What I Learned

It’s been awhile since that last day in Cuba when I couldn’t imagine coming back to my life. I never wanted to leave and even now I find myself wishing that I was there and not here. It was three months of good times, hard times, truth, misunderstandings, love, happiness, tears, and sadness. It was up and down at the same time. Happy and sad simultaneously. It is a place of contradictions, of confusion and things that will never make sense, even to Cubans. I learned more than I ever could have imagined, formed bonds stronger than I ever thought I could, and found a piece of myself. I used to worry about what to wear, how I looked, how I acted, and was constantly self-conscious that I was doing it all wrong. Here, I had found a place where it doesn’t matter. You can wear what you want, eat what you want, act as yourself because as long as you do it with passion, it’s all good. I realized that life should never be based on the things we own and how great our job can be or how much money we can make, because happiness doesn’t exist there. Happiness exists in your family who will always be there, in your friends that keep you company and make your life more fun, in the people you meet who love you for who you are. Happiness exists in Cuba, sometimes it is a painful happiness, found through struggle and hunger, but it exists. They have almost nothing, they have little freedom, they have no hope, but they know how to have fun with simple things, how to be resourceful, how to laugh about the crazy and unfair things in life, and how to love.

La Gente-The People of Cuba

The Last Week

The last week was sad, painful, and full of tears. It was also full of hugs, kisses, laughter, and friends. Although we were all dreading that flight back to the homeland and away from the amazing new place we had discovered, we tried to enjoy every last minute we had. We spent some good time at the salon, one night with a lobster dinner, made specially by Roberto, one night playing musical chairs and doing the limbo. We sat on the Malecón, went to the beach for the day, talking and reminiscing, and said painful goodbyes. Thursday night we had a party with Casa de las Americas with all of our professors and people that made our trip possible. They had great food, delicious dessert, good music, and of course, drinks. Thankfully, this night included a photo opp with coffee girl, the woman who brought us those wonderful, tiny white cups of thick Cuban coffee everyday, Chino showing off his dance moves, and Sonya dancing with Tomasito. We partied Cuban style as we thanked everyone for making this experience so great for all of us.
Saturday night we had a party at the residence with Maria, our abuela, Mileydis, our friend and amazing cook, and Chino, the guy who does it all and does it with love. Although we had bought yummy food, had drinks, and played the music, the atmosphere was less than festive. None of us could really spark ourselves into party mode when we were all so depressed about leaving. It was hard to believe that our time had come to an end and we were going to be wrenched the next day back into our previous lives and out of this sunny, amazing place and away from the beautiful people we had met there.
This same night, Jose had told me that Roberto, his brother, wanted to perform a Palo Monte ceremony for me and Tara to make sure that nothing bad happens to us. I wasn’t sure what to expect but I knew that it meant a lot for him to want to do this little ceremony so I agreed and looked forward to it. Jose helped me wash my hands, arms, face and neck with water that had a special plant in it that tingled my skin. Then we headed Roberto’s room where he had a little altar set up. There was a little statue of the god, a candle, a flask of rum, and a cigar slowly burning. I went first and Roberto stood me in front of the altar and started talking in Yoruba to the god. He said to take care of me and to give health to me and my family. He then drank some rum and spit it on my face and back and took the cigar into his mouth backwards and blew the smoke onto my whole body. These are used as offerings for the god and also to protect me. I then talked to the god and told him what I want in my life, for myself and the people around me, asking for help or whatever I want. Roberto then used a plant to hit the bad spirits out of my body. Everyone else went through the ritual and I left my bracelet there overnight to gather the protection of the god to carry with me everywhere I go. Although it was quite a different experience, I appreciated it so much that this new family cared about me and opened up to me to show me this ritual and protect me.
The night was full of tears, then numbness, then more tears. Everything I looked at, everywhere I went, I was sad that I was going to be so far away from it soon. Inevitably, the time came to get on to that awful bus and head away from our new home, family, and friends. We said our painful goodbyes, and waved goodbye as the whole bus sobbed the whole way to the airport.

Santiago de Cuba (No photos because my camera broke)

This weekend we had our final trip of the program. It was our second to last weekend in Cuba and it was hard to leave La Habana because it felt too real. So we arrived in Santiago after an hour and a half plane ride. During this plane ride, there were intervals of condensed air coming out from the floor so that it looked like they had turned on the smoke machine, and at one point the stewardess went down the aisle spraying disinfectant to get rid of toxins, all of this, they said, was completely normal. Well, I have never seen that before in my life so I doubt that it is necessary and, normal? Cuba, when are you ever normal? You have given me a new definition of normal in which there is no normal, everything goes.
Friday we left the hotel early to head to the Church of El Cobre where the Virgen del Cobre is. The road leading up to the famous church was lined with little tables selling little glass and wood souvenirs or offerings of golden flowers for the Virgen. It was a gorgeous white church with red accents, set against the backdrop of the green mountains. From there we had a slight view of the copper mine which was utilized in the beginning of Cuba and is still sometimes used but not to its previous capacity. From the church, we drove to the monument for the cimarrones. We hiked up to find the large, almost disturbing monument. From that point we had an amazing view of the mountains and the mine that was now full of a bright blue lake.
To make the day more exciting, there had to be some Santeria thrown in. We ended up at the house of this man who is an espiritista cruzada which means he is a spiritist of different religions, mostly Afrocuban religions such as Palo Monte, Voodoo, and Santeria. We entered his house into a room painted with various religious images and two altar-type things, one with dead animal heads and the other with shells and things from the sea. The next room contained a life size statue of what looked like Christ on crutches, and a little statue of a cimarrón. In the actual religious room, there was an altar for his Orishas and other gods. There were shelves and shelves of offerings to his gods. Rum, souvenirs, plants, stuffed dead animals, rocks, etc. In his backyard there was a wall of mutilated plastic, Chucky dolls, painted black and the limbs of which were hanging beside them or strewn on the table and ground. I’m assuming this was the voodoo part but I’m not entirely sure. It was crazy to see such an extreme place of these Afrocuban religions. Although I tried not to be weirded out so much and to accept this as part of the Cuban history and culture, it was just too far out for me and I couldn’t get back on that bus quick enough.
Saturday morning we took a two hour drive to Guantanamo. We weren’t sure exactly what the town would be like and we knew that we probably wouldn’t be able to see the base, but we were curious just the same. We stepped off the bus and immediately were the main attraction. Apparently, Gitmo isn’t a hot spot for tourists. We walked around the town, checking out the sights which ended up to be minimal, had lunch, and headed back. When we asked about seeing the base, our guide said that you can’t even get to the look-out anymore. There used to be a lookout from the Cuban base and a hotel in a town down the road from Guantanamo, but after hurricane damage, the road is too dangerous, and after too many Cubans were swimming from there to the U.S. base to be considered on U.S. soil, you now need a pass to even visit family in that town. It was interesting to be there and to say we went there and to see what it is like to be in a town where there is virtually no tourism, but other than that it didn’t live up to our expectations.
That night we had plans to see a typical tumba francesa, a music and dance that came over to Cuba from Haiti and is a mix of French and Eurpean dance with more African instrumentation. The dance took place in a large colorful room just off the dark gray streets of the city. The drums were big and loud and the dancers were dressed in French colonial dressed of all colors. We watched as they put on a show for our group and passers-by who stopped to be taken in by the tangible bass of the drums. The night ended after
a call for the audience to join the party and we all danced, awkwardly, and watched embarrassedly as the professors danced even more awkwardly. But overall it was a good way to spend a Saturday night in Santiago.
The trip back was unfortunately not as fun, as we sat in the Santiago airport for 6 hours waiting for our flight. Thankfully we had Pelly and Planchao to hold us over. When we arrived back home, dinner on the table even though it was 11 o’clock at night, and as we hugged Maria, Mileydis and Chino, we realized how much we love it here. And we only have one week left.

