Antique, 1950s-era American cars have been a quintessentially Cuban sight on the meandering streets of Havana for decades, but nowadays these ancient machines seem to be taking over the island’s road system because, in fact, they are.

Almost every second vehicle you now see in Cuba seems to be a Plymouth Belvedere, an Oldsmobile Rocket, a Pontiac Star Chief, or some other mechanical emissary from the pre-revolutionary past, all grumbling and lurching through the leaden heat and humid Antillean air — further proof, if more proof were needed, that this island’s automotive mechanics belong to a rare breed of genius.

Cuban grease monkeys have been performing feats of engineering virtuosity for decades, almost since Fidel Castro and Ché Guevara marched into Havana in revolutionary triumph in 1959. A few years later, Washington broke off relations with the island and imposed an economic embargo, spelling an end to the importation of new U.S. cars — not to mention spare parts.

All these large, flamboyant masterpieces of yanqui automotive design coupled with Cuban mechanical ingenuity are the result, and they long ago became an island tradition as well as a national symbol, as much a part of the country’s boisterous tropical culture as rum, cigars, béisbol and salsa.

Still, despite the valiant efforts of their owners, many of Cuba’s superannuated U.S. sedans — estimated to number about 60,000 — eventually wore down, becoming too expensive to operate in a socialist economy. So they were mounted on blocks in hidden places, to rust away, forgotten, in the corrosive salt air.

Until now.

Headed by Raúl Castro — Fidel’s (slightly) younger brother — the island’s government has introduced a series of economic reforms that permit certain limited ventures in small-scale capitalism, including restaurants, beauty parlours and merchandising. Plus: private taxis.

That means potential profit, a commodity long prohibited in Cuba.

Before you could say, “¡Llénalo!” (“Fill ’er up!” in Spanish) the owners of many previously decommissioned American automobiles had refitted their vehicles with diesel motors, to take advantage of diesel’s lower cost, and put the refurbished antiques back on the road.

You can see the results daily in the heart of Havana: a truly massive cavalcade of automotive museum pieces rumbling beneath the ficus trees and past the crumbling colonial facades.

Most of the vehicles look a wee bit battered, while contributing mightily to this planet’s emissions of carbon dioxide, but they make a glorious spectacle just the same.

You could say, “¡Viva la Revolución!”

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But a simple “¡Oye, taxi!” would do.

Oakland Ross is a feature writer for the Toronto Star.