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Havana - cigars, bars and classic cars. Everyone has a picture of the most famous island nation in the world but nothing can prepare you for being there. We sat on our balcony and watched the city wake up, men delivering bread via ingenious pulley systems to Senoritas hanging over dilapidated balconies, cigarette smoke winding upwards from street corner card games as all of life was lived out in the open. Generations of families, living in the same apartment had no shame - doors thrown open to the world in defiance of our Western glances. Once we'd finished eating we descended the stairs and set foot into our temporary reality. Aside from a few semi-curious glances the locals ignored us. Our street curved around through ramshackle buildings, leaning over so that they almost appeared to meet at the horizon. Within minutes the 'Buena' vista opened up onto the Malecon. The blocky, communist-era concrete construction shouldn't have been beautiful but it was. It's brutality highlighted the gentle curve of the bay and showed us route towards Hotel National. All along the embankment men fished from the rocks. They spat and smoked and nodded hello whenever our eyes met. The walk was warm but the parade of cars in a kaleidoscope of colours kept our attention from our sweat. The pride taken in their appearance was impressive. This was no nation whereby things, nor memories are easily discarded. When we arrived at National we wandered through the lobby, glad of the slowly circling ceiling fans. Within moments we had found a beautiful spot in the gardens overlooking the progress we had made. With fresh lemon juice in hand we slowly sipped our thirst away and wondered what the next few days would bring. Already we knew that Havana was our kind of city.