Parque Metropolitano

This is a must-do when you are in Havana. It is a very unique place with lots of weird surprises, but it makes for an interesting and fun day. The fab four, Tara, Johandy, Jose and I headed to the park for the afternoon. We walked down the steps into a wooded, leafy, almost jungle-type park. After checking out the see-saws, we made our way down the concrete path, past couples kissing on benches overlooking the river, and to the little dock where you could rent a rowboat. Sounded like an awesome idea so we all piled into the wobbly old rowboat. Stupidly, us girls thought the boys would be able to handle the rowing but instead directed us in circles and into walls. The girls took over and we had a nice scenic ride down the river, past the tiny shacks on the river bank with laundry hanging out, past low-hanging green trees and little white flowers. We laughed and talked, sang and splashed. The boys couldn’t take being shown up by the girls so they had to take over again and led us, slowly and crookedly, back to the dock.
Next up: golfito. I was pretty excited about this because I love mini-golf. Little did I know that the Cuban version is impossible. You play with hard, bouncy balls, a lot lighter than a golf ball, and you play on concrete. Well, on the holes where the hole is actually in a conceivable spot, you have to hit the ball just right so that it doesn’t go flying and bouncing all over the place. Needless to say this made it interesting and not really that competitive since none of us could actually make it in the holes. We gave up about half way through and headed to the horses. Apparently there were horses in this random park. To our disappointment, there were no horses that day, but we did see chickens. I loved the randomness, turning every corner to see something else you weren’t expecting. I loved the scenery, and most of all I loved the company. That afternoon the four of us laughed, were silly without caring, enjoyed being with each other, and got in touch with the children in our hearts.

Americans and some Irish

So yesterday, after an interesting visit to the United States Interests Section (because of the lack of diplomatic relations between the U.S. and Cuba, they do not have embassies in the other country and instead the Swiss embassy has interests sections for the two), we were invited by the Americans to a truly American celebration of St. Patricks Day, complete with green beer and jello shots. Curious to see what partying with the Americans in Cuba would be like, the whole group piled into a taxi and headed to Miramar to the Marine house. We signed in and all of a sudden we were in the U.S. It was like your familiar family backyard cookout. There were tables with families sitting and talking, a popcorn machine where the kids were popping up some deliciousness. I’ve got to say the popcorn was probably the highlight of the night as we wolfed down about 4 big bowls of the tasty American snack. There was some disco music playing and the Marine men serving up the drinks. One minute we were in a Cuban cab on a back road in Cuba where there are no streetlights and you can see in to the houses and the people watching the nightly telenovela, and the next minute we were in America, no Cuba to be found.
We ordered some drinks, well, those over 21 did. Apparently we were on U.S. soil where drinking age counts? I guess we’re really not in Cuba anymore. To make it worse, we got to talking with the Marine guys, and none of them knew what was really going on in the lives of Cubans. You would think that after being in Cuba for months you would know at least a little bit about the culture, but they did not. They had been told everything by the American government and that’s it. The Commies are always watching you and the Cubans have enough to eat. Thankfully, some of our group opened their eyes up to the real Cuba, if only for a minute.
It was so weird to me to be in a setting that would usually be familiar to me. But after my time in Cuba that was so different to my life at home but had become my life for the past three months, I was uncomfortable in this new place. The creature comforts that I now found had no significance or joy. Being in the presence of the Americans should have made me feel at home but instead I felt completely out of place. I didn’t want popcorn, I wanted Pelly, I didn’t want green beer, I wanted Bucanero, I didn’t want disco music, I wanted Gente de Zona, and I didn’t want to be with the Americans, I wanted to be with the Cubans. I know this all sounds like I am anti-American or something, and in this moment I was. My eyes had been opened up to another world, that honestly, I kinda liked better. And I wanted nothing more but to get out of this other unreal world and back to my reality.

