Preface
In this second installment of the series My Havana Markets, we will explore one of the most interesting and endearing stories in our series. This time, we will delve into the fascinating past of one of the largest, most popular, and busiest markets in the Cuban capital before 1959, a place whose extraordinary history deserves special recognition.
I am referring to Havana’s General Wholesale and Retail Market, known simply as Mercado Único and affectionately christened by the people with a name that would endure for generations: Plaza de los Cuatro Caminos.
One of its most distinctive features is that it was among the few large Havana markets to survive the republican era of the last century—when it reached its greatest splendor—and continue operating, with varying degrees of difficulty, to the present day. In 2020, it celebrated no less than a century of existence.
That is why speaking of Mercado Único means more than recalling an old commercial marketplace. It means evoking a place that formed part of everyday life for several generations of Cubans, among whom I proudly count myself.
An Interesting History Worth Remembering
The earliest origins of this emblematic market date back to September 1918, when an ambitious proposal to build, establish, and operate a large wholesale and retail food market in the capital was presented to Havana’s City Council. The proposal also included an application for an administrative concession to operate it.
The project was approved, and the concession, offered at public auction on December 30, 1918, was formally awarded to Juan Fernández de Castro y Díaz Argüelles. However, the central role in that ambitious enterprise would ultimately fall to a shrewd politician and businessman, Alfredo Hornedo y Suárez. Supported by his influence in Havana’s City Council and his connections to the liberal group known as “El Cenáculo,” he would become one of the figures most closely associated with the creation and operation of Mercado Único.
According to some contemporary chronicles, this man, who would later become a senator of the Republic, had begun building his immense fortune by selling oranges from a humble street pushcart.
But Hornedo was not a man to settle for little. With the drive of someone who knew how to seize opportunities, he left street vending behind and became a carriage driver, eventually establishing his own line of rental carriages.
And it was precisely one of those carriages that, according to the story, ended up changing his life.
While providing transportation services to the Maruri family, he met the woman who would become his great love: the beautiful and wealthy Miss Blanca Maruri (Blanquita). After overcoming countless difficulties, he finally managed to marry her.
From that moment on, his life took an extraordinary turn. The former orange seller and humble carriage driver became, almost overnight, the respectable and wealthy Don Alfredo Hornedo, who would soon multiply his new in-laws’ fortune many times over.
Possessing an undeniable instinct for business, he also decided to make his way into politics. In 1914, he was elected a councilman in Havana’s City Council, a position from which he strengthened the relationships and support that, years later, would help him obtain the coveted Mercado Único concession.
Why “Mercado Único”?
The origin of this unusual name was no accident.
The special concession granted to Hornedo by Havana’s City Council established a series of conditions, including the types of goods that could be sold at the establishment.
But one clause was especially significant: for a period of thirty years, this market would enjoy the privilege of being the “only” one of its kind in the area, with no similar business allowed within a radius of 2.5 kilometers. Nor would kiosks selling those goods be permitted within 700 meters of the premises in any direction.
From this extraordinary commercial exclusivity came the name Mercado Único, a designation that would identify it forever in popular memory.
The monumental market, whose construction required an investment of 1,175,000 pesos, opened in 1920, with profits that, according to contemporary estimates recorded in various chronicles, could reach 2,000 pesos a day.
A description recorded in the Property Registry in 1930 identified it as follows:
“Building known as Mercado Único, located in this City on the block bounded by Príncipe Alfonso and Matadero streets, Calzada de Cristina, and Arroyo de Chávez. It consists of two floors and a basement.”
The building, eclectic in style and monumental in scale, with enormous windows and an imposing central dome, occupied an extensive block of approximately 11,200 square meters, bounded by the streets later known as Monte, Cristina, Arroyo, and Matadero.
The structure comprised two floors and a basement used for warehouses, temporary storage, and refrigerated chambers. To facilitate access to the upper level, it had four majestic marble staircases and six elevators, features that conveyed the scale and modernity of the facility for its time.
Among the ornamental details of its façades were representations of the cornucopia, a symbol of prosperity that seemed to proclaim the building’s commercial purpose from its very walls. Another architectural curiosity was a bridge spanning Arroyo Street that connected the market to another building on the neighboring block.
The premises could be entered from any of the four surrounding streets. One entrance, however, the one on Cristina, was specially designed to allow vehicles loaded with merchandise to pass directly into the central courtyard.
