The classic American cars that cruise Havana's streets are not nostalgia but necessity - the 1950s Chevrolets and Buicks and Fords that embargo prevented replacing and that Cuban mechanics have kept running through ingenuity that defies engineering. The cars that tourists photograph are also the taxis and family vehicles that Habaneros depend on; the restoration that some receive makes them tourist attractions while others just barely function.

The cars represent Cuba's peculiar relationship with time - the vintage vehicles that would be museum pieces elsewhere serving as daily transportation here. The parts that don't exist are fabricated; the engines that died have been replaced with whatever works. The cars are beautiful and impractical and essentially Cuban - making do with what you have elevated to art form.

Habana Vieja is the colonial core that Spain built, the UNESCO-listed streets where restoration has brought buildings back from decay. The Plaza de Armas where colonial governors resided, the Plaza de la Catedral where Baroque facade fronts the church that may have held Columbus's bones - the plazas provide the Spanish colonial architecture that the rest of the Caribbean demolished.

The restoration of Old Havana has been selective - the buildings on tourist routes restored, those off them still crumbling. The inequality that restoration creates, the Cubans who live in unrenovated buildings beside renovated ones - these reflect the contradictions that tourism brings to socialist systems. The colonial city is what Havana shows visitors; what visitors see beyond the restoration is what Cuba actually is.

The Malecon is Havana's seawall and its social space, the eight kilometers of concrete where Habaneros gather because gathering elsewhere costs money they don't have. The lovers who sit as waves crash, the fishermen who cast into the sea, the music that sometimes erupts - the Malecon is free entertainment in a city where entertainment costs. The salt spray that erodes the buildings that line the wall, the maintenance that decades have deferred - the Malecon is also the decay that defines Havana.

The Malecon walk from Old Havana to Vedado passes the neighborhoods that tell Havana's story - the colonial buildings yielding to Art Deco, the wealth that once lined the waterfront visible in buildings that have lost what made them grand. The Malecon is where Havana breathes.

Cuban music - the son and rumba and salsa that the island created - fills Havana's streets and clubs and Casa de la Musica where locals and tourists dance. The Buena Vista Social Club that introduced the world to musicians it had forgotten, the jazz clubs where improvisation continues traditions that revolution couldn't stop - music is what Cuba exports beyond cigars.

The music is everywhere because Cubans make music everywhere - the drummers in parks, the bands in restaurants, the sound systems that blast from open windows. The state-supported musicians who perform officially, the private musicians who perform for tourists - music is hustle and art simultaneously. The music provides the joy that daily difficulty cannot suppress.

The revolution that Fidel Castro led defines modern Cuba, the images of Che Guevara on walls, the slogans that billboards display, the history that museums recount. The Plaza de la Revolucion where Castro spoke for hours, where papal masses have gathered crowds, where Che's image looks down from the Interior Ministry - the plaza is where revolutionary Cuba performs itself.

The revolution is complicated now - the believers who remain, the critics who risk speaking, the young Cubans who want what other countries have. The special period after Soviet support ended, the reforms that tourism required, the changes that Castro's death allowed - the revolution continues adapting or eroding, depending on perspective. The revolution made Havana what it is; what Havana becomes depends on what happens to the revolution.