Cienfuegos y Trinidad

The rural countryside is beautiful here. It’s not much different than being out in the country in other places, but at the same time it is incomparable. We drive by miles and miles of bright green sugar cane stalks, orange trees, and open fields. We drive by farmers in their straw hats, riding by on their horses, tending the crop, or taking a siesta in the shade of a leafy tree. We drive by dogs strutting down the road, families in horse-drawn buggies, and the tiny wooden shacks with thatched roofs that line the roadway. Red dirt roads lead into distance, pink and yellow flowers lining the thin wire fences. We drive by the evidence of time and history, past billboards with Fidel’s face the size of a building, past Jose Marti statues in the schoolyard. We drive through towns that looked the same 50 years ago, 100 years ago.
We drove through Cienfuegos and down the Montañarusa (rollercoaster) road to get to our hotel which sat between Cienfuegos and Trinidad in the Escambray mountains and right on the Caribbean ocean. It was a beautiful location and nice to get out of the city for awhile. After settling in to our rooms which were newly built after hurricane damage wiped out the older cabanas on the water, we headed to dinner where we dined on typical Cuban food and were serenaded by a guitar/singer duo with sad faces and off-key voices.
Saturday was spent in Cienfuegos, a little city on the water with colorful buildings and lots of character. The roads were lined with well-lined sidewalks filled with children playing, people on bikes, or neighbors relaxing and chatting. We started the day off in a town outside of the city called Palmira, visiting a couple of Santeria hot spots. We saw three different Santeria altars lined with colorful fabrics and eerie statues. On the way back, we drove down a boulevard of times past, beautiful old palaces, well taken care of as tourist spots. They had intricate details and brightly painted towers, all of them looking out over the turquoise water. After, we strolled the streets of the town of one hundred fires. We checked out the Prado of Cienfuegos, the main street of the town, where there were little tourist shops, kiosks with homemade jewelry, and cigar shops. Getting lost in the grid of dusty roads, we found ourselves at the waterfront. It was a quiet, peaceful waterfront with little people, a horse, and some birds pecking at the fishy decks of the still fishing boats. The sunset made the sky a delicious orange rainbow.
The next day we spent at Trinidad, a clean, colorful city in the hills. The streets made of rounded stones led up and down hills lined with green, yellow, and blue buildings, horses, and tourists. Although Trinidad is one of the better kept up and therefore gorgeous cities of Cuba, it is only because it is a tourist site. Every direction we turned there was signs of tourists, either in flesh and bones or in the evidence of donkeys for rent for photos or a stand selling brand new straw hats. Trinidad has a lot of history and has its charm, but I imagine it lost some in its transformation into a tourist site. After drinking one too many Chanchancharas (a refreshing cocktail of honey, lemon, water, aguardiente, and ice), we moved on to the Valley of Plantations. As you might imagine, the view was breathtaking, and it was a reminder of the country’s history of slavery. We looked down upon a valley of all shades of green, upon old sugar cane and new, upon palm trees swaying in between the fields of green, and upon the majestic mountains on the other side. It was quite a sight as the sun shone down on the curves of the valley, on the memories and vague images of slaves working hard in the fields. But the new history is never forgotten, with Jose Marti poised next to us in the grass in his ever-frozen, stony stare.

Cañonazo Adventure

One of the things you will read in a guide book as a must-do is to visit El Morro at night to see the daily canon ceremony, called the cañonazo. After about two months in La Habana, we decided it was time to see it. Three of the couples decided to make it a date night, and we headed to Old Havana. When we reached the entrance, the path was only lit by small lights. We reached a gate where a man told us that we could save money by going the back way with him. For some reason, we all believed him, and I’m still not sure if it was a scam or not. But it definitely made the experience an adventure. We decided to give the guy a couple CUC to “save us money” although none of us knew for sure that there was an entrance fee at all. Either way, he waved for us to follow him, and we did. Over the crumbling stone wall, down a dirt path, through a large field that seemed to go on for miles in the starry darkness, across an old bridge that crossed over a deep moat, behind the back walls of the castle, through an old archway, and out into the ceremony. I felt like a spy or undetected enemy as we sneaked around the ancient castle at night but was brought back to reality when we popped out into the middle of a crowd of tourists in Che hats and Dockers.
The ceremony was short but interesting and we stood silently as we watched the soldiers, dressed in their typical white uniforms, complete with hat and rifle. They marched back and forth in front of us,
preparing the canon one step at a time; getting the gunpowder, stuffing it into the bell of the canon with a long metal pole, each stroke with a hollow “thump”, getting more gunpowder(or whatever else they put in there), stuffing it in again, etc. Right before they shot off the canon they all got into formation, standing at attention, lit the fuse, and with a loud bang, the canon was shot. Standing there, among the tourists and our Cuban friends, watching one of the oldest traditions of the city, was the perfect mix of past and present, of old history and new.
The crowd dispersed quickly, but we strolled around, enjoying the atmosphere of the old castle at night, lit only by dim yellow lights, preserving the mysteriousness of the wise walls and hollow windows. On our way out, ears still slightly ringing, we stopped on the cobblestones, inspired by cha-cha-cha playing from somewhere close by, and danced in the warm moonlight.

Flood

So today when we all woke up, we could feel the apocalypse air. Every time a cold front came through, the air changed. The windows whistled, it was a little cooler, and you could hear the waves crashing over the Malecón. This was one of those mornings. Despite the urge to go back to bed, we all ate breakfast and got ready to head to school. When we got to the bottom of the twelve flights of stairs, however, we saw that the road in front of us was flooded. The sidewalk was still dry so we began the six-block walk to Casa de las Americas. We turned the corner and got to the next street where we encountered a river in our way. Well, none of us were going to walk through eight inches of water that had been in those streets. So we decided we had no choice but to turn back. Upon doing so, there was a miniature tidal wave coming toward us which put our feet under five inches of water. We trudged back to the apartment, trying not to think about the awful things that were probably floating in the water we were walking through. After grabbing some refreshments for the day off, we tried to avoid the fact that we would probably have to go to school somehow. Inevitably, the ancient Casa bus pulled up and brought us dry and safely to our classes.

Books and Bowling

This weekend has been pretty eventful. We did a lot of things and had a lot of fun with our friends. We went on a field trip to a Maternity Ward in Nuevo Vedado. It was set up eight years ago to give women with pregnancy complications a place to stay where they can get proper treatment and care for their complications. Most of the women are younger and don’t have the means to take care of themselves at home. It was good to see that there is this option for mothers and that they are in a small way working on improving the birth rates and rates of low birth weights and other birth complications by providing a healthier situation prior to birth. It was really interesting to see this program and speak to some of the young mothers who are staying at the ward.

After the visit, we headed to El Morro to buy some books. Every year there is a book fair held at El Morro, the old fort and lighthouse on the city’s coast. It is a great place to hold a book fair with all the open rooms of the old fort. I wasn’t sure what to expect of the fair, how big it would be, what type of things would be there, how many people would be there, and I was pretty surprised by what I saw. When we got out of the cab near the parking lot, there were a dozen kiosks set up with hot dogs, ice cream, and refrescos. We continued up the stone pathway to the entrance of the fort. There were a lot of people walking around with bags full of books, kids with ice cream cones and toys, and people just looking around. The little food booths reminded me of American fairs, the only difference being the food choices. The rooms were full of books, Cuban, Latin American, and of all different genres. We all left with bags full of books and our wallets only about 5 CUC lighter. There was about six of us and in order to save 5 CUC we all convinced a taxi driver to let us all go in one taxi. So all six of us piled into the tiny car, and zipped down the Malecon to the tunes of blasting dance music.
Friday night after we played soccer with the boys we decided to go bowling. We were all excited to hear that there was bowling in Cuba and also very curious to see what that would be like. It was, of course, very different, but was a very good concept. It was at a hotel in the bar and game room. Right next to the bar were two lanes for ten pin bowling. So you can bowl, drink, dance, and play pool all in one place. It was great. It was my first time ten pin bowling and I almost injured a couple people on my first turn but other than that I did okay.