From its beginnings, Mercado Único was conceived primarily as a major wholesale center to supply the city, bringing together the collection, storage, and sale of food in one place.
Practically everything could be found within its walls: root vegetables, fruit, meat, fish, seafood, live animals of many different species, medicinal plants, flowers, and an endless variety of other products.
Every dawn brought the beginning of a spectacle that, over the years, would become an inseparable part of Havana life.
Fresh goods arrived from different corners of the country by road or rail and, almost as soon as they were unloaded, began to be distributed among the countless stalls and sales counters.
Goods transported by rail arrived at the historic Cristina Station, part of the so-called “Western Railway,” inaugurated in 1861 and located very close to the market, directly opposite it. There, a veritable swarm of workers received them and, amid shouted calls, handcarts, and ceaseless coming and going, unloaded and carried them to the market’s different sections.
Trucks, meanwhile, drove into the central courtyard, where they unloaded their merchandise directly.
The scale of this commercial activity can be appreciated from a truly revealing figure: according to Bohemia magazine in 1949, by then around 500 trucks loaded with products entered the market every day, not counting the considerable quantities that continued to arrive by rail.
Just imagine for a moment the extraordinary movement of goods, workers, merchants, and shoppers that must have taken place there every day!
Mercado Único was a marketplace that practically never slept.
It was the principal supply center for pushcart vendors and sellers from every neighborhood in the capital, but it also served thousands of shoppers directly, attracted by the freshness of its products, the variety of its offerings, and prices that were generally affordable.
And its activities were not limited to selling food.
The upper floor housed a veritable miniature commercial city, with small eateries, cafés, bars, grocery stores, offices, and numerous establishments selling manufactured goods, clothing, shoes, hats, religious articles, and many other kinds of merchandise.
Yet among the busiest and most picturesque corners of that immense marketplace, the famous fish and seafood stalls undoubtedly stood out.
One only had to approach that section to feel the penetrating smell of the sea filling the air, while vendors displayed an extraordinary variety of freshly arrived products on their counters.
There one could find red snapper and yellowtail snapper, with their pinkish hues and bright, lively eyes which, to the experienced buyer, were the best guarantee of freshness.
There was no shortage of king mackerel and other mackerel, ideal for preparing a delicious escabeche, nor of the prized grouper, somewhat more expensive, sold whole for 15 cents a pound, with the added advantage that its head and tail could be used to make a flavorful soup.
And what can be said of the lobsters, shrimp, and coveted crab claws, carefully preserved among mountains of crushed ice that seemed to make those tempting offerings even more attractive?
A feast for the eyes and a true temptation for the palate!
No less important were the stalls devoted to selling live animals.
Chickens, hens, turkeys, sheep, goats, rabbits, and, of course, pigs were all regular features of that varied trade.
With the arrival of Christmas Eve, pigs took on special importance. Their price rose, whether sold alive or already slaughtered, and during those days it could fluctuate between 7 and 10 cents per pound.
Quite an event for a celebration so deeply rooted in Cuban family traditions!
During its early years, in the 1920s, the market had a notable presence of Chinese and Spanish merchants. The former predominated in the sale of fruit and vegetables, while the latter played a prominent role in the meat and silk-goods trades.
Over time, that composition changed. By the 1950s, some of the market stalls belonged to Jewish merchants.
The Afro-Cuban population also had a significant presence in the surrounding area, working, among other occupations, as pushcart vendors, stevedores, and street sellers.
That diversity of origins, customs, accents, and occupations turned Mercado Único into a genuine human mosaic, where different communities contributed daily to one of Havana’s most picturesque, bustling, and representative settings.
Ultimately, it was a place where commerce mingled with everyday social life and where every corner seemed to have its own story to tell.
But the market did not belong solely to those who rose early to work or shop.
During the 1950s, it also became an almost obligatory meeting place for much of Havana’s bohemian crowd.
When most of the city’s establishments had already closed and the night was giving way to the early morning hours, musicians, artists, night workers, and night owls found refuge in that marketplace, where they could enjoy inexpensive, generous, and delicious meals.
Among the most popular specialties were special fried rice and appetizing Chinese soup, whose aromas filled the air and seemed to invite anyone to sit down, share a table, and prolong the conversation until dawn.
