive to 200ft – something I learned during my time campaigning for health and safety on oil rigs during the 1970s – but back then, there was no certificate, just a medical that required an x-ray and a "drop your trousers and cough" examination. And it became apparent that, with no official subaqua certificate, I wasn't going to be able to strap on an oxygen tank in Varadero.
So instead we took a day-long catamaran trip around the coast with 25 Canadians from Winnipeg, who were escaping freezing -35C temperatures back at home. With an on-board barbecue, all-you-can-drink alcohol and swimming with dolphins on offer, I think they'd made a wise choice. I didn't fancy getting wet, plus I've done plenty of this sort of thing in my life, so I gave the dolphins a miss, but it was wonderful to watch them jump into the arms of the swimmers.
Later that afternoon, however, everything began to go downhill. Many of our fellow passengers proceeded to get terribly drunk, swigging rum and vodka, attempting to dance the salsa with the crew and falling all over the place. I kept my head down and refused the invitation to join the conga. It made me wonder about what it is in the British gene (these Canadians would have been of British descent) that requires them to get so sloshed wherever they go. Still, they looked as though they enjoyed themselves – and isn't that what a holiday is about?
Cuba had been as enjoyable and as fascinating as I had hoped. But by the end of my 10 days I was ready to return to the UK, not least to get some mobile phone service. I realised I am built to rush, rush, rush, argue, argue, argue, but that's not the mood of Cuba. They live life at a far more relaxed pace there, which is why it's the perfect place for a holiday.
• The trip was provided by Journey Latin America. A 12-day holiday to Cuba starts from £1,516pp, including international flights, transfers, mid-range accommodation, a walking tour of Havana, daily breakfast and some other meals. There are direct flights from Gatwick to Havana with Virgin Atlantic, and indirect flights with Air France, Air Europa and KLM. Thomas Cook flies direct from Gatwick and Manchester to Cayo Coco and Holguín. For more information, contact the Cuba tourist board.