Valentine's Day

So when I think of Valentine’s Day, roses, chocolate hearts, and stuffed animals come to mind. All that lovey-dovey stuff that has come to define the commercial world of the day of love in the United States. To our Cuban lovers however, this day was the best opportunity for a costume party. Halloween in February? Okay. So we got all decked out in our cute little Valentine’s-worthy costumes and headed to the salon. The streets and Malecon were filled with people; singles, families, couples, all dressed up and having fun. It was great because people actually got out and enjoyed the holiday with their loves instead of basing it on what present they got each other.
When we got to the salon we heard movement but it was dark and there was no one to be found. We walked into the waiting room and there were figures in all the dark corners. I couldn’t figure out if they were real people or not because they were so still and silent. We walked in, confused and eager to see the boys. Not sure what to do we just waited for them and at one point when we turned around, all those figures came to life and jumped out of the darkness to scare us. Even though we knew it was them I’m pretty sure we all jumped a foot when they came out yelling.
There was a Santa Claus, a grim reaper, a dead cleaner/mechanic/wrestler, a woman?, and a witch, to name a few. They had gone all out, face paint and all. It was great. They blasted some “Thriller” and the party was started. It was a great party with music, fun and friends and although it was a very different way to spend Valentine’s day, it was definitely the best I’ve ever experienced.

La Playa

Comida-Cuban Food

Cuban food. Oh, where to begin. Upon arrival, I had low expectations for the food. Everything that I had read said that the trade embargo and poverty prevented the Cubans from eating food with much flavor at all. So I was expecting bland food at the best. I was pleasantly surprised to say the least. It helped a lot that we had such an amazing cook. Mileydis cooked the best food ever and it was so fresh and natural. We looked forward to 7:00PM everyday to eat whatever goodness she had cooked up that day for dinner and to eat it together, sharing stories from the day or anecdotes and complaints about Profe. We ate so quickly, practically shoveling that deliciousness in us as fast as we could. The dinner was always well-rounded, and different everyday. The main courses were either ropa vieja which is shredded beef, pulled chicken, spaghetti, pizza, meatballs, or fish. These selections were all delish. The accompaniments ALWAYS included arroz and frijoles of course, the staples of Latin American cooking, and an assortment of wonderful veggies. This depended on what was available that week but some of the choices were malanga or boniato (root vegetables kind of like sweet potato but better), tomatoes, green beans, beets, cabbage, or squash. This was nicely complimented by rolls and the best butter ever churned, and freshly squeezed juice of the guava, mango, orange, or watermelon varieties. YUM. At about 7:12 all this was gone and Chino, joking around and smiling, would clear our plates and ask us if we wanted dessert. The dessert choices were a little stranger and I for one usually went for helado or flan but the other rotating choices were sweet papaya (excuse me, fruta bomba), sweet watermelon rind, or mango or guava pureé with a slice of cheese. The others were good but I only wasted the calories on the nights of flan or ice cream. Those dinners, for the food and also for the company, were some of the best memories of the trip.
Our outside culinary adventures were just as exciting as our home cooked meals. They were never as good but they were always uncertain, always containing potential, and that’s what made it so thrilling. We quickly found the cheap spots around the barrio to eat. And we found our favorites. The best location was the little paladar right outside our building. The friendly ham sandwich guy would always greet us with a smile and whip us up his specialty: 10 moneda

nacional ham sandwiches, complete with mustard and lettuce and toasted to perfection on our choice of bun. It was the perfect quick and easy lunch when we were going for price and convenience. In this category there was also the hamburger stand paladar a couple blocks away with the two lovely women who cooked up burgers that were tastier than some I have eaten in the states. Although the meat was questionable, they were cooked perfectly, buns grilled slightly in the juices, and sooooo yummy. 24 MN. Another cheap option, a little farther away but so worth the trip, was the hot dog stand. Wow, I cannot possibly describe how good these hot dogs are. You kinda just have to try them. For 10 MN, you could get an eight inch hot dog in a soft bun and for another 10 MN could get a cola which was the perfect thing to wash it all down. The stand was unexplainably and frustratingly closed sometimes even though the sign said “24 horas” but when it was open, it made our day. A good snack place in between meals or late at night during the fun, we would head to Opurtunidades for a bite and beers if desired. The croquetas were the star of the show there, however. If you don’t know what a croqueta is, you are definitely missing out. It is made up of either chicken or pork or some other meat which is grinded up and combined with maybe potato or something, but its nice and soft on the inside, and then deep fried. The best way I can describe it is kinda like a meat tater tot. It was the snack of the trip, without doubt. Well, Pelly’s were definitely up there. Pelly’s are like cheetos but better. They are less cheesy but somehow more delicious. They were part of our survival kit for our long music classes, bus rides, or airport delays. Along with wine. Or Planchao rum boxes.
When we didn’t mind splurging for some grub, we headed to Dimar, Palmares, or some other random spot we could test out. Palmares, better known as the “thatched-roof place” usually only had cheese pizza but we always ordered veggie pizza which they happily made for us and was delicious. We would accompany the pizza with our drink of choice, mine of course being the pirate, and followed it up with our ice cream of choice, mine being a Tandem. As you can see, we had a routine. Or at least I did. Dimar was the seafood version of any Cuban restaurant, the perk being that you sat outside and overlooked the Malecon. They had shrimp croquetas which were even better than the meat croquetas if that’s possible, French fries, and yummy seafood pastas or pizzas. It was a good price and decent food and a place we frequented.
I could go on and on with the food. There is Olokku where they have good pizza, crema de queso, and where José and Johandy filled us in one lunchtime on certain Cuban delights after the Special Period such as cat meat burgers and melted condom cheese pizza. Needless to say we lost our appetite. There was Flor de Loto with the boys, a Chinese restaurant that was a little expensive (and by expensive I mean close to typical US prices), but where you got so much food for your money quite different than a lot of US restaurants). For about 7 CUC we got a whole chicken cut up and fried Chinese style and piled onto our plate. There was also Min Chi Tang with the boys which was the best pizzeria in all of Havana, according to them, and I’ll admit, I never found a better one. There was Tal Vez, with the milkshakes and creative pizza choices. And many other lovely food experiences.
Food and meal time is a large part of life. Food is necessary to survive but is always much more fun than that. There are good and bad experiences, good and bad food, and lots of memories of the people with whom you shared those experiences. Because of this, I dedicated this section to my food experiences in Cuba, because it was through these times, I learned about Cuba, I bonded with my friends and Cubans who became my family, and satisfied or surprised my taste buds delightedly.

Matanzas

So we just got back from our first weekend trip and it was less than thrilling to say the least, and for the most part awkward and strange. I know that I cannot fully describe the events to portray the complete awkwardness or the reasons for our unhappiness. It wasn't horrible but it could have been a lot better.