Thus, while part of Havana rested, Mercado Único remained awake, feeding a city that seemed unwilling to fall completely asleep.
There is no doubt that it reached its greatest splendor during the republican era.
It became one of the capital’s most important marketplaces, not only because of its extraordinary diversity of products but also because of its ability to meet the needs of different sectors of the population.
There one could buy both the food essential for everyday meals and the ingredients and goods needed for major family and religious celebrations: Christmas, New Year, Holy Week, and so many other important dates in the calendar of Cuban traditions.
And although such intense activity might seem destined to unfold amid permanent disorder, the truth is that the market had its own strict and inviolable discipline.
Supplies began arriving in the late afternoon and, during the early morning hours, the counters were prepared and stocked, while other merchandise remained in storage, mainly in the central courtyard.
At dawn, sales began throughout the premises, and by around nine in the morning many stalls had practically sold out.
Around eleven, when most of the products had already been sold, general cleaning began, waste was removed, and the counters were reorganized, leaving the establishments ready for the afternoon trading session.
It was an unbroken chain of supply, distribution, sales, and replenishment that repeated itself with astonishing regularity seven days a week.
The Same Market, but Different Eras
With the triumph of the Revolution in January 1959, a very different chapter began in the famous market’s history. In April of that same year, the facility came under the control of Havana’s municipal government and was renamed Mercado Popular.
As time passed, that extraordinary commercial center lost much of its former splendor. The range of goods began to shrink, certain products became increasingly scarce, and numerous owners of stalls and businesses emigrated to the United States, while other workers moved into different jobs.
The market also underwent changes in its use, at times serving as a warehouse. The deterioration of its facilities became progressively more evident, and in 1968 the upper floor was closed because of its poor structural condition. Although it partially recovered its commercial activity in later decades, it never regained the vitality that had characterized its finest years.
After several decades of progressive deterioration, and as part of preparations for the 500th anniversary of Havana’s founding, the historic market closed its doors in 2014 to undertake an almost complete restoration, given the deplorable state of its facilities.
The work continued for several years and included different stages of study, structural rehabilitation, and architectural restoration. Finally, on November 14, 2019, the emblematic building was officially reinaugurated, opening its doors to the public two days later, on November 16.
This time, however, it did so under a name that had little to do with the affectionate one used by generations of Havana residents: Centro Comercial de Cuatro Caminos, managed by the Cuban corporation CIMEX.
It is only fair to acknowledge that the restoration respected fundamental elements of its architectural heritage, including the façades, the surviving emblematic marble staircases, and the central courtyard.
The new facility was conceived as a department-store complex, divided into two large commercial areas.
On the upper floors, a shopping gallery was established with more than twenty businesses selling household appliances, clothing, footwear, perfumes, and costume jewelry, many bearing well-known brands and sold at exorbitant prices in foreign currency.
On the lower levels and in the arcades, sales continued of some of the traditional goods that had characterized the old market for decades, although their prices, too, were difficult for ordinary Cubans to afford.
The announced reopening aroused enormous expectations among the population.
Yet what should have been a day of celebration turned into genuine chaos, widely circulated on social media both inside and outside the country, despite attempts by official media to downplay what had happened.
From the early hours of the morning, thousands of people began crowding into the streets around the establishment, eager to gain access to the available merchandise.
The situation eventually spiraled out of control.
There was pushing, fighting, and damage to the building. Two of its doors were destroyed, and several people were injured or mistreated amid the turmoil after falling to the ground.
Faced with such a scene, CIMEX management ordered the facility temporarily closed that same day.
The center reopened on November 19, three days later, this time under heavy police security and with restrictions on customers’ purchases.
Several years later, in July 2025, the historic market once again closed practically all its doors, this time amid preparations to convert many of its establishments into stores selling goods in U.S. dollars, a system that had already begun to be introduced in some of its commercial areas.
According to accounts from some local residents, in October 2026 the market was still operating, although with very limited offerings. Even so, many customers continued to visit it, perhaps driven by habit, attachment to a family tradition, or simply nostalgia for what that place had represented in earlier times.
The surrounding area had not escaped deterioration either. According to recent reports, nearby streets suffered serious problems with accumulated garbage, rain-related flooding, and sewage, a reality that contrasted painfully with the vitality that had distinguished one of Havana’s busiest commercial districts for decades.
