By Gary Lee
                  Washington Post Staff Writer
                  Sunday, October 18, 1998; Page E01

                  Carlos Ciano laughed with his eyes when he recalled the times he spent
                  running riot across San Blas, his father's timber plantation, an estate in
                  northern Cuba that covered more acreage than Northwest Washington.
                  Afternoons were devoted to hunting wild creatures with his buddies.
                  Nights were a time for dark rum and Spanish ballads.

                  Suddenly somber, he then recounted the day Fidel Castro's revolutionaries
                  claimed San Blas, an event that sent the Ciano clan into exile and brought
                  Carlos's adolescent idyll to an abrupt finale.

                  Carlos, a 59-year-old grandfather, did not look like a man who had
                  survived a revolution. He nonetheless had that youthful presence many
                  islanders retain well past their prime. He wore a faded red shirt and
                  bluejeans that had been washed so often they looked gray. As he talked,
                  he clutched the wheel of his Soviet-made car, a beat-up 1982 Lada, and
                  looked out at the dusty road leading past fields of swooping palm trees to
                  our destination, the Bahia de Cochinos, the Bay of Pigs.

                  To be clear, the site of the aborted 1961 invasion where CIA-trained
                  troops clashed with Cuban soldiers was not my idea of a dream vacation
                  spot. But when Carlos, a friend of a friend, offered to give me a glimpse of
                  the Cuban countryside, I jumped at the chance to see if there was more to
                  the island than the grand boulevards and crumbling mansions of Havana.

                  And so there I was, sitting on the edge of the car seat, sipping black coffee
                  from a thermos and hanging onto Carlos's every word. As fascinated as I
                  was by his account of the takeover of his family's estate, I would be even
                  more impressed later, when I learned about how he responded to the
                  revolution and how it shaped his life.

                  A burning curiosity had brought me to Cuba. Granted, a getaway to
                  Miami's South Beach would have been a lot simpler, and offered plenty of
                  warm weather, nice beaches and interesting night life. The State
                  Department discourages Americans from traveling as tourists to the
                  struggling communist country 90 miles off the Florida coast, and a
                  36-year-old trade embargo restricts U.S. visitors from spending money
                  there. (See box at right for details.) In spite of all that, Cuba has become
                  the trendy traveler's destination of the moment. In the past five years, the
                  number of tourists visiting Cuba from Italy, Germany and other foreign
                  countries has doubled, to 1.7 million. Last year, an estimated 50,000
                  Americans visited surreptitiously to share the experience, mostly by flying
                  in from Canada or other Caribbean islands. Some find the taboo of
                  prohibition alluring; many others sense that a sea change is long overdue in
                  Cuba, that Castro won't live forever, and that the opportunity to visit while
                  the country is still caught in a vivid mid-century time warp is nearing an
                  end.

                  My visit opened my eyes wide. During a late-night outing to the Palacio de
                  Salsa, a flashy club in the Riviera hotel in Havana, I saw dancers moving
                  with a grace more mesmerizing than Astaire's. At the Tropicana I heard
                  singers who combined the boom of Leontyne Price with the
                  happy-go-lucky spirit of Ella Fitzgerald. I gawked at the neoclassical villas
                  along Havana's Calzada del Cerro, an avenue that in its heyday would
                  have made Beverly Hills' Rodeo Drive look like just another shopping mall.
                  At simple eateries, I savored the tasty black bean soup, fried plantains and
                  grilled fish that have made Cuban food famous the world over. After a
                  week's stay in Havana and the provinces, I can safely report that the
                  island's status as a fountainhead of West Indian art and culture is well
                  deserved.

