Hotel Florida in Havana and what happens when you put your foot down

Havana is literally a colonial architecture dump. Time stands still in Havana, frozen during the majestic 18th century and fast forward into the 1950’s. Cuba in faded glory. So obviously our voyage into this island country was to experience what time warp is like in the 21st century. A stay at one of the historical hotels in Old Havana otherwise known as ‘Havana Vieja’ to the locals will be a great start.

I initially eyed Hotel Nacional de Cuba but this lovely hotel was tucked away far from the heart of Old Havana. We want a historical hotel in the centre where plazas and important sights are easily reached from our doorstep. Hotel Santa Isabel at Plaza Armas was also in my list but they were fully booked. I still have three other hotels to choose from and in the end the decision was placed on Hotel Florida, mainly because I love its colonial courtyard and its white and green colour scheme.

Before I booked this hotel online at Cuba Travel Network (you pay upfront) I researched high and low to make sure I made the right decision. It was when I learned about the drama on the missing windows in many hotels in Havana. So I specifically noted in my reservation—‘We need a room with a window or balcony please.’

Arriving quite late in Havana, I began to worry about the room without a window scenario. Well it seems that the stars have misaligned because we were assigned to Room 101—one of the notorious rooms indeed in Hotel Florida without windows.

NO FREAKING WAY. I simply cannot accept a room without windows after a crammed 10 hours flight?!

So I demanded my room with a window, and I stood my ground and never flinched. Hello? I PAID FOR A ROOM WITH A WINDOW gaddammit. I really and seriously put my foot down, not leaving the desk and nagging at the poor receptionist. Well, it paid off. She finally came to a solution and offered a junior suite at no extra charge for the next day before 10AM. Unfortunately the hotel was full and Room 101 is the only room available for the night. OK fine. I accepted her offer.

Here is the 4-star Hotel Florida on the legendary Calle Obispo, one of the prime streets in Havana Vieja:

The colonial atrium courtyard lobby of the hotel.

This is the second floor where the suites are located.

On the right picture is the door to our room.

The view from the second floor's hallway down to the courtyard lobby.

And here is our junior suite:

Because its a suite they do not have 2 separate beds but a king size one which is fine as its big enough for us. I can stick to my own corner =)

Our own private sitting room and moi on the balcony. I love high ceilings.

The marble bathroom, antiquated and honestly I felt icky here but I have no choice. I felt icky in all the toilets of Cuba except for the one in Trinidad as it was fairly new.

Fire tree and view outside from our suite's balcony.

Florida Hotel's restaurant where we took our breakfasts.

The marble statue at the entrance of the hotel and the hotel's male mermaid doorknob.

As for Room 101? The room actually looked elegant but I almost had a nightmare after seeing the bathroom that I didn’t even think of taking a shower that night considering that we had just a long transatlantic flight. Trust me, I didn’t want to touch anything in that bathroom! The ceiling and walls were in a grand moldy state. Stale odour was also emanating out of the air-conditioning. How on earth can you breathe with recycled air? I need fresh air otherwise I will suffocate. I am also very sensitive to sanitation affairs because my skin can quickly irritate, and it did.

So we woke up early in the morning and made a bee-line for the hotel reception desk. Luckily, we were told that they are now cleaning our new room and they will bring our luggage to the suite once it’s done. We were relieved. We had breakfast and a stroll around Havana Old Town before coming back to the hotel to inspect our new room.

TIP: When booking a hotel room in a historical hotel in Havana, always check if they have windows because many hotels have rooms without one. Havana is very humid and hot, and when there are no windows but only air-conditioning and recycled air, this makes the room damp and stale. Consider as well that the buildings in Havana are old and are not that well maintained. This is granted, helaas. Most rooms in fact have traces of mold spores and bathrooms have dark tile linings.

First vs Second Winter of Cycling

With my second winter of cycling drawing to an end, I am thinking about the differences between this year's and last year's experiences. I am certainly a better cyclist this time around, and I've also gone through a great deal of trial and error as far as what works and what does not. Here are some notes comparing this winter to the last:



Choosing the right bike for winter

Before last winter began, it seemed that everyone around me was saying that I needed a "winter bike" - a "beater" type mountain bike. I considered it, but ultimately stuck with my Pashley and it worked perfectly well - as did my vintage Gazelle this winter. After my two winters' worth of experience in the snow and salt, I would say that my ideal "winter bike" is one with a chaincase, an internally geared hub, drum brakes, and stable handling. After seeing others struggle with frozen and rusted derailleurs, I would not ride a derailleur bike for transportation in the winter. After getting snow stuck under the calipers on one of my bikes and being unable to stop while going downhill, I will also never ride a rim brakes-only bike in winter.