I enjoyed being out of the city to see a different province and do some different things, but the things we did were kinda strange and not much fun. We hopped on the bus on Thursday, greeted our weird tour guide who turned out to not know much about the places we ended up going, and headed out to Matanzas province. We got to the hotel that night which was pretty nice but the weather was freezing. We walked
down the street to Tropicana which is supposedly the best cabaret show in Cuba. It was pretty impressive, and the food was decent but it was outside and freezing and it was overwhelming and strange. For us, we were so used to spending time in Cuba, with our Cuban friends and all of a sudden we were thrown into the tourist realm of the country and it was strange and I didn’t like it. The costumes were bright and beautiful but a little too revealing, the dancers were good but you could tell they weren’t really into it, and the music was decent, but it was such a weird experience because it just seemed so fake and almost forced because we knew what was going on behind the glamour of the show.
The next day we spent a day touring the town of Matanzas. We woke up in the morning to the creepy voice of the tour guide over our wake up call. From there we headed to the breakfast which ended up being the best part of the weekend. Ham and cheese omelets with pan con mantequilla, fruit salad, coffee and juice. Perfect start to the day really. If only the day had lived up to its beginning. The tour bus emptied us out at the main square in Matanzas. Here there was a huge statue of José Martí of course, and a little park surrounded by buildings of all different colors and the old American cars that circled continuously through the busy streets. When we got there, apparently we didn’t have a set plan so Profe asked us if we wanted to tour an old pharmacy which some of us did, but then he said we would have to pay for the tour. After much back and forth they finally let us in for free and it turned out to be pretty interesting. It was one of the first pharmacies in Cuba and it was still set up the way it used to be. There were rows and rows of old containers that used to hold remedies from back in the day. These remedies ranged from aspirin and things that are still used today to herbal remedies that were obviously used much more often before new technologies were discovered. Blue, green, brown, and white bottles lined the walls, and we saw the equipment that would have been used to make some of the medicines. After the pharmacy, we headed outside of the city a little bit and found ourselves in a seminary where they teach theology. None of us could really figure out why we where there but it had a nice view…From there we went to lunch, sat outside in the 40 degree weather, and waited about 3 hours for our lunch which then was a little disappointing. This was basically just a Cuban thing, that sometimes you waited awhile for unsatisfying food, but we were already frustrated with Profe and blamed our frustration on him and cured our pain with wine.
The afternoon fared a bit better. For one thing the sun came out and we came out from the hiding of our hoods to the slight warmth. We went to this place where they make homemade books where they use stories, poems, or plays and put them into a new book with images and ideas that go together with the theme. They were really creative and we all ended up buying books to take with us.
We all had maybe a tiny bit of hope for the next day when we would head out to some towns in the country, but after we got on the bus after our yummy breakfast, our guide informed us that he didn’t really know much about these towns. We all just looked at each other, slunk down in our seats, and geared ourselves for the day. We started off in a town called Jaguey Grande which could have been interesting but was instead boring and completely useless. I won’t explain everything but the highlights were a museum-to-be, a restaurant with flies and stale Pelly’s, a stray puppy, an erotic art exhibit which Profe photographed and was really awkward, a small church, and homemade cashew wine. The only reason I appreciated the day was to be in a different town and see more of Cuba, but the things we did were less than exciting or even educational.
Varadero on Sunday gave us a bit of a relief from the relief and from the Profes, but it was really strange to me. We got there, after driving through the country past nothing but orange trees, horses, and little shacks to find ourselves in what almost seemed like a strip along the Southern Floridian coast. There were about 70 hotels and there were no Cubans around, just tourists. We walked to the beach, staring confusedly at the designer stores and accusingly at the stuck-up tourists who refused to even try to speak Spanish. The beach was beautiful though, and we found an all-inclusive resort where you couldn’t pay if you weren’t a guest. Since they couldn’t charge us, they served us food and drinks all day and we tipped them a lot more than they ever would have made off of their salary. So we lounged by the (cold) hot tub, vented about the weekend, and drank tequila. Not too bad. Then we headed back on the bus, and almost cried for happiness when Maria welcomed us into her warm arms and Chino welcomed us back with that huge handsome smile.

Hombres y Machismo-Cuban Men

Tell people you are going to Cuba and as a woman you will inevitably hear, “Be careful of those Cuban men!”. Que te digo yo. You will hear it so many times you will consider not even talking to any men when you are there. For me, I just wondered why I was supposed to be so careful of this particular species of men. Were they crazy? Murderous? Deceiving? Or just dangerously sexy? Well whatever they were, the warnings only made me more curious to find out.
Stepping off the plane in Havana, all eyes were on us, a moment that is a little uncomfortable, especially in a new country. We figured that this would stop when we left the airport, but little did we know this would happen everywhere we went. Walking down the street, in our neighborhood, in La Habana Vieja, Matanzas, Guantánamo, wherever; all eyes were on us mujeres. We quickly learned that the men have no shame when it comes to giving women attention. At first it was unsettling to be stared at by a group of men. Eventually most of us came to ignore it, accept it, and sometimes appreciate it in a way. Most of the time it was the usual, “Linda, linda, que bonita, mi muñeca, *kissing sounds or hissing*”. Sometimes it was more creative like, “If you ever met a guy like me you would never regret it”. And sometimes it was more unsettling with an arm grab or other touch of some sort. Although these circumstances verged on the side
of assault, I don’t think any of us ever felt threatened by these men. By the time I left I almost appreciated these cat calls and car horns that sounded like the typical whistle that means “you’re good lookin’”. There are many ways to look at this and although some may say that these calls are demeaning and treating women like objects or something along those lines, to me, this phenomenon in Cuba is honest. These guys whistle at all the beautiful women that walk by them, and to them, that’s everyone. They don’t care if you are thin or have a little more meat on your bones, in fact, that’s better. They don’t mind your hair color or what you wear for that matter. If you are a woman and you are rockin’ it, they’re hooked. It was nothing like what I saw on Tough Love, a VH1 reality show I happened to catch on the tourist channels in our Santiago hotel, where a group of guys criticized everything about a group of hot women. They noticed wide hips and the way they walked. Which is worse, being complemented simply because you are a woman? or being picked apart because even if you’re beautiful you are still not perfect? In American culture, perfect has become the ideal. And perfect is not even possible. You can call this Cuban practice machismo, but Cuban men love women for being women. And I think that’s kinda nice.
I’m not going to say that machismo doesn’t exist in Cuba because that would be naïve. We saw it throughout history in our Cuban film class and sometimes in our current experience. We saw women portrayed as passive and letting the man win and make decisions. We also saw that a lot of the time women only take “woman” jobs, and things like that. At the same time, and this is completely personal opinion with not much evidence, I felt like guys didn’t feel like they had to act macho half as much as some guys in the U.S. do. The guys I met had no problem mentioning how pretty a flower is or how “cute” a dog is, and even danced with each other with no problems. My point is that a lot of guys in the states feel like they have to prove their manliness or something, like if they say that flowers are pretty they are showing their feminine side too much and they can’t show a little affection to their guy friends for fear of being seen as gay. But it’s another story in Cuba, guys didn’t seem hung up on making sure they seem manly, they just do their thing and that’s cool. Maybe it’s because they are already seen as macho just for being men, so they don’t have to try? I’m not sure.
So let me tell you some more things about Cuban men. They love. They love women, like I said before, they love their family, they love their friends, they love rum, they love love. The last few are true for almost all Cubans, but I’ll get to that later. If a Cuban man likes you, he will tell you, if he wants to see you, he will call you, if he really likes you, he will pick you a flower from a neighbor’s garden or tell you he wants to have your kids. They do move pretty quickly and especially if you are a foreigner, they will be introducing you to their family and talking about a future before you can say Che Guevara. But if you take the time to get past all this craziness, realize that you are thinking the same things but have learned not to say them in fear of sounding desperate, you can get to know them and realize that they usually are just passionate and honest. Obviously this does not go for all Cuban men because as is quite obvious in some cases, they are just after your tourist dinero or a pasaporte outta the country. For a lot of Cubans, foreigners are business. And as a wise professor once said, the genuine Cubans still might have a secret business behind their feelings. A secret business that is a hope for a better life, for a way out. And can you blame them? There are crazy, murderous, deceiving people everywhere. If you ignore the stereotypes, throw away the warnings from the people back home who have most likely never even met a Cuban man, take into consideration the truths of Cuba, and you can find yourself opening up to more than just a Cuban man, but the culture, the real Cuba, and life as they see it. And you most likely meet some great people in the process.

