In October 1959 Fidel Castro spoke to the American Society of Travel Agents (ASTA) convention, held in the old Blanquita Theater (now the Karl Marx) in Havana. “We have sea,” said Castro. “We have bays, we have beautiful beaches, we have medicinal waters in our hotels, we have mountains, we have game and we have fish in the sea and the rivers, and we have sun. Our people are noble, hospitable, and most important, they hate no one. They love visitors, so much in fact that our visitors feel completely at home.”

Normal relations with the United States still existed back then, and the U.S. ambassador, Philip Bonsai, also lauded Cuban tourism at the ASTA convention: “Cuba is one of the most admirable countries in the world from the point of view of North American tourism and from many other points of view.”

Almost five decades have passed. Nothing has changed but the politics.

Travelers visiting Cuba today do so at a fascinating historical moment, as Cuba becomes increasingly dependent on tourism. Four decades after Castro closed the doors to outsiders, his country is enjoying cult status again. In 2004, more than two million visitors vacationed in Cuba.

Deluxe all-inclusive resorts are well-established. Even boutique hotels are emerging. And U.S. trade embargo notwithstanding, there’s no shortage of modern tour buses, nor of Mercedes taxis, and even BMWs and Audis for rent. With all the hoopla about politics, it’s easy to overlook the sheer beauty and delight of the place.

Cuba is made for tropical tourism: the diamond-dust beaches and bathtub-warm seas the color of peacock feathers; the bottle-green mountains and jade valleys full of dramatic formations; the ancient cities, with their flower-bedecked balconies, rococo churches, and palaces and castles evocative of the once mighty power of Spain; and, above all, the sultriness and spontaneity of a country called the most emotionally involving in the Western hemisphere. No matter what the state of political tensions, there is santería and salsa, and sunny days on talcum beaches. Whatever the temperature a fresh breeze is sure to be blowing, carrying tropical aromas through cobbled colonial plazas. There are mojitos and cuba libres to enjoy, and the world’s finest cigars to smoke fresh from the factory as you rumble down the lonesome highways in a chrome-spangled ’55 Cadillac to the rhythm of the rumba on the radio.

The country is blessed with possibility. Divers are delirious over Cuba’s wealth of deep-sea treasures. Sportfishing is also relatively advanced and has far more fish than fishhooks. Laguna del Tesoro, part of the swampy Zapata Peninsula National Park, is one of several premier bird-watching sites. There are crocodiles, too, lurking leery-eyed in well-preserved everglades. Horseback-riding options abound. Cuba is a prime destination for bicycle touring, and hikers can head for the Sierra Maestra to tread trails trod by Fidel Castro and Che Guevara.

Cuba’s greatest, most enigmatic appeal, however, is that while traveling through it you sense you are living inside an unfolding drama. Cuba is still intoxicating, still laced with the sharp edges and sinister shadows that made Federico García Lorca, the Spanish poet, write to his parents, “If I get lost, look for me in Cuba,” and that made Ernest Hemingway want “to stay here forever.” No other Western nation offers such uniquely sensual and surreal sensations, made more poignant by Cuba’s romantic caught-in-a-time-warp setting and a demimonde bubbling just beneath the surface. Walking Havana’s streets you sense you are living inside a romantic thriller. You don’t want to sleep for fear of missing a vital experience. Before the Revolution, Cuba had a reputation as a place of intrigue and tawdry romance. The whiff of conspiracy, the intimation of liaison, is still in the air. For foreign visitors, it is heady stuff.
The “real” Cuba isn’t easy to fathom, however. In this twilight land, everything appears twice: once as the government likes to present it, and once as it really is. An open-minded visitor is torn two ways; Cuba is both disheartening and uplifting. You’ll most probably fall madly in love with the country, while being thankful you don’t have to live in it.

To the international visitor, the frustrations of life for the average Cuban need be no more than a slight inconvenience. Tourists are free to go wherever they wish, and there are few visible hallmarks of a totalitarian system, which is well hidden from tourists — the secret police lurk in the shadows. And though the government tries to erect barriers between tourists and Cubans as much as possible (for example, an apartheid policy denies Cubans access to hotels and beaches reserved for tourists — a humiliation that angers most Cubans), interacting with the vivacious, self-assured Cubans is one of the greatest pleasures.

The compellingly warm-hearted Cubans relish a passion for pleasure despite (or because of) their hardships. Salsa and irresistible rumbas pulse through the streets, and throngs of people congregate at nightclubs and cabarets. Cubans you have met only moments previously may invite you into their homes, where rum and beer are passed around and you are lured to dance by narcotic rhythms.