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Hidden Havana: life beyond mojitos and big, fat cigars

A small brown dog wearing a faded pink T-shirt jogged down an Old Havana street. I decided to follow him. He seemed as good a guide as any. He was in no rush, stopping to sniff the flip-flopped feet of the fat brown girls who sat gossiping on doorsteps, rocking babies, their tight, skimpy vests revealing cleavage you could lose an arm in.

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