Cira Garcia

Frustrated, pissed-off, and in pain I stormed through those black-rimmed glass doors, past all those familiar strangers in white coats up to the second floor where I found myself looking at a beautiful face I never wanted to see again. The nice receptionist at the Cira Garcia Medical Clinic. She looked up to me with a face that sort of said, “Oh, you again?” but was also sort of not surprised. This was about my sixth visit to the doctor. I won’t go into details of my medical adventures but I will say that among other issues, like infected leg wounds and parasites, I had another problem that would not be solved by careless doctors and Cuban medicine. Thus I learned some of the faults of socialized medical care in Cuba.
When I went to the doctor the first time, he told me my problem, gave me some meds, and sent me on my way. The next time I had a different doctor, a female who laughed at the fact I had a Cuban boyfriend and asked me whether the Cubans and blacks work cleaning the metro in the United States which she found funny. And I found ignorant and infuriating. She said I had the same problem as before, gave me some meds and sent me on my way. This time I did not want to hear the problem that I already knew I had and which I knew I still had because the stupid medicine didn’t work and they didn’t care enough to think twice about my problem reappearing. Well this time the problem had gotten worse and I knew it but they chose to ignore that fact, treated me like I didn’t understand Spanish enough to know what they were telling me, even though I understood every word and told them that, but they still proceeded to have the translator come in who then proceeded to give me medical advice that I, since I understand Spanish, knew was not anything that the actual doctor was telling me. At this point I gave up, frustrated and still uncured, took their antibiotics that were the cure-all in Cuba, and headed back home.

"Ay, que voy a hacer con mi vida? Padrino! Quitame esta sal de encima!"

Santería…the most famous Afrocuban religion of the island. I still haven’t decided what I think about it. Sometimes it seemed deep and spiritual to me but other times it just seemed like it has turned into a cheesy trend that is used to attract tourists and make money, losing its authenticity and genuineness that it once held. Santería is a religion that came over with the slaves from Africa. It was practiced on the plantations and disguised as the worship of Catholic saints, hence the name. The belief system has the same basic principles of most religions but is practiced in a uniquely African way which includes a lot of drumming and dancing. There is an all-encompassing energy instead of a God figure and there are orishas which are like spiritual godparents. These orishas represent an aspect of life or the earth. Tambors are religious ceremonies in the honor of orishas and in these tambors, special drummers play the sacred drums and the gathering dances certain dances for the orisha. Sometimes, someone is possessed by the orisha and can give advice and blessings to the people. There are also sacrifices made in honor of the orishas such as a chicken. Food is made and set out for the orisha to enjoy before it is eaten by the people in attendance.
The group attended a few tambors in our time in Cuba and each was a unique experience. For me, although some moments were strange and a little uncomfortable, I always appreciated being there for part of something that is so uniquely Cuban.
The other night we went to a party for Yemayá, the orisha of the sea, which was a follow up to the tambor held in Profe’s honor just a few days before. The whole group arrived at the Padrino’s house in Cayo Hueso. To get there we drove through Centro Habana, one of the poorer sections of town. Crammed into a single cab, we drove down dirty, bumpy streets past doors that opened into lace-lined doorways and cartoons on tv. We drove by women walking down the street past staring eyes, by groups of kids playing games in the streets, past mangly dogs with no homes until we arrived at the silver door of the Padrino’s house. The twelve of us plus Profe, his wife, the Padrino, and whatever random person came in and out of his house squeezed into his small living room for a “party”. This mostly consisted of us making awkward conversation which was only solved by the distribution of a yummy mixture of wine and lemon and a plateful of goodies. We ate and talked in front of the colorful blue and white altar for Yemayá. Not only was this experience uniquely Cuban, but so was the house. I always love going into the Cuban homes because they are all so different and no matter how small or simple they are, the Cubans always add their touch of flavor. In the Padrino’s house for example there is quite a bit of lace which is typical in I think most Latin countries, but there were also lots of little statues of animals, Santería figures, etc. My favorite part was the wall
decorations. There was a large poster of three adorable fluffy white dogs, and photos of babies on weird Little Mermaid backgrounds. But I loved how open the house was, to the people inside and outside, it seemed always welcoming.
Today I went to that same house to get my fortune read. Padrino sat me down and sat down in front of me on the floor, casually leaning against the cool wall. He asked me some questions and started the process. He took a handful of shells, shook them in his hand while he spoke to the orishas in Yoruba, hit his fist on the floor, and then threw the shells down. The way in which they landed tells my fortune or rather, things to look for and be careful of in my life. Although I was a little skeptical going in, he ended up telling me some interesting things. I found out that I am the daughter of Yemayá which was weird because I always had a feeling that she was my orisha. I took the experience and did what he told me to do and I think in a way it helped me get adjusted to Cuba and was an interesting way to do so.

