Havana for The Solo Traveller: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

Thirty-five metres up for the live projection of the rooftops, the only way to read the city before you walk it.

The marble promenade of bronze lions where kids skate, old men play chess and the art sellers pack up.

A stool at the bar, garlic shrimp and pork for a few euros, no booking, chalk your name on the wall.

Five flat kilometres on the seawall before the heat, past the fishermen on inner tubes and the first wave over the wall.

Hire a bike, take the ciclobús through the bay tunnel, and ride out to the torreón and Hemingway's bust on the quay.

Where Gregorio Fuentes drank, a seafood lunch at the counter by the window over the bay.

The T3 bus from Parque Central to white sand and empty water twenty kilometres east, back by mid-afternoon.

The lanchita across the bay for small change, then the climb through the village to the observatory for the last light.

A grill on the corner of a Vedado avenue, a counter seat and a plate of pork from the fire.

The corner where baseball is argued at volume every morning under the statue of Martí.

Second-hand stalls of revolutionary pamphlets, 1950s magazines and old novels under the trees; the dealers open slowly, so start with a coffee on the square.

A cafetería counter with good bread, a medianoche and a coffee before the airport, and a bakery next door for something to carry onto the plane.