BY NANCY SAN MARTIN

 HAVANA -- A state-of-the-art airport with daily flights from Canada and from Germany, Spain and other European nations. Newly installed ATMs in colonial buildings. A cybercafe in the Capitolio.

 More than 40 years after the Cuban Revolution, Havana finally appears to be coming of age as the vivid reminders of a nation that had been stuck in a decades-old time warp begin to fade away.

 Classic American automobiles that served as pre-Castro stamps now share the road with shiny Hyundais, Daewoos and Mercedes-Benzes.

 Crumbling structures built during the colonial period that had been serving as crowded tenements known as solares have been converted into quaint restaurants and
 hostels with room prices ranging from $45 to $175 per night.

 And construction projects along the Malecón and in Miramar are going up in the architectural style of the glass buildings along Brickell Avenue.

 The transformation that began in earnest within the last two years is turning this capital into the heart of a more modern Cuba.

 Although Cuba's standard of living still has not recovered completely from the collapse of the economy caused by the withdrawal of Soviet aid in 1990, a tourism boom is helping to improve the economic picture, at least for those who live in Havana.

 "Tourism has provided the only steady source of income,'' said Ana Lopez, director of the 5-year-old Cuban Studies Institute at Tulane University in New Orleans. "They have to hold on to it to survive. It's a short-term salvavida.''

 To drive home the point, the Cuban government has repeatedly announced to its population that the worst of the "período especial'' (the "special period'' of hardship) is over. The message is plastered on billboards across the island.

 "Revolución es Construir'' (Revolution means Construction), one says.

 Another, with a picture of modern-day Cubans in hard hats and their fists raised, states: "Hombres de Nuestros Tiempos'' (Men of Our Time).

 "The entire Cuban economy as it stands today is a miracle,'' Lopez said. ``They were able to survive without completely destroying the basis of what had made the
 country special. Their ability to resolver (literally, resolve -- to fix) boggles the mind.''

 The growth, inb large part, is due to the emerging tourism trade, Cuban officials and U.S. scholars say.

 "Tourism registered a strong performance throughout the decade and is no doubt the star of the 'special period,' '' according to an analysis written by St. Thomas
 University economist María Dolores Espino.

 At a tourism convention in Havana earlier this month, Cuban officials reported an industry growth of 12 percent with a record two million visitors expected by the end of the year.

 Obviously cognizant of the importance of impressing visitors, Cuba is flaunting a refreshed paradise image.

 The Calle del Obispo, one of the main streets in Old Havana, is dotted with outdoor cafes.

 Vendors selling crafts and head-to-toe trinkets clog stretches of formerly open areas.

 Musicians in colorful garb, carrying a variety of instruments, hobble on stilts across cobbled streets, wooing bystanders to follow along like children behind a Pied Piper.

HISTORIC, MODERN BLEND

City's ancient facades joined by modern icons

 Nearby, groomed horses wait patiently to pull visitors around in ornate carriages. Cubans with dreadlocks huddle around cassette players to listen to reggae tunes by Cuban bands.

 Meandering through the crowded roads are train trolleys and motorbikes affixed with bright yellow fiberglass shells that go by the name Coco-Taxi.

 Tourists disembarking from cruise ships at the renovated port of Havana need only cross the street to the Plaza de San Francisco for a surreal blend of historical facades and a window display at United Colors of Benetton showcasing the ``spring/summer collection.''

 The more modern Cuba has been uplifting for some, depressing for others.

 While visitors dine out in the converted solares on the outer rim of Old Havana, the lives of tenants at the solares in the interior hang loosely, like the laundry on
 clotheslines off decrepit balconies. There is a lingering sense that it is only a matter of time before they, too, are moved out of their homes and away from their lifelong neighborhoods.

 The hustle and bustle in parts of the old district is on hold, as Eusebio Leal, the government's official historian and director of restoration, moves people out to restore the ancient structures to their former glory.