                  But after all that, it was not the artistic or culinary skills of Cubans that
                  most captured my fancy. It was their life sagas. Looking back, I do not
                  fully understand what inspired the locals I met to pour out their souls to a
                  stranger from America. Perhaps the beloved mojito, a Cuban cocktail
                  composed of rum, sugar, lime juice and mint leaves, is what sent their
                  tongues wagging. Or maybe it was the starry nights along the Malecon--the
                  promenade winding along Havana's shoreline--that encouraged them to
                  speak freely about their lives. Whatever prompted them, nearly every
                  Cuban I encountered told a rich biography, and each revolved around a
                  dramatic episode.

                  For Esperanzo Portuando, a stout woman with a sonorous voice and cafe
                  au lait skin, the pivotal moment came when she returned from Moscow
                  with a doctorate in nuclear physics to find that there was no market for
                  atomic scientists in Cuba. In need of money, she decided to try her hand at
                  entertainment. A few glowing gigs landed her on the stage of the
                  Tropicana, where I heard her belt out a love song so touching that it almost
                  brought the crowd to tears. Drawn to her voice, I followed her to the cozy
                  club in the hotel Melia Cohiba, where she performs nightly. It was there,
                  over a round of pineapple daiquiris, that she told her story.

                  For Roberto Barrueta, the turning point of his 31 years came when his
                  wife, stricken with hepatitis, lay on her deathbed. Despair led Santiago to a
                  park in Havana, where he communed with the deities of Santeria, the odd
                  mixture of Catholicism and Yoruba religions that African-rooted Cubans
                  practice with fervor. Within a day, he says, his wife was walking and on
                  the road to recovery. Ever since, the industrious tour guide has given over
                  his spiritual existence to Santeria.

                  Maria Gonzalez's life took a pirouette the night Fidel Castro showed up at
                  the front door of her home in the city of Cienfuegos. In the early 1950s,
                  Maria had opened Covadonga, a small restaurant with a reputation for the
                  finest paella in all of Cuba. Years later, when Castro showed up for dinner
                  shortly after the revolution, he ordered the paella but found it hardly edible.

                  "Where's Maria?" he asked the waiter, only to find that she had gone into
                  retirement. The Cuban leader headed to Maria's home, where he pleaded
                  with her to come back to Covadonga. She agreed, and quickly restored
                  the reputation of fine paella to the restaurant.

                  I would hear many other stories, too: A taxi driver who could quote
                  Pushkin in the original Russian, a bartender who made 200 daiquiris a
                  night, a prostitute who supported a family of four with her earnings.

                  Before long I realized that if Cubans led lives worthy of a Hemingway short
                  story, it was not by coincidence. Whether it was the strange mix of Marxist
                  politics and Caribbean breezes or constant economic hardship, something
                  about the island seems to send its inhabitants down a road rarely taken by
                  us more comfortable Americans.

                  But none struck me quite like the ballad of Carlos Ciano.

                  If Havana were a man, I have no doubt that he, too, would have given me
                  an earful about his life. Alone, the saga of the city's legendary
                  transformation on Jan. 8, 1959, would have taken a long evening of stiff
                  mojitos to tell. That was when Fidel Castro finally ousted dictator
                  Fulgencio Batista and eventually raised the flag of communism over the
                  Cuban capital.

                  Before that day, Havana was known as a rum-soaked enclave of
                  Caribbean hedonism, an urban gem with the flashiest street life this side of
                  New York, a place where sassy women would walk the streets all night,
                  and it seemed as if the rumba would never stop. The colonial legacy of the
                  Spanish included not only the language but a certain flair for late-night
                  revelry.

                  Since Castro's revolution, Havana has become an experiment in socialism.
                  It is now a place where medical doctors earn the equivalent of $10 a
                  month, Batista's ballrooms are used for exhibitions extolling the glories of
                  Karl Marx, and the state assumed ownership of nearly all private property,
                  from mansions to small corner stores. To stem the outflow of refugees, the
                  Casto government barred all but a trickle of Cubans from leaving the
                  country.

                  During our stay, my traveling companions (Tom Cohen, a college friend,
                  his wife, Lisa Fuentes, and their four children, Ricardo, Michaela, Hanna
                  Luisa, and Juan Carlos, who ranged from 21 years to 10 months) spent
                  time in both Havanas.

