Havana for The Night Owls: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

The seawall is the city's living room after dark: rum from the bottle, guitars, and the fishermen's lines going out; sit near La Rampa and wait for the night.

A bright diner by the sea with pizzas, burgers and milkshakes done properly, the place to line the stomach before a jazz basement.

Enter through a red London phone box and go down to the city's jazz cellar; two sets from ten-thirty, the cover includes two drinks.

A dark corner café of old photographs on Plaza del Cristo, tacos and strong coffee for the first meal of a day that started at noon.

A mojito on the lawn above the sea as the sun drops behind the Morro, where the peacocks walk between the tables and nobody is in a hurry.

A cooking-oil factory turned into galleries, three stages and five bars; the card is stamped at each one and paid on the way out. Queue before nine or after midnight.

The Asturian society's restaurant on the seawall, paella and lobster on the first-floor balcony with the waves hitting the wall below.

Sunday afternoon the painted alley fills with drums and dancers for the orishas; it runs from noon and peaks around three, with beer from the kiosk.

The state salsa hall where the big bands play from eleven; the dance floor is serious, the balcony is for watching, and the taxi home is at three.

The roaster on Plaza Vieja opens early; a cortado at the counter while the square is still being swept and the night is still in your ears.

The seawall the other way round: joggers, the first fishermen and the boys on inner tubes, with the Morro across the water in flat early light.

Open on a Monday when the galleries are shut: the tour ends in a bar at noon, which for a night owl is breakfast, and the shop sells the bottle for the plane.