Even before the official decree, the sombre mood had begun. Within half an hour of the news that Fidel Castro was no more, the Fabrica de Arte nightclub had closed its doors.

“It happened very quickly,” said one of those present who would only give her first name, Daniella.

“We were watching a concert by a Spanish guitarist when cellphones started ringing and word started to spread that Fidel had died. At first nobody believed it. Then the security suddenly told us we all had to leave, without explanation.”

As it mourned the death of its revolutionary commander in chief, Havana was unusually quiet on Sunday, digesting the information that the “maximum leader” – the man who had launched the Cuban revolution and toppled a dictatorship only to rule with an iron fist himself – had finally died.

Flags were at half mast; TV and radio stations broadcast blanket coverage about Fidel’s life, and the communist party newspaper Granma had dropped its traditional red design to spread the news in funereal black.

But the most striking change in the vibrant Cuban capital was the toning down of the volume in old city streets that normally echo day and night with salsa beats.

“Our boss told the musicians to stay home and said we mustn’t sell alcohol,” said the waitress of the Richosa, a state-run bar on Obispo Street that normally draws tourists with a live band playing Guantanamera or classics from the Buena Vista Social Club. “It’s totally different from normal.”

Instead, customers were offered coffee and soft drinks, while a TV screen showed interviews with elderly veterans reminiscing about their time fighting alongside Castro in the Sierra Maestra.

In the wake of the midnight announcement by President Raúl Castro of his brother’s death, the government declared nine days of official mourning in which “all public activities and shows will stop”.

But, though it quietened, life in the capital was not brought to a standstill. Castro’s death had long been foretold; it had been eight years since he handed power to his brother. Besides, Cubans are not much given to wailing lamentations or draping themselves in black.

Across the nation, supporters and enemies alike are having to adjust to the absence of the man who was credited with every achievement and blamed for every failure on the island.

For most of the past half century, the tall bearded figure dominated political discourse and not just here. The elderly remember him as the strong leader who resisted the US-backed Bay of Pigs invasion and faced down the world’s biggest superpower during the Cuban missile crisis in 1962.

Many younger Cubans see him more as a stubborn elderly autocrat who held back economic development and restricted travel and communications.

On Sunday crowds still thronged the streets. Classic car taxis still cruised for customers. Trinket stores remained open for tourists. It all looked normal; it just felt as if a mute button had been pushed.

In the Parque Central, the gaggle of old baseball fans who usually spend the morning arguing noisily about the best team or worst pitcher had changed their tone.

“Today, we don’t talk about baseball,” said Antonio, who was also reluctant to provide a surname due to the sensitivities of this mourning period in a country with an often intrusive and repressive government.

“We remember the father of the country. He made the revolution. He created hospitals and schools that didn’t exist before. And he took sport to its highest level. From 1960 to 2001, Cuba won 18 world baseball titles.”

Elian Gonzalez, the Cuban who as a boy became a symbol of US-Cuban tensions when he was at the centre of an international custody battle, said Castro would still be with Cubans even after his death.

It is “not right to talk about Fidel in the past tense … but rather that Fidel will be”, he said on state television. Castro, he added, “is the present and the future”.

But as well as Castro’s early achievements, many also reflected on his more recent failures, which are blamed for food shortages and an exodus of people to the US.

“As a politician, he was great. But his economics were a disaster,” said a former economist who briefed Castro when he was president. “So I’m not sad and I’m not happy that he is dead. It’s just the way it is. He was a very old man. It’s natural.”

But even critics in Havana said they were disgusted to hear the Cuban exile community in Miami had been partying since Saturday.

“Nobody should celebrate a death. It speaks badly of the people there,” said an architect. “We didn’t celebrate when [US president John F] Kennedy died even though he organised the Bay of Pigs attack on our country.”

Cuban-Americans celebrate the death of Cuban leader Fidel Castro on the streets in Miami. Photograph: Rhona Wise/AFP/Getty Images

The music did not stop for everyone. There were rumours of private parties by anti-Castro dissidents. But many democracy activists agreed it was not the time to celebrate.

“We must remain vigilant. It is good news in that we have one less dictator, but there is still another in power because Raúl has taken the place of his brother,” said Berta Soler, the leader of the Ladies in White group, an opposition movement founded in 2003 by wives and other female relatives of jailed dissidents.

Many said they were now waiting for the official commemorations. Every community will have a condolence book. In the Plaza de la Revolución, workers were preparing audio systems for the ceremony that will take place in Havana on Monday.

Before then, people will be able to pay their respects at the José Marti memorial, where Castro’s ashes will be kept before they are taken to a final resting place in the Santa Ifigenia cemetery in Santiago de Cuba.

The question of how to remember Castro is immensely political. When powerful figureheads died in other communist nations – Vladimir Lenin in the Soviet Union, Mao Zedong in China and Ho Chi Minh in Vietnam – their bodies were embalmed so the public could pay homage. Castro, however, requested to be cremated – in keeping with his reluctance in life to be honoured with statues or with streets bearing his name.

“It’s his choice, but I think it is a shame. I would have liked to pay my respects. Like everyone, he had his defects, but he did a lot of good work in Cuba,” said Christina Garcia, a retired nursery school headteacher.

She was waiting in Havana Cathedral for Sunday mass, expecting the priest to say a few words about Castro. But for many in the Roman Catholic church, Castro was a leader who repressed freedom of religion. “We don’t want to remember that man,” said one volunteer.

Attention for many is now moving on to what comes next. Nobody expects major upheavals. But there are hopes Castro’s death and his brother’s promise to resign the presidency in 2018 will lead to a generational leadership change – and someone from a different family taking power.

“Castro built a machine that turned him into a monarch. Now the king is dead, long live the king,” said the architect. “I just hope they don’t try to make this a dynasty.”

For others, though, a moment of pause is required to look back at a man who was one of the 20th century’s most dominant figures – not just in Cuba, but the world.

Among those planning to pay their respects at the José Martí memorial was Rainier Gorguet, a parking attendant and self-declared Fidelista who was out on the Malecón with his fiancee and young child.

“Everything we have is thanks to him,” he said. “I want to remember him like I did when I was a child – as a father to the nation.”