                  Although decaying buildings sat on almost every street corner, we found
                  the spirit of Old Havana easily accessible. The Nacional, where we stayed,
                  is a classic hotel towering over the harbor. With decorative ceramic and
                  gaily painted wooden panels throughout the lobby, peacocks wandering
                  around the courtyard and waiters rushing around with daiquiris, the 1930
                  building has a distinctly Caribbean flavor.

                  El Aljibe, where we dined our first night, served up a worthy feast: chicken
                  roasted in garlic, black beans cooked in rice water, succulent
                  avocados--all of it accompanied by enough mojitos to take us to the other
                  end of the island without leaving our seats.

                  The Tropicana, where we packed a table one Saturday night, gave us one
                  of the most inspiring evenings of music and dance we had experienced in
                  years. A famed nightspot since the 1930s, it features some of the island's
                  top talent. Singers let their romantic lyrics roll across the crowd. Dancers
                  did everything from rumba to salsa and Afro jazz. Costumes were a glittery
                  array of red and orange, highlighted by plumage stacked toward the sky. If
                  any place was reminiscent of Havana's pre-revolutionary party spirit, this
                  was it. The brightly colored classic American cars that crawl around
                  Havana, from lemon-yellow Oldsmobiles to hot-pink Cadillacs, further
                  enhance the city's antiquated ambiance.

                  But there is a dark side to Havana. Even in the poshest districts it was hard
                  to escape the atmosphere of destitution that hangs over the place.
                  Panhandlers are everywhere, begging for dollars needed to buy food and
                  other basics. Prostitutes roamed the streets, hotel lobbies and clubs.
                  Elegant buildings were sagging near ruin, crowded with four or more
                  families to an apartment. Faces were gloomy, remindful of the look Soviet
                  people wore shortly before the fall of communism.

                  Particularly since 1991, when Soviet economic aid ran dry and Cuba was
                  forced to pay its own way, the Castro government has worked at
                  attracting more visitors with hard currency by sprucing up several
                  moribund tourist attractions. Besides the Nacional, other hotels have been
                  renovated and reopened, including the Santa Isabel, an elegant historic
                  place in Old Havana. A few beloved restaurants have been restored, too.
                  One favorite is La Vista, which sits on a plant-covered courtyard and
                  serves blackened sea bass so fresh it tastes as if it had just been yanked
                  from the ocean and tossed on the grill.

                  But nothing gave me a better feel for Havana's past grandeur than strolling
                  through the city's streets. Calle Obispo, one of the main arteries in La
                  Habana Vieja, the city's historic quarter, was my starting point. This was
                  Ernest Hemingway's stomping ground. El Floridita, the lively bar and
                  restaurant where he drank daiquiris (said to have been invented here), is at
                  one end. The Ambos Mundos, the hotel where he lived for several years in
                  the 1940s (and where the rooms he used for writing most of "For Whom
                  the Bell Tolls" in has been turned into a small museum), sits at the other.
                  There are other buildings that recall past times, too, including the Casa de
                  Infusiones, an old-fashioned pharmacy, and El Anon, an old-style ice
                  cream parlor.

                  Wandering around Old Havana could easily take a half-day. The Plaza de
                  la Catedral is the centerpiece. At one end is the commanding 18th-century
                  Catedral de San Cristobal de La Habana. On the other side is the Casa
                  del Marques de Arco, a historic mansion that now houses a graphic arts
                  workshop. On another is former Palacio de los Condes Bayona, which
                  contains the Museo de Arte Colonial.

                  Probably the most significant colonial architecture in all of the Caribbean,
                  the square only begins to give a taste of the exalted role that Havana
                  played in the growth of the region.

                  To help me fully appreciate the sweep and stature of Havana, Mario
                  Coyula, one of Cuba's best-known architects, suggested a tour of the
                  buildings in other parts of town. "Visitors tour Old Havana and are struck
                  by its elegance," he said. "But to only see that part of town would give a
                  skewed sense of the city's architectural grandeur. There is much, much
                  more to it."