Road conditions

Last year the amount of snow we had was typical for Boston: It snowed regularly, but not overwhelmingly, and the roads were mostly kept clear by the plows. My classic upright bike with its regular tires was just fine under those conditions, and I did not feel the need for studded tires. This winter, I admit it: Had I gotten studded tires from the start, life would have been easier. But who could have predicted that we would have one crazy blizzard after another this time around? It's too late now, but next winter I might buy studded tires and keep them around just in case.



Temperature control

Last winter this was a huge problem for me - my biggest problem in fact. I just could not get the layering right and would constantly feel either too hot or too cold. This winter I embraced wool, and these problems disappeared. I am converted to such an extent, that I have now sold or given away most of my non-wool clothing, and wear a combination of stuff I've knitted myself and stuff I've bought from technical wool brands like Icebreaker, I/O Bio, Ibex and Smartwool (I plan to write a comparative review of different items from these brands soon).



Recreational cycling

Last winter, I hung up my "sporty bike" (at the time my vintage mixte) in early November and did not retrieve it again until April. This winter I rode recreationally all through November and part of December, and managed to go on a couple of winter rides even after it began to snow. I also got a trainer and began to "cycle" indoors when it became apparent that this winter would me much worse than the last.



Adjusting expectations

If you live in an area with harsh winters, the simple fact is that you will likely cycle less during the winter season - no mater how tough you are. Though mentally I was aware of that last winter, I was not prepared for it emotionally and found myself in a constant state of frustration as a result. Despite this winter being much worse than the last one, I knew what to expect this time around and it was much easier to take. I still cycle for transportation, but my traveling radius has decreased. I also walk a lot, take public transportation, and spend more time working on projects indoors. That's just how it's going to beuntil (I expect) mid-March or so, and I have adjusted my expectations accordingly.



I know that many of my readers took up transportation cycling around the same time as I did, and are now going through their second winter as well. Have you noticed any differences? lessons learned that you could share with others? And for those who have been cycling for longer, does it get easier with each winter, or are there ups and downs depending on the year?

In the Light of Day

The frame I built with Mike Flanigan over the winter has long been completed and powdercoated. I've been staring at it and doing a lot of thinking... which, somehow, hasn't translated into taking any pictures. Before I knew it, a couple of months passed. And now here I am, about to skip town for much of the summer. So before setting off, I took some early morning shots of my so-called creation.






When I look at this frameset and remember all that went into making it, the dominant sensations are those of physical and emotional exhaustion. I was a mediocre student. Making this thing was difficult and I struggled. It was difficult physically: The all-day filing, sanding, and even waving around the heavy torch, was exhausting for someone of my meager upper body strength. But no less difficult was the acute and constant awareness of working on something I was not good at. Of genuinely trying hard and getting at best so-so results, hour after hour and day after day. That was tough to take.






So when I look at the lugwork, rather than admire its beauty I shudder at the memory of what it took to braze the joints correctly and then get the shorelines looking half-decent.






The solidified mess of steel and silver that I gouged away at for hours with a variety of files to define and redefine the outlines. And don't get me started on the fork crown.






Or the seat cluster with its made-from-scratch endcaps on the chainstays.





Brazing these on while taking care not to melt the rest of the joint, then endlessly scraping off the extra filler material in hopes of achieving at least a semblance of symmetry and elegance of form...







The brake bridge, which I had wanted to braze without reinforcer plates...






The bottom bracket, with its myriad of crevices, the tight spaces making it nearly impossible to file without gouging another tube.





The acrid smell of flux. My eyes tearing up. Standing on my feet for hours at a time. The sandpaperlike texture of my fingers. The deep aches in my arms.






In the end, most of it looks more or less all right... except, ironically, for the dropouts. I had spent more time working on these than on any other part of the bike, and they look the worst - the one part of the frame that is glaringly amateur. The transitions are not entirely smooth and the braze on the drivetrain side betrays a couple of surface "pinholes." When pinholes happen in a lugless braze, it can be for several reasons. With small surface ones like mine it is likely mild contamination from burnt flux or metal dust. With some luck, they can be buffed out. Those pinholes kept me awake at night. I filed and buffed until I was sure I'd gotten rid of them - but somehow the powdercoat magnified rather than hid them, along with the not so smooth stay-to-dropout transitions. Naturally, this is the part of the frame I notice and think about the most. It hurts to look, but I keep looking.






I keep looking. And at first, maybe I feel mostly empty, numb, disappointed at my ineptitude. But with time I notice that underneath it there stirs something that almost resembles love. This thing has cut me, burned me, made me angry, made my eyes water, deprived me of sleep, and drained me of energy... What else can I do but love it.

Time Trial Country

"Mind you, this is only a club time trial," Chris Sharp explains as we set off toward the start on our bikes. But a small club event is exactly what I want to see. The riders in the spirit of competition, but still in their element. The local atmosphere.This is what I think is known as a training racein the US. Staged fairly frequently, it allows riders to test their fitness at different points in the season.





