“Such spaces were common when houses collapsed so it was possible the building Greene picked had simply gone. But that first map dated from 1881 so Arturo went on with his search. “You mean a brothel?” I asked, amused that Greene, who kept a list of favorite prostitutes, should have chosen such an address. “It seems Lamparilla 37 was originally a house of tolerance,” he ventured, lowering his voice slightly. Eager to help, he started scrolling through spreadsheets and scans of old city plans on his computer. He had the film of Our Man in Havana somewhere at home and was intrigued by my request to locate Wormold’s shop. Inside an icily air-conditioned room piled high with papers I met a researcher named Arturo. On an earlier trip I’d visited a branch of the City Historian’s office in a grand stone mansion just back from the waterfront. There’s a reason for my newfound confidence about finding number 37. A few steps further down a man perched on a tall chair is having his head close-shaved surrounded by stalls laid out with bric-a-brac and fake designer T-shirts. Arctic huskies are in fashion in humid Havana but this vendor is offering a Chihuahua and a poodle with sculpted leg fur. A small crowd has gathered to admire puppies for sale in a cage.

Reggaeton music, catchy but crude, thumps from a window and there’s the usual chorus of oye! as Cubans greet each other enthusiastically, starting conversations at a hundred paces. Sidestepping a couple of elderly men playing the fool for tips at a restaurant window, I turn into the top of the street. This time, though, I’m returning to the search with fresh information.Ĭalle Lamparilla cuts through the historic heart of the city down to my old office near the dock. There are no houses at all between 2 and 61, just a small park.

The novelist gives the address of Phastkleaners as Lamparilla 37, but I’ve walked up and down the dusty street before without locating any building with that number. At Calle Lamparilla 1, the building was just a short distance from the fictional vacuum cleaner store run by Jim Wormold. My own office was in a grand trading exchange in the old city that dated back to the early 20th century. It’s only when I re-read Our Man in Havana that I realized I shared a street with the hapless spy hero of Graham Greene’s novel.

A man in havana