Revolutionary Square is where Castro speaks on occasion. Sometimes a half million people gather there to hear him speak for four hours. But every time I have been there it has been empty except for a few tourists. It is not a people place like the Mall in Washington, the Champs Elysees in Paris or Tienemin Square in Beijing. On one side of Revolution Square is a monolith monument whose may function seems to be a platform for a dozen communication antennas. Near the  monolith's base, but without any real relations to it, is a statue of Jose Marti, the father of Cuban nationalism. At the far end of the square, on what would otherwise be a blank wall of a nine-story government building is a eight-story high sculpture portrait of Che Guevara. There are a couple of other government buildings near the square, including the National Library, but none are architecturally distinct or seem very active.

Old town Havana has many faces. In Cathedral Square, the north end is dominated by the Spanish architecture of the Cathedral and its asymmetrical bell towers. People file in and out of the huge doors. Many look to be Cuban. Facing the Cathedral is an old palatial building that now houses a  museum. Off to the side of the Cathedral is a Santaria priestess in earnest consultation with a Cuba woman. They in turn are next to a "dollar bar" serving Heineken and Johnny Walker. The patrons are a mix of Cubans and tourists. The side streets off the square are narrow and full of texture, and could easily fit into the urban neighborhoods of Rome or other old European cities. Other squares have there own stories and mixed use buildings. Armies Square has a historic tree and booksellers. Across from Marti Square is Teatro Nacional.

On a hill, across the channel that leads from the Straight of Florida to Havana Harbor, is a twenty-meter high statue of Christ. From his pedestal he oversees the city. In the park at the base of Christ, the refreshment stands played salsa music. As is common in Cuba, when the music playing, people dance. Several couples, from teenage to septuagenarian,  who had gathered in the park that afternoon danced when the music played.

The Malecon is the sea front boulevard of Havana. It is easy to imagine its past opulence. Now it has signs of both care and neglect -- it looks like some restoration is underway. Given current economic and political conditions, it will be a long time before it regains it past splendor.

The afternoon we were there, the Malecon was closed to motor vehicle, except for the hundreds of buses that were bringing people to a "Bring Elean Back Home"  demonstration. With hundreds of buses parked on the Malecon at 5 o'clock in the afternoon and knowing of Cuba's chronic transportation shortage, it begs the question of how the millions of people of Havana who weren't at the demonstration were getting around that afternoon. Closed to traffic the Malecon, which is already nice for cycling, becomes a great  bikeway.

Walking amidst the demonstrators and talking with a few, they would ask us where we are from. Our reply "the United States" created no negative reaction.

The demonstration introduced another irony of Cuba. Cuban stores are notoriously bare of goods, hospitals don't have Band-Aids or aspirin, but most of the thousands of demonstrators that afternoon had new t-shirts imprinted with Elean's picture. Who is making the resource allocation decisions?

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