For all of Havana's crumbling structures and piles of rubble, its disintegrating roads and toxin-belching jalopies, its plethora of keystone cops and sun-bleached billboards espousing irrelevant revolutionary slogans, it attracts millions of pink-skinned, camera-toting, snack-munching, mojito-swilling sponsors of the Cuban dictatorship each year: tourists.


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