El Malecón

El Malecón: 7-mile long wall/sidewalk/road/hangout that follows the coast of the city of Havana. Sometimes it is quiet, sometimes it is hoppin’, sometimes it is covered in 20-ft. waves, sometimes it is burning hot from the strong rays of the sun, sometimes it is clean, sometimes dirty, sometimes dangerous, sometimes a party. Whenever you go there or look at it, however, you are sure to be entertained in one way or another, and therefore it is one of my favorite places in Havana. In nice weather or on holidays you cannot find an empty space on the wall. During the day and evening, fishermen line the shore with their fishing line and buckets, no poles. Kids skip along the wall, jumping over lazing tourists if necessary. Couples sit together, talking and kissing, watching the city go by. For almost any occasion, the Malecón is the place to go.
The Malecón is also the best place to get a feel for the city and get a glimpse of the architecture and
history. With a long walk along that great wall, you pass by majestic statues of important historical figures and events, large tourist hotels, run down stadiums, and buildings that were obviously gorgeous at one time, now past their prime, but still beautiful in a different way. You walk past and along with Cubans and foreigners, by bicitaxis and horse-drawn buggies. In one long walk you can stroll through history and experience today and yesterday in the same moment.
Our building looked out over the Malecón and got the best views of the sunsets, people, broken down cars, and storms. Whenever a frente frio, cold front, moved in, we knew first of all from the wind up there on the twelfth floor, and second from the huge waves that would flood the Malecón soon after. Although it happened quite a few times during our stay, the size and strength of the waves never ceased to amaze me. One day the waves flooded two blocks away from the Malecón, unfortunately preventing us from walking to school.
The Malecón became the best place to do homework, listen to music, hang out, or go on a date. We would sit there for hours with our iPods, journals and books or just with friends to talk and enjoy the view. It was also the prime location to take a dip after a vigorous game of fúbol with the boys. After playing our hardest, sweaty and energized, we jumped happily in that deliciously warm water as the sun melted into the ocean at our fingertips.

Nueva Trova

My experience with nueva trova began with Sr. Pablo Milanés at the Teatro Mella alongside Geovanis, the building guy. We got there late and stood up since the theater was packed with Pablo’s fans. Although nueva trova is nowhere near as popular as it was back in the 1960’s when it started as a protest song, it’s popularity and familiarity is felt when the entire crowd sings along to all the words to every song he sings. He sang powerful words about politics, love, Cuba, and life accompanied by nice music. I decided that night that I liked this genre of Cuban music. Little did I know that eventually I would take a class that would slowly make me despise this genre, at least from the technical point of view. In terms of listening, I think I will always like this genre and understand why it is so popular in Cuba. The words speak to the people who can relate to the issues and situations the singers sing about. This music has documented and been a huge part of Cuban history. At another trova concert that we attended in Santiago de Cuba, we experienced other types of nueva trova that included many female artists which was interesting. Here again everyone sang along to the lyrics they knew and people stopped outside on the street to listen in to the music. Although the popularity has declined over the years, the importance of nueva trova is still obvious today and I enjoyed my experience with it.

El Cuerno de la Abundancia...de helado?

What better combination on a warm day but ice cream and a movie? José, Johandy, Rubén, Sonya, Emma and I headed to the theater to catch an afternoon showing of the Cuban film, El Cuerno de la Abundancia for 2 moneda. As we were walking down the street to catch a cab to the theater, José was explaining that there are a lot of cops in the area and that if they give us a hard time to tell them that we know each other and are friends so that they will leave us alone. Mid-conversation, a cop car pulls up to us and two cops get out, asking the boys for their IDs and questioning us. The boys explained everything and I said we were all friends, and finally they let us go. There were no problems to make them give us a hard
time, it was only that they are black and we are foreigners. These little run-ins with the cops got old quickly. I saw times when police would arrest someone for no other apparent reason other than their skin color, and sometimes if they were with foreigners. This rule to keep Cubans and foreigners is partly to keep foreigners safe but is mostly to prevent Cubans from learning about life outside of the country. The other times, it was blatant racism.
We made it with no other obstacles to the movie theater. We had some time to kill before the movie started so we headed across the street to the national institution known as Coppelia ice cream. This was my first Coppelia experience and it was confusing then, but it never ended up making sense to me. We waited in a line seemingly leading to nowhere by the metal white fence for about ten minutes before the girls went exploring only to find that we could head right upstairs to get helado de fresa. You never get a lot of options at Coppelia, you basically get what flavor is available that day, and we got strawberry. For about 30 cents we got three scoops of ice cream and three biscuits. Afterwards we headed over to the movie theater where we waited in line by a popcorn vendor, a crazy nut seller, and a man selling worn, well-read books on the Revolution and José Martí, until we made it into the theater. It was a huge place with about 200 seats or so and with the grandness of a Broadway theater. The movie was really good even though I didn’t understand the majority of what was said and missed most of the jokes. It was really interesting to see a modern Cuban film after seeing many older ones in class. It was funny and very entertaining and the perfect way to pass the afternoon.

Capitolio Tour

So today I met up with one of the boys from the water polo team. We met up at the capital to spend the afternoon in that area. I had never been before and was looking forward to going. It was nice to have my own, six foot, strong, beautiful Cuban tour guide to fill me in on fun facts. He pointed out certain hotels, buildings, shops and other tidbits. We saw the old building where the famous Cuban ballet is performed, La Floridita restaurant where Hemingway supposedly had the best Daiquiri, a Cuban mall, the Granma monument, the building where the president used to live, and more. It was a beautiful afternoon and the sun was shining down on every landmark and warmed our skin as we strolled the streets talking about our lives, however different they are.
At one point we decided to check out the Museo de Bellas Artes, the art museum. We walked in and I went to pay since I knew that Reidel didn’t have much money. The woman looked past me, asked Reidel if he was Cuban, then said, “5 moneda for you but she has to pay the tourist rate”. So I paid 7 CUC and he paid 5 moneda. Five moneda is about .25 CUC. I paid about 2000% of what he did. Perfect example of why Cubans love tourists. So we walked around looking at old art which was great but the afternoon got sufficiently awkward when we found ourselves in the temporary exhibit called Erotica. I mean you can probably understand why this would be awkward, especially on a first date so I won’t go into detail. I will say that this exhibit was my first real taste of how open the Cuban culture is to sex, even in their fine art, which is refreshing in a way but nonetheless uncomfortable.
We recovered with some yummy moneda nacional pizza and sat in a park to watch as the sun set and a group of young kids played soccer on the concrete. We parted ways after he walked me halfway back to the Residencia, through Centro Habana. Centro Habana is one of the poorer parts of La Habana but to me is one of the most interesting and beautiful. The roads are bumpy and usually muddy from rain water or soapy water from people mopping their floors, the roads are lined with tall buildings on each side. A lot of these buildings, with crumbling, brightly colored paint and laundry hanging from the rusting metal porches, are called solares, where many people live together in one building. They are majestic and stately but crumbly and sad-looking at the same time. And just looking at them, you know that they are not easy places to live. Walking by the open doors and peeking in to the small Santeria altars, lace doorways, and people in rocking chairs, I try to picture their lives and feel it, if only for a moment.