Time trials are a very particular form of racing, and a long standing tradition in the UK and Ireland. In the year 1890 bicycle racing was banned on public roads, permitted only on indoor tracks. This ban brought about a new form of racing, done under the radar of the law. Instead of racing each other outright, cyclists would start at individual intervals and race against the clock. Without drafting or riding in a bunch, there was nothing overtly identifying their activities as a road race. Participants wore no race numbers or club jerseys, adapting instead a style of all-black attire. Races were held in secret, the dates and start times shared through word of mouth. Part secret society, part act of rebellion, the tradition of time trials was born. And although the road racing ban has long since been lifted (I believe in the 1950s), time trials remain popular in the British Isles.






Here in the Roe Valley - a coastal region in the Western part of Northern Ireland - the landscape lends itself to time trials remarkably well. There are long, flat stretches with very little car traffic, where it's possible to pick up some real speed. There are also small, but quite steep mountains for hill climb time trials. Pick whichever you like, or try both.




On this particular evening, members of the Roe Valley Cycling Clubgather to compete in a 25 mile time trial: Two loops along the scenic coastal roads, twice crossing the beautiful river Roe. We pull into a parking lot outside of Limavady, just as the riders are assembling their bikes and getting prepared.





For those unaccustomed to modern time trial equipment, both the bikes and the riders are a sight to see.Aero bars, aero tubing, aero wheels, aero helmets...





Since drafting is not permitted, much of time trialing is about reducing the individual rider's air resistance. The specialised equipment is designed to facilitate this. The rider's position is quite aggressive, with a steep seat tube and set-forward saddle placing them right over the bottom bracket. In the aero position, they ride with a flat back.





I try not to bother the racers at the start, but they are friendly and relaxed.








We meet several of them, including Laura Maxwell - Junior Ladies Ulster Hill Climb champion -whom Chris has been coaching for the past 4 years.




Recently turned 17, this is Laura's last year racing as a junior on limited gearing. Having trained for 10 mile time trials so far, the evening's 25 mile course would be a new challenge.She is the only junior and the only female racing today.






Once the riders' bikes are prepped, all gathered move on from the parking lot to the start of the race - a field along an adjacent road.






These are race marshals, riders, some family members there as support crews, even a few spectators.






I meet Wallace Donaghy. In the 1950s he raced with theCity ofDerry Wheelmen, time trial and road. No longer racing himself, he comes to watch the local riders. Today Wallace rides a Raleigh Appalachian - a lugged steel mountain bike circa 1989. He also has a carbon race bike. He examines my titanium frame as we discuss frame materials, waiting for the race to start.






The riders line up for their starts at intervals. Watching this is fascinating.






A marshall holds the bike by the saddle as the rider clips in, then continues to hold the bike in place. Another marshall then starts counting back from 15 seconds.






When the sign to go is given, it appears as if the marshall at the back is simply letting go of the saddle and the rider slingshots forward. In fact, it's explained to me, the marshal gives the rider a little push, allowing them to start in a bigger gear that otherwise feasible.






As the rider takes off, they start off holding the wider set of handlebars. These somewhat resemble "bullhorns," and are equipped with inverse brake levers.






Standing on the pedals and rocking the bike back and forth, the rider quickly gets up to speed and switches to the aero position. This is exciting to watch. They take off in a violent sort of dance, before finally turning smooth as liquid as they disappear into the distance.






Once all the riders take off, we cycle over to a spot just before the finish line to watch them race at speed. They would be passing us twice, the course consisting of two laps.





Some time passes before we see them, but finally we spot the first rider in the distance. The support crews and spectators cheer for them, then the next and the next.





When we spot Laura, the crowd goes wild - her mother, sister and uncle.






On her second go around the course, I stand closer to get a better look. She is in the zone, head down, eyes forward, a faint smile on her lips as she flies past us. Her posture on the bike is amazing: Her entire body perfectly still, except for the legs going round and round in circles.






One by one I watch the riders pass. There is an almost coccoon-like stillness around each one, as if each is in their own little world, surrounded by a force field.






On the final lap, I watch one rider pass another. This can be quite challenging in a time trial: The rider must pass immediately, since they are not allowed to draft.






Making our way to the finish, we arrive to the sight of riders cooling down, drinking, chatting with each other about the race. Laura did well, particularly considering the new distance. The numbers don't mean much to me yet, but I am interested nonetheless and listen to the rider's chatter intently.






The sun begins to set. This happens slowly here. It will not be dark for hours yet. The riders set off to their homes, in surrounding towns, villages and farms. I put my camera away and get back on my bike. "How did you like that, then?" Chris asks. I shake my head and smile, as we cross the River Roe for the 3rd time that evening. Of all the things I saw, it's the stillness of the riders that is etched in my memory. The absolute stillness against the wind, with only the legs going round in circles.