                  Coyula should know. As vice director of a group overseeing historic
                  restorations, he has created a large model of the entire city of Havana,
                  made up of replicas of all of the city's buildings. Using the model as a kind
                  of map, Coyula pointed out neighborhoods and individual buildings worthy
                  of a tour.

                  Taking his suggestions to heart, I set off across Havana, hopping from one
                  antique American taxi to another.

                  In a city where wealthy families used to commission renowned architects to
                  build their homes, it was easy to find something stunning in each of the
                  city's 15 districts. The residential streets of Vedado, Miramar or Cerro, the
                  most interesting sectors, are lined with private villas built by sugar barons
                  or other wealthy industrialists and abandoned after the revolution. Along
                  the Calzada del Cerro, for example, I saw an amazing array of art deco,
                  art nouveau and Spanish colonial homes. Most have been taken over by
                  squatters, with as many as a dozen families squeezed into a few rooms.

                  For a foray into the Havana that Castro built, there is probably no better
                  starting point than the Museum of the Revolution, housed in the old
                  presidential palace. It provides a good sense of the revolution from the
                  viewpoint of the party faithful: Here were papers documenting the lavish
                  lifestyle and brutal tactics of Batista and his compatriots, coupled with
                  reports of the reforms Castro's comrades undertook in the early years,
                  including literacy campaigns and projects to enhance the infrastructure of
                  the island's more impoverished parts. The highlight was probably the
                  Granma, the yacht that Castro took from Mexico in 1956 to begin his
                  guerrilla campaign.

                  Although one-sided, the exhibits gave a different perspective from most of
                  the accounts of the revolution I had read in the United States, which accent
                  the Cuban government's violations of human rights, including the
                  imprisonment of political dissidents and harsh treatment of citizens who
                  seek to escape.

                  To gain a better feel for workaday Havana, I moved from the Hotel
                  Nacional to a bed-and-breakfast in a quiet Vedado neighborhood near the
                  historic Cementerio Cristobal Colon, where many of the island's
                  best-known political and cultural figures are buried. Living in a $25-a-day
                  room and eating $5 lunches of black beans and roast pork at paladares,
                  the makeshift restaurants Cubans operate out of their homes, helped me to
                  share in the simple lives most locals lead.

                  Here I found a refuge from the mood of poverty in other parts of Havana.
                  Most of the neighbors I met appeared to be coping quietly with the limited
                  resources at hand. "Not very many of us are rich, and some are pretty
                  poor," said one office administrator I met in a cafe. "But most of us are just
                  making do."

                  A long late-night dinner conversation with Pablo Armando Fernandez, a
                  noted poet who unabashedly supports Castro, gave me further insight into
                  the thinking of the country's true believers.

                  I asked whether the blows that had been struck to Cuba's economy in the
                  past four decades were worth the advantages the revolution had brought.

                  "This was a brutally racist country before the revolution, not unlike
                  Alabama before the civil rights movement," he said. "Although there are
                  many things that the government has not done, it has brought about a far
                  greater sense of racial equality, particularly in education. That is something
                  I am proud of."

                  It was about a half-hour outside the Bay of Pigs, just as we were
                  approaching the family's old timber estate at San Blas, that Carlos Ciano
                  told me how he had responded when Castro's guerrillas arrived.

                  We had spent the morning in the Cuban city of Trinidad, one of the seven
                  original colonial enclaves built by Spanish settlers. It features cobblestone
                  streets and stone buildings that have been preserved pretty much as they
                  had been built 300 years ago. Carlos and I had explored the sights
                  together, but our conversation had been mostly small talk: baseball, the
                  weather. His fluent English made communication easy.

                  Gradually Carlos warmed, and now he seemed ready to share his life's
                  story.

