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.
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.
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