HAVANA SYNDROME (the Original One)

PART I - Cigars, Santería, Sex, and the Revolution.

Dear Readers and Subscribers,

I was twenty when I lit my first puro in Varadero. I wasn’t there for the museums or the history; I went to smoke, drink, and see if the Revolution looked better in a bikini. What I found was something far stranger: a country stuck between a Soviet hangover and a capitalist mirage, all sold with salsa music and a smile.

Cuba wasn’t the paradise in the travel brochures — and it sure as hell wasn’t the evil empire I’d been warned about either. It was a cocktail of contradictions, shaken with rum and poured over crushed illusions. Between the piña coladas and the mambo, I had a fling with a resort dancer, got tangled up in Santería, and learned more about freedom at an open bar than I ever did in a civics class.

Now, 30 years later, I still light cigars like they’re time machines. I still order piña coladas with too much nostalgia. And though I couldn’t return for my so-called jubilee (family affairs got in the way), that island has never left me.

So what was Cuba back then? And what the hell is it now?

That’s what this issue is about today!

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and let’s separate the myth from the ballroom rhythm.

Because somewhere between Che Guevara fridge magnets and five-star socialism…is the truth they don’t print on the brochures.