                  Over the objections of family members who fled to Venezuela and the
                  United States, young Carlos decided to stay in post-revolutionary Cuba.

                  "The Castro forces were doing a lot of important things--building roads
                  where there had been none, teaching peasants to read and write, offering
                  people a lot of opportunities," he explained. "I supported what they were
                  doing."

                  After we arrived in Playa Giron, one of the key towns along the Bay of
                  Pigs, Carlos became even more animated. During a walk around the town,
                  he showed me the spots where the CIA-backed troops clashed with the
                  Cubans. He suggested a stop in the Museo Giron, which has a detailed
                  depiction of the invasion. Among the pictures of Cubans who had perished
                  in the conflict, Carlos pointed out a few of his friends.

                  Carlos told me that he had fought in the battle himself, manning a
                  Czech-made antiaircraft unit against the U.S.-backed troops. Afterward he
                  went to work for the Cuban foreign service, serving in Havana and other
                  places. His last post had been with the Cuban delegation at the United
                  Nations in the late 1970s and early '80s. A few years ago he retired and
                  moved to a small Havana apartment.

                  Carlos spent the rest of the day touring the Bay of Pigs area, including a
                  resort hotel and a private beach with a bar and a restaurant. Further afield
                  was the Laguna del Tesoro, a kind of crocodile theme park, complete with
                  a pit full of the long-snouted creatures, and a restaurant offering (with
                  typical Cuban resourcefulness) fried crocodile.

                  Later that night at the house of a friend of his, we sat down for a dinner of
                  roast pork, avocado salad and guava juice. I asked for his views on the
                  current state of affairs in Cuba.

                  "The revolution did a lot of great things," said the scion of Cuba's once
                  proud industrial wealth. "It brought equality of opportunity, made life better
                  for a lot of Cubans, gave them education and hope. Unfortunately, it has
                  not achieved everything it set out to do. The circumstances were bad, and
                  a lot of mistakes were made. But that has not deterred my faith in the idea
                  of socialism. I believe that somewhere in the world, at some point, it will
                  work."

                  After dinner, Carlos invited me to visit the home of Motor, another old
                  friend. The two had shared many a day hunting in the fields of San Blas.
                  After a glass of rum, the two broke out guitars and sang rancheros and
                  boleros until their voices gave out.

                  Carlos could not contain his joy. As I looked at him, it struck me how
                  much his life story paralleled that of Cuba itself: starting as a child of
                  privilege and eventually becoming a disciple of socialism. Now he seemed
                  content, for the moment, with a simple life, finding some pleasure in the
                  midst of very difficult economic circumstances.

                  And yet, somehow, he seemed to anticipate another big turning point.

                  Cuba: Can You Go?

                  The U.S. trade embargo of Cuba and the Trading With the Enemies Act
                  specifically bar U.S. citizens or companies from spending money in ways
                  that are beneficial to Cuba's communist government. This generally
                  includes traveling there. "Transactions related to travel in or to Cuba . . .
                  are generally prohibited," reads a stipulation published in U.S. passports.
                  Buying Cuban goods or services, with the exception of informational
                  materials and a few other items, is also barred, the rule says. The U.S.
                  government grants licenses for some Americans to go to Cuba on official
                  business, to visit family members or to pursue a particular, defined
                  objective.

                  In the past couple of years, U.S. authorities have sought to tighten control
                  of unsanctioned travel to Cuba. Tourists arriving in the United States from
                  cities that are gateways to the island are occasionally asked by U.S.
                  immigration officials whether they have visited Cuba. Travelers caught
                  breaking the law are faced with a possible fine of up to $15,000.

                  As a journalist employed by a recognized U.S. publication, I was allowed
                  to go to Cuba without a license. But a growing number of Americans go
                  there for vacations without receiving permission, usually by flying via a third
                  country, such as Canada, the Bahamas, Mexico or Jamaica. I followed a
                  routine commonly taken by casual American tourists who visit
                  surreptitiously: a flight from Washington to Toronto via Air Canada, an
                  overnight stay in Canada and a flight to Havana the next day on Lacsa, a
                  Costa Rican airline. I wanted to familiarize myself with the ins and outs of
                  Cuba travel, including snags tourists encounter.