Obamarama

Today, during ¿Afrocuba? class, we listened to a barely distinguishable, incredibly boring lecture about, well, something, given by Tomasito, a short, funny-looking man with dinosaur fingers. The highlight and sadly the only thing I remember from the lecture was when Tomasito did a little cha-cha-cha for us. Thankfully, in the middle of the awful lecture, we got relief thanks to Obama. The whole group headed to el Hotel Presidente to watch the inauguration. Excited about being out of class and optimistic about the presidency we watched intently, sipping on mojitos, as he was sworn in. It was strange to be watching the speech in Spanish, alongside Cubans, but it was still exciting.
That night, it was time to celebrate. We headed to Habana Vieja to the Cerveceria to start our night where we were sure to have a good ole American-ish time. Sure enough, we got anything but a typical American night. The night started out with a broken heel, yup, just as I stepped out of the taxi. So Honorio made me a makeshift strap and I hobbled around on my wonky heels on uneven cobblestones. I’m not sure how I managed to make it through the night without breaking an ankle. At the Cerveceria we ordered cerveza negra which tasted like coffee and chocolate, and ate French fries and bruschetta with ‘Chan Chan’ playing in the background. From there we followed the unmistakable sounds of reggaeton to a side street where from above in the dark clutter of windows, balconies, shutters, and laundry came an invitation to a fiesta. We found the staircase, just on the other side of a random weird mural, and ventured up its steep steps to find ourselves in spidermonkey territory.
I guess I should explain this term that we derived for certain Cuban men. In the various older Cuban films we watched in our Cuban film class, we saw an interesting pattern. In love relationships, the women were usually very undecided about whether they wanted a man to stay or to go or whether they wanted to run away for real or just pretend and run to the nearest wall. This combination usually led to an interesting game of tag that often took place in some abandoned or rundown building in the middle of nowhere, where the woman would run to a wall, very dramatically, and the man would then follow and trap her from behind against the wall, then she would somehow escape with her words and then run to the nearest wall…and it continues. So we figured there was no other way to describe the actions of the man, with all his agility and stealth, than as a spidermonkey. And this species is nowhere near extinct in Cuba as we discovered in our own experiences. So this place in which we now found ourselves was reminiscent of a rundown building where we could just picture spidermonkeys hiding in the rafters. We made our way through the maze of half-built walls, wooden plank walkways that crossed over black nothingness, and small apartments cut into the crumbling walls. Finally we were led by the unfaltering reggaeton melodies to a tiny apartment where we found a group of people, Cubans and some tourists, dancing and chatting. We were offered rum which we took gladly, and started boogying. It was very random and strange to find ourselves there in that moment, looking out from their small balcony to the quiet streets below, partying with the Cubans on our night of American celebration. Oh, well, I’d rather celebrate the Cuban way any day.

Salon Nights

Cubans don't have much. They barely have what they need and don't have much else. Because of this, their version of fun is pretty simple, usually involving friends, music, dancing, and a little rum. José, Johandy, and Rubén all work security at night at a beauty salon. Why they need security at a beauty salon to make sure no one steals the shampoo and curling irons I'm not sure, but it made for a good hang out spot. From the beginning, this became the place to go to either meet up before heading out for the night, or to stay and party for the night. Every time we were greeted with hugs and smiles, even if we had seen the boys just a few hours before.
Our salon nights consisted of dancing, dominoes, movies, conversations about Cuba, lots of laughter and sometimes tears. We danced to all types of Cuban music and some random American music, the repertoire ranging from Van Van and reggaeton to Destiny’s Child and Michael Jackson, whatever happened to be dug up that night for our listening pleasure. Although us awkward, rhythm-less Americans couldn’t dance quite up to par with the fluid hip movements and natural rhythm of the Cubans, we definitely tried. I must say that after numerous nights of spinning, un-dos-trés-ing and working on moving from our hips and not our shoulders, we improved a lot. We probably would have learned much more if our wonderful teachers danced with us more often instead of with each other and their reflections. But that was even more entertaining so I’m not going to complain.
So who knew that little worn out tiles with black dots on them could be so entertaining? I mean, we have dominoes in America but it is nothing like Cuban dominoes. This game is one of the most popular pastimes for Cubans of all ages. Someone once told me that the favorite activities of the Cubans can be counted on one hand: 1. Rum 2. Tobacco 3. Pelota (Baseball) 4. Dominoes 5. Lovin’, all of which are shamelessly practiced and make up a large part of Cuban culture. So dominoes. Anywhere you go, walking down the street at night you can hear the familiar clinking of tiles as they are shuffled or slammed down on the table with enthusiasm and swearing. For a relatively simple game, the tournaments can get intense. As
we quickly learned, it takes time to learn the ins and outs of the game. There is quite a bit of strategy and skill needed to be a true champion, as I realized after my three day winning streak quickly started going downhill. There are things you just need to know, such as don’t kill your partner, “No me mata!”, where they mean the partners lines of tiles but can lead to misunderstandings. After my experience with Cuban dominoes, yelling, laughing, drinking, and slamming tiles with your best friends, I’m thinking that this game is much better than any complex video game and maybe we should start a trend in the states?
On our lazy days at the salon, we cuddled up on the hard leather benches and settled in for a movie marathon. Unfortunately our friends were boys so this usually consisted of some strange, disturbing made-for-television American movies about something like werewolves or murder that they thought were great. But some days we got lucky and got to watch a Cuban movie or normal American movie. Mostly we would borrow someone’s movies. The Cuban television which is obviously run by the government would play a couple movies each night. They were usually old Cuban films, weird old American films, bad new American films, or an occasional American hit. One of the weirdest movie nights was when we watched Superbad. Watching such an American movie with so many slang terms and cultural jokes in a beauty salon in Havana with Cubans was the strangest feeling. We could relate to the film but at the same time felt at home in our current environment and could also understand the reactions of shock and disbelief of our Cuban companions.
Most of our Cuban nights took place in some part at the “Instituto de Belleza” on Calzada entre A y Paseo and it was here that we learned what it truly meant to be Cuban, and, I like to think, found our Cuban selves.