 ``It's good they're fixing this up, but for the people who have to move away it's hard,'' Alberto Guerra said. ``Their jobs, everything they need, is here.''

 Lives have improved, if only a little, primarily for those in Havana.

 Couples dress up and take casual Sunday strolls. Teenagers chatter between mouthfuls of ice cream and pizza. Children run across the Plaza de San Francisco chasing the dozens of pigeons whose presence has provoked cynical commentary.

 "Even the pigeons have been imported for the tourists,'' Cubans say.

 In Havana, the Cuban government has succeeded in cleaning up its streets -- physically and socially. Prostitution still exists, but it is more discreet.

 The solicitations now come with the wink of an eye, a request to borrow a light for a cigarette.

 The throngs of hustlers that used to overwhelm visitors with propositions of cheap cigars and romantic adventures have been swept aside by a special police brigade set up to make tourists feel safe. The hustlers are shooed away by men in blue uniforms who stand on every corner of the most frequented neighborhoods -- Old Havana, Vedado and Miramar.

 NOT ALL LIVES IMPROVING

 Some enjoy gains in Havana, but poverty rules elsewhere

 While the transition has been beneficial for some of Havana's two million residents, opportunities for the remaining nine million Cubans outside the capital remain as thin as the new coats of paint.

 That is especially true in Guantánamo province and other parts of eastern Cuba, which have been hit hard by drought. Prostitution in Santiago de Cuba, the country's
 second-largest city, is blatant, according to numerous recent visitors to the region.

 The continued hardship across Cuba is partly due to a double economy created by hard currency from both tourism and remittances -- perhaps the second most
 important component of the Cuban economy. An estimated $800 million from Cubans in the United States makes its way across the island annually.

 According to estimates of both Cuban and U.S. scholars, more than one-third of Cubans have access to U.S. currency, which Cubans have been allowed to possess since 1993. The dollars have become so common that Cubans are no longer turned away from restaurants once reserved just for tourists. And supermarkets built mostly for foreigners now are filled with Cuban consumers.

 But such perks are out of reach for those with little access to U.S. currency.

 "A lot of possibilities exist for tourists but not for Cubans,'' complained a taxi driver. "Things are a little better, but they still have a long way to go. But don't get me wrong, we are grateful for the little that we have.''

 Most Cubans earn just under 250 pesos a month. That amounts to approximately $12 at government exchange rates now of about 20 pesos to $1.

 Although food rations provide Cubans with about one-third of their monthly nutrition, and costs for housing, utilities, education, healthcare and public transportation are minimal, Cubans still struggle to make ends meet.

 Clothing and other basic necessities, such as soap, remain a luxury. The dollar-driven economy also has driven up the cost of food and household items. As a result,
 many have resorted to stealing and panhandling.

 Restaurant workers slip tips into their pockets when they think nobody is watching. Taxi meters are rigged so drivers can keep more.

 Even the elderly, once a protected segment of the community, have turned to begging.

 "Can you help a grandmother?'' an elderly woman hawking issues of Granma, the official government newspaper, whispered to visitors in Havana. "I can't live off my pension.''

 Fritz Auer, a second-time visitor from Austria, said the island has a magnetic appeal, despite its shortcomings. "I like Cuba. I don't know why. Maybe it's the music, the glamour,'' Auer said. "There is something about it.''

 But when he arrived in Varadero, the popular beach town about 90 miles east of Havana, he was disappointed to find that tourists outnumbered residents.

 Auer's enthusiasm was further spoiled by the sound of American music blaring from loudspeakers, the rented scooters zipping through Varadero's main street, the faces belonging to Europeans, Asians and Central Americans.

 "This is not Cuba,'' Auer initially complained.

 But after a few hours in the sun and surf, he tapped his fingers to the tune of a bolero, lit a cigar and downed a shot of Cuban coffee.

 "Aaah,'' he said. "This is Cuba.''

                                    © 2001