                  Cuba-bound travelers who do not have licenses often avoid having their
                  passports stamped at Cuban airports. Upon my arrival and departure at
                  Havana, I asked Cuban immigration authorities not to stamp my passport.
                  They agreed readily.

                  On my return from Havana, I stayed overnight in Toronto and then headed
                  home to Washington the next day. U.S. immigration officials never inquired
                  whether I had been in Cuba. For more logistical details, see box on Page
                  E6.

                  --Gary Lee

                  DETAILS: Exploring Cuba

                  Licenses for traveling to Cuba are granted by the U.S. Treasury
                  Department. Applicants must show that they have reason to make a visit
                  besides curiousity or tourism. Application forms can be obtained from:
                  Office of Foreign Assets Control, U.S. Department of Treasury, 1500
                  Pennsylvania Ave. NW, Treasury Building, Washington, D.C. 20220,
                  202-622-2480.

                  For their part, Cuban authorities welcome American tourists. Only a valid
                  U.S. passport and a Cuban tourist card, which is available for $25 (all
                  prices quoted are in U.S. dollars) from air carriers who fly to Cuba, are
                  required for entry. A departure tax of $20 must be paid at the airport.

                  Visitors should remember that Cuban hotels and other businesses do not
                  take credit cards or checks affiliated with American banks and that no
                  ATMs are on the island. Travelers have little option but to pay bills in cash,
                  usually in U.S. dollars. In some cases, American Express travelers checks
                  are accepted. Although crime in Havana is less problematic than in many
                  U.S. cities, travelers are advised to keep cash in the safes made available
                  in most major hotels and carry only a minimal amount with them.

                  Those seeking to go to Cuba through legal channels have a couple of
                  places to turn to for help. Marazul, a New Jersey travel agency (4100
                  Park Ave., Weehawken, N.J. 07087, 1-800-223-5334), can assist
                  individual visitors and groups through the process of applying for a license
                  and can also arrange hotels and other aspects of trips.

                  The Center for Cuban Studies (124 W. 23rd St., New York, N.Y.
                  10011, 212-242-0559) also offers several legally sanctioned trips a year
                  to the general public. They are usually based around a theme, such as
                  religion or Afro-Cuban heritage.

                  Those taking licensed trips should be aware that they are restricted from
                  spending more than $100 a day in Cuba, including hotel costs and meals.

                  GETTING THERE: A number of travel agents can offer advice for U.S.
                  travelers to Cuba. Two Canadian firms that seem reliable are: Magna
                  Tours in Toronto (905-761-1380) and Vera Playa in Montreal
                  (514-861-2897)

                  Most Cuba-bound travelers from the Washington area fly first to Nassau,
                  the Bahamas, Cancun, Mexico City, Montreal or Toronto; from there they
                  catch flights to the cities of Havana or Santiago. Easy connections to Cuba
                  can also be made from Jamaica or the Dominican Republic. Most travel
                  agents can make arrangements for all legs of the trip in advance, including
                  those on Air Cubana or other airlines that fly to Cuba.

                  My Washington-Toronto flight cost $300 round trip. Toronto-Havana air
                  fare was $530.

                  Booking a package through a travel agent might be a better deal. Magna
                  Tours offers a package for a week's stay of $980 for a solo traveler,
                  including round-trip air fare and seven nights at the Nacional, the finest
                  hotel in Havana. For double occupancy, the package is $1,350. Cheaper
                  packages offering accommodations in more modest hotels are also
                  available.

                  WHERE TO STAY: Most hotels are cheaper if booked with travel agents.
                  Cuban immigration authorities require visitors to prove that they have paid
                  for a hotel for at least three nights, so be prepared to show them a voucher
                  or other proof.

