The music was so good, I caught myself forgetting to breathe at times. Roberto Foncesca danced his fingertips across the keyboard and cast his spell, drawing me in so deep from the world outside, the room shrunk down to the size of me inside my own consciousness. His saxophone man tickled the melodies, yielding and driving at just the right moments, in just the right ways. So too with the percussion and bass. They all took turns taking over, keeping us moving, keeping us tapping, casting us spellbound, and sending us diving into our drinks for just long enough to sip before the next wave overtook us.
Mojitos gave way to seven year old Havana Club rum straight, no ice. It seemed more real this way. More real like this city, more real like the music, more real like this club. For decades the legendary Fox & Troll played host to all the legends. Photographs of all the greats graced the walls and you could feel the history dripping off its walls.
The room itself wasn’t even that big. Maybe a dozen tables crammed tightly together. The band was playing no more than a couple of feet away from me. All that intimacy slammed up against all that Jazz to create an experience that was perhaps one of the greatest things I’d ever seen.
And it was only a typical Thursday night in Havana.