Mercado Único and Its Connections to Famous Figures
The history of Mercado Único would be incomplete without recalling its relationship with several personalities who, for different reasons, became associated with this emblematic place.
One of the most endearing stories is undoubtedly that of the unforgettable Bartolomé Maximiliano Moré, universally known as Benny Moré.
In 1936, when the young musician arrived in Havana from his native Santa Isabel de las Lajas, he brought with him the dream of making his way in music. But his beginnings were not easy, and the need to earn a living forced him to take on various jobs to survive.
It was precisely at Mercado Único that, after reuniting with his uncle Tomás Armenteros, the young man who would years later be acclaimed as the “Bárbaro del Ritmo” (Barbarian of Rhythm) sold fruit, root vegetables, other vegetables, and medicinal plants in the market’s arcades and stalls. According to accounts of that period of his life, he also carried shoppers’ baskets and ran errands during a stay in the capital that lasted approximately six months.
Who could have imagined that this young street vendor would become one of the greatest voices our country has ever produced!
Another illustrious name associated with Mercado Único was that of the celebrated Cuban writer Alejo Carpentier, who recorded his fascination with the place through his extraordinary work as a chronicler of the city.
In his work La Habana vista por un turista cubano (Havana Seen by a Cuban Tourist), originally published in 1939, Carpentier found much more in the market than a simple place to buy and sell goods.
The bustle, cultural syncretism, accumulation of merchandise, and striking contrasts of that commercial universe were, for the writer, expressions of a profoundly Caribbean reality, close to the concept of “the marvelous real in the Americas” that would distinguish his literary work.
In one of his best-known passages about the place, he described with amazement an unusual poultry shop bearing the surprising name El Escorial.
“…And in Mercado Único, this marvelous contrast: above a structure of cages, where birds are crowded together like the inhabitants of a New York skyscraper, a sign displaying the establishment’s name: El Escorial. Was this name chosen metaphorically, in the belief that the monastery from which Philip II ruled the world’s vastest empire… was built in the shape of a grill?...”
An observation that admirably reflects the writer’s ability to discover, even in the most everyday details, those unexpected associations that turn reality into literature.
And there is yet another anecdote that adds a special attraction to the market’s history.
The famous German physicist Albert Einstein, Nobel Prize winner in Physics, also toured the facilities of that monumental marketplace during his well-known stopover of about 30 hours in Havana in December 1930.
On December 20, after visiting some of the capital’s most distinguished places, the illustrious scientist expressed an interest in seeing the city’s poorer neighborhoods. Accompanied by his hosts, he therefore toured several tenement courtyards and working-class districts, the modest shops along Calzada del Monte, and Mercado Único itself.
That visit allowed him to witness a reality very different from what he had seen in affluent clubs and residences. Indeed, in his travel diary he recorded his impressions of the profound social contrasts that characterized Havana at the time.
Thus, Mercado Único also became linked to the visit to our capital of one of the most brilliant minds in history.
The Curse of Elegguá
Among the many stories surrounding Mercado Único, one is particularly unusual, intertwining Afro-Cuban religious traditions, popular beliefs, and a series of events that gave rise to a legend.
It is known as the curse of Elegguá.
When the market closed in 2014 to undergo a major restoration connected with the celebrations of Havana’s 500th anniversary, it became necessary to relocate an unusual religious effigy.
It was a heavy concrete bust with anthropomorphic features, popularly known as the “giant Elegguá.”
Inside its head was a sacred stone, venerated by practitioners of the Yoruba religious tradition and associated with Eshu, a deity linked to communication between human beings and the Orishas, roads, and crossroads.
In November 2019, just days before the establishment’s official reopening, the decision was finally made to move the heavy figure.
However, during the lifting operation using a forklift, one of the securing straps unexpectedly broke.
The statue fell to the ground, and its head became detached from its body.
The accident caused deep consternation among numerous believers in Havana’s Yoruba religious community, for whom the figure held a spiritual meaning that went far beyond its physical appearance.
And it was precisely after that incident that the legend of the “curse of Elegguá” began to gain strength.
When the commercial center reopened a few days later and the crowds, fights, damage, and temporary closure followed, many neighbors and believers linked those events to the accident involving the religious figure.
The subsequent shortages only strengthened that belief.
For those who shared this religious interpretation, the desecration of the protective figure of Cuatro Caminos had unleashed a kind of spiritual punishment, which they began calling the “curse of the decapitated Elegguá.”
