ABSTRACT
I’d traveled this road for many years. As we approached the turno for Old Havana, the same grand houses stood along the Malecón, with their cracked marble facades, crumbling cement pillars, and peeling paint. During my +rst trip to Cuba in 1968, I marveled at how those old buildings had survived the waves and salt air. Forty years later, some looked like they hadn’t been repaired since my +rst journey. I then remembered seeing a photo of these same houses in the 1920s. Even back then they looked weathered and in need of a coat of paint.
