Facing challenges as never before, the embattled Cuban cigar industry launches quality initiatives to ensure its position in the world market. But will the U.S. ever get to experience them firsthand?

For a generation of Americans brought up since the Cuban embargo went into effect in 1962, the island conjures up a cornucopia of disparate images: Prohibition-era gangsters in pinstriped suits and bowler hats, supplanted by khaki-clad, bearded revolutionaries; lush beaches and luxury hotels alongside poverty-wracked barrios and smoke-filled cantinas. Names and faces of those long gone - John F. Kennedy, Che Guevara, Al Capone, Ernest Hemingway - take their place with those still making history: Pedro Almodovar, Orlando Hernandez, Arturo Sandoval, and the man who is a living bridge from the old to the new, El Presidente, Fidel Castro. Dark and mysterious, yet exotic and alluring, Cuba has always seemed something between the Land of Oz and the Isle of Dr. Moreau. All the while, the nation has been defined by one symbol - even more consistent and long-lived than Castro's bearded visage - and that is the Cuban cigar.

Cuba is to tobacco what France is to wine, Switzerland is to watchmaking, and Scotland is to malt whisky - the standard by which all others are measured. And while many of Cuba's finest have fled to ply their ancient art elsewhere, to pass their skills and expertise on to new generations in places like Nicaragua, Honduras, and the Dominican Republic, few would deny that the still-beating heart of the worldwide cigar industry is indeed firmly situated here in this island nation of both legend and infamy.

I had come to Havana to discover for myself the cradle of premium cigarmaking, and to get a glimpse of Cuba's future.

The culture shock for American travelers is immediate upon disembarking at Havana's Jose Martí International Airport. Despite post-9/11 security measures, airport attendants in the U.S. still look like civilians, with short-sleeved dress shirts, ties, name tags. In Cuba, they are military: khakis, dark glasses, corporal's bars.

Once away from the airport and on the road, the island's uniqueness becomes even more pronounced. On the Malecón, the winding boulevard that runs along the seafront from Havana to Miramar, 1950s-era American-made cars, astonishingly well-preserved, zoom by my cab. It is a reminder that no United States import has touched these shores since 1962, when President Kennedy signed the papers implementing the U.S. embargo of Cuba - as legend has it, the very day after procuring for himself some of his favorite Havana cigars. That historic turning point accorded Cuban cigars the enduring mystique they enjoy in America to this day, even among seasoned cigar connoisseurs. Cuban cigars were always regarded here as the greatest cigars one could buy; once they were declared illegal, they took on an almost mythic grandeur.

That status was shaken a bit in the waning days and aftermath of the 1990s cigar boom, when quality control - not just in Cuba - seemed to take a back seat to moving as much product as possible, to as many customers as possible, at as high a price as possible. Overall, sanity now reigns in the market, and Habanos S.A., the state-owned corporation that produces the world's most sought-after cigars, wants to ensure that their 500-year legacy of cigar craftsmanship continues well into the next millennium.

While in Havana, I sat down with Manuel Garcia Morejon, VP of Habanos's commercial division, to discuss cigars and the future. I began with a question about nature's latest attempt to throw a wrench into the cigar business: Last September's Hurricane Isidore and its devastating effects on some of Cuba's prime tobacco-producing regions. Garcia, however, downplayed the event's significance. "It wasn't really much of a problem," he said. "The fields were very affected, but much of the leaf was already harvested and in the warehouses. Many of the warehouses - more than 12,000 - were ruined, but we've already rebuilt about 50 percent of them. We won't have problems with production or cigar quality. Smokers need not worry."

Garcia could not rule out a price increase related to the rebuilding expenses, though he seems committed to avoiding a significant one. ("I think Cuban cigars are expensive enough," he told me, in candor.) He was much more enthusiastic about several of the new products launching from Habanos. In what some would consider an ironic twist, the Cubans are taking cues from some of their upstart Dominican and Nicaraguan competitors in an effort to jazz up their image and maintain hold of their main markets in Europe and elsewhere. Much attention has been focused on the Guantanamera - a new machine-made Cuban cigar, containing short-filler leaf from the central eastern region of Oriente, that is both lighter in body and lower in price than the typical Habanos. According to Garcia, products like the Guantanamera fill a growing niche that Cuba has too long ignored.

"The world cigar market is very big," he explained, "but we have only been [serving] the premium market. I thought that Habanos should be in other segments, too. [The Guantanamera is] 100% Cuban, not too expensive, not too strong; perfect for people who have only a few dollars to spend on a Cuban cigar. The ratio of price to quality is very good. We launched this product in Germany first, then Canada and Mexico. Everyone I've spoken to has held the cigar in high regard, and we see very much potential for the brand."

On the other end of the spectrum from the Guantanamera are the various Edicion Limitadas, special limited-run versions of Habanos's popular global brands - Cohiba, Partagas, Romeo y Julieta, Hoyo de Monterey - constructed with specially aged leaf and priced for serious connoisseurs. One aspect contributing to the popularity of the Limitadas is their two-year-aged maduro wrappers - up until recently, a rarity in Cuba.

"We don't have maduros in our standard production," Garcia confirmed, "but we could if we wanted. The Edicion Limitadas started two years ago, and the problem was we didn't have enough aged leaf; the quantity was very limited, even for a limited edition. Today this isn't a problem. We intend to bring out at least three or four sizes every year of the Edicion Limitadas. We may in the future even have a maduro line, but for now we will continue using the same high-quality aged leaf."

This year's long-awaited Limitadas include the Cohiba Double Corona (7 5/8 x 49); Montecristo C (5 5/8 x 46); Romeo y Julieta Hermoso No. 1 (6 1/2 x 48); Partagas Serie D. No. 2 (6 1/8 x 50); and Hoyo de Monterey Piramide (6 1/8 x 52).

Cuba's prestige brands are emphatically not resting on their laurels; this year also saw the release of the Siglo VI, the latest in the Siglo line of Cohibas, instituted in 1992 to commemorate the 500th anniversary of Columbus's discovery of tobacco (siglo means "century"). Another highly-anticipated launch is the Salomones de Cuaba, a 7 1/4" x 57 addition to the all-figurado Cuaba brand released in 1996.

Maduros, limited editions, figurados, high-end machine-made cigars - all have been popular here in the States, and this begged the inevitable question: have these products, or any future products, been designed with an open U.S. market in mind? Garcia was coy, but confident with his response: "The U.S. market is the biggest market for premium cigars," he stated. "Habanos being at the top of that market, we see huge potential when the embargo is lifted and a U.S. citizen can legally smoke a Cuban cigar. But I can't say we've planned for it, and I don't see it as a problem. We now have enough tobacco and enough production capability to produce for the U.S. as well as the rest of the world."

The sense among the Havana cigarmaking community seems to be that the lifting of the embargo is a matter of "when" rather than "if." Riding back through the city, however, it is difficult to see this as a nation ripe for political change: the Palacio de la Revolucion still stands proudly, bathed in the tropical sunshine; the equestrian statue of Antonio Maceo looms over the Malecón, celebrating the revolution; and the billboards displaying triumphant images of Che and Fidel are ubiquitous. One depicted a heroic Castro facing off in a boxing match with a sinister-looking Uncle Sam - despite the fact that the most anti-American sentiment I heard espoused was a friendly English-speaking cabdriver laughingly ask, "Is Bush crazy?"

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