But what did that effigy really represent, and where had the stone inside it come from?
To understand the origins of this story, we must go back several decades.
According to accounts passed down about the site, in 1994 a group of Havana Yoruba practitioners unearthed a stone considered sacred in the market courtyard.
Tradition held that the stone had belonged to enslaved Africans who had once lived in the area, worshipped Eshu, and originally placed it on the site where the left column of the market’s main entrance would later rise.
What no one had managed to explain satisfactorily was how that stone had ended up buried in the basement courtyard.
According to those beliefs, its veneration dated back centuries and formed part of the tribute paid to Eshu, regarded by devotees as a guardian of roads and a facilitator of commercial activity.
For that reason, some believers associated the presence of the stone with the spiritual protection and prosperity that had accompanied the emblematic market since its founding.
When the dismantling of certain areas of the marketplace was announced, the spot where the stone remained buried was located, the stone was removed, and it was placed inside the head of the bust, which became a representation of Elegguá.
That act reinforced the religious significance of the effigy and contributed to the emergence of the beliefs and accounts that would later nourish the legend.
Faced with the controversy, the authorities decided to transfer the figure to the headquarters of the Yoruba Association in an attempt to resolve the situation.
Yet it was precisely during the operation intended to carry out that transfer that the accident occurred which would give rise to the alleged curse.
Since then, for many believers and local residents, the statue’s fall, the disturbances at the reopening, and the subsequent commercial difficulties have been linked by an explanation belonging to the realm of faith, religious traditions, and popular belief.
Beyond personal beliefs, what is certain is that this story became part of the intangible heritage surrounding the old market and offers another example of the profound mark left by Afro-Cuban religious traditions on Havana’s cultural life.
Today, the former Mercado Único, subsequently renamed Centro Comercial de Cuatro Caminos, retains its architectural value, with neoclassical and eclectic elements, and still maintains some commercial activity.
But for many Havana residents who knew it in its finest days, the place lost something no physical restoration could bring back: the mystique, vitality, and unique spirit that, according to tradition, had always accompanied it.
Epilogue
For many years, Mercado Único was unquestionably one of Havana’s great commercial hearts and a symbol of the development, prosperity, and extraordinary vitality that characterized the city in those days.
Its corridors, its stalls overflowing with merchandise, the cries of vendors, the ceaseless movement of pushcarts and trucks, the aromas of its small eateries, and the coming and going of thousands of people were part of an everyday reality that remains alive in the memories of those who experienced it.
Where abundant offerings once filled the stalls and merchants’ voices echoed, today, according to recent testimonies, poorly stocked spaces and signs of deterioration predominate, extending into the surrounding streets.
And it is impossible not to feel a certain sadness when seeing how another of the great symbols of our beloved Havana has gradually lost much of what made it such a special place.
It would be beautiful, and above all only fair, if one day the cornucopias that still adorn its façades ceased to be merely a memory carved in stone and once again represented a tangible reality: a market filled with products, vitality, and opportunities for everyone.
Perhaps to many young people of the new generations, these stories may seem unbelievable. They may find it difficult to imagine that there was once a Havana where markets like this brought together such an extraordinary variety of products, merchants, customs, and everyday experiences.
And that is precisely why I believe it is so important—almost a moral obligation—for those of us who had the good fortune to know that city, its customs, and its traditions to keep these memories alive and pass them on to those who come after us.
Because this is not simply about longing for times gone by or idealizing an era that, like every other, had its difficulties.
It is about preserving an essential part of our collective memory, our identity, and the rich history that defines us as Cubans.
For my part, I have solemnly committed myself to this sacred mission: rescuing from oblivion as much as possible of that Havana we knew and loved, and which, in one way or another, we still carry within us.
Because as long as there are people willing to tell these stories and others interested in hearing them, those markets, those streets, and that city will continue to live in our memory.
If this account has sparked your interest and you would like to learn more about other famous Havana markets that formed an inseparable part of our culinary culture, I invite you to stay tuned for the upcoming installments of My Havana Markets.
And, of course, I encourage you to enrich each publication with your memories, experiences, and valuable comments.
Because remembering our history is also a way of preventing it from disappearing forever.
To return to Part 1 of this series, visit this page.
To read the Spanish version, visit this page.
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