Walking through Havana's streets, the city's soul beats rhythmically to cuban street music and the clinking of domino tiles. I'm fascinated by Old Havana's vibrant facades, where each peeling coat of paint seemed to reveal its own secret tale. It's a living museum, locked in time since the 1950s, with huge, deteriorating colonial structures that say volumes about a thriving past. The plazas are alive with artists and musicians, whose melodies float through the air, weaving a tapestry of sounds and stories. The spirit of Che Guevara persists here, a ghostly presence that is both cherished and debated, with his image proudly exhibited in numerous locations, a symbol of revolution that continues to inspire and agitate.

Just a few hours away, the terrain changes abruptly when I enter the beautiful valleys of Viñales. It's like entering into another universe, a peaceful respite from the city's hectic pace. Traditional tobacco fields dot the terrain, where farmers carefully create the world's best cigars using skills passed down through generations. The rich perfume of new tobacco permeates the air, in stark contrast to the salty sea breeze from the coast. Riding on horseback among the mogotes, the peculiar limestone hills that rise suddenly from the flat valley floor, I feel a strong connection to this country that has stayed relatively untouched despite the whirling tides of history that have remade Cuba over and again.