                  The Nacional (telephone 011-53-7-333-564), where I stayed, has two
                  swimming pools and many other amenities. Doubles cost about $120,
                  including a sumptuous buffet breakfast.

                  Among the half-dozen other hotels I visited, I found the following most
                  recommendable:

                  The Ambos Mundos (telephone 011-53-7-614-887), a quaint 53-room
                  hotel in the middle of Old Havana, has great character and comfortable
                  rooms. Ernest Hemingway lived here 50 years ago. Doubles go for $130 a
                  night. The Santa Isabel (telephone 011-53-7-338-201), calm, elegant and
                  wonderfully decorated, is also located in historic Old Havana. The lobby
                  resembles an art gallery and the rooms are quite pleasant. Doubles are
                  $130.

                  The Capri (telephone 011-53-7-333-571) is a large hotel in a popular
                  section of downtown Havana. A pretty good deal for budget travelers, it
                  has all the basics and is clean and neat. Doubles go for $75 a night,
                  including breakfast.

                  I spent a couple of nights in a bed-and-breakfast run by a Cuban couple,
                  Eneida and Frank (telephone 011-53-7-306-950). They offer a nice
                  studio, no frills but air conditioned and complete with kitchen facilities, for
                  $30 a night. It is centrally located in a quiet neighborhood in the Vedado
                  district. The owners speak English and are very helpful hosts. Similar
                  establishments, located all over the city, are advertised mostly through
                  word of mouth.

                  WHERE TO EAT: El Floridita (La Habana Vieja, Monserrate 557, at
                  Obispo), where Hemingway frequently dined and imbibed, has great
                  atmosphere and always draws a crowd, mostly of European tourists. The
                  food is good and the daiquiris, which are famously potent, are worth it, but
                  the place is pricey. Dinner for two with drinks will run about $70.

                  El Aljibe (Miramar, Calle 24 at Seventh), a spacious open-air place, is
                  known for its garlic roast chicken. You can get all the best-known Cuban
                  dishes, too, such as black beans and rice and cafe con leche. A sumptuous
                  dinner for two with a couple of rum drinks and a desert of mango ice
                  cream ran us about $45.

                  The best and cheapest food in Havana is served in the private restaurants
                  run out of local homes. Some are licensed; others are organized informally.
                  Most are advertised by word of mouth. I ate in several and enjoyed them
                  all. One that I favored in particular was La Cocina de Lillian. I had a great
                  dish of lobster a la Cuban here, made in a tomato and garlic sauce and a
                  heaping plate of sauteed vegetables. For two, the bill came to $20. There
                  is no telephone, but it's located in Miramar, 1311 Calle 48, between 13th
                  and 15th streets.

                  WHAT TO DO: Tours of Havana--whether through historic
                  neighborhoods, retracing the footsteps of Ernest Hemingway, or on other
                  themes--are a good way to see the city. Havanatur, which offers several
                  versions that last about four hours and cost about $20 each, has desks in
                  most major hotels or can be reached at 011-53-7-332-121. Otherwise,
                  private tour guides who hang about the hotel lobbies and the heavily
                  touristed areas of the city are sometimes useful. Prices are negotiable but
                  make sure that they speak good English. One guide I strongly recommend,
                  particularly for Afro-Cuban heritage, is Roberto Barrueta (telephone
                  011-53-7-793-796).

                  Havanatur and other agencies also offer trips to the cities of Trinidad,
                  Santiago and other places around the Island. Information about them can
                  usually be obtained from hotel concierges or at the number listed above.

                  INFORMATION: Contact the Cuba Tourist Board, 55 Queen St. E,
                  Suite 705, Toronto, Ontario M5C 1R6, 416-362-0700,
                  http://www.generation.net/mintur. Or visit the U.S. government Web site at
                  http://www .treas.gov/ofac.

                  --Gary Lee
 

                           © Copyright 1998 The Washington Post Company