Children's Art: Not for Sale

My family has been clamoring for a new blog and I admit that I have been neglecting my duties as a student traveler. But recently, life in Cuba has taken a new spin. Because we are leaving so soon, suddenly the city has become so exciting and homesickness is a word I can't believe I've ever felt.

Last week we went to visit Pinar del Rio, a city in the countryside where we visited a cooperative project that provides free after school arts for all children in the area. It's unbelievable that a place like this is free. Students learn to dance, sing, learn about health and the environment, and do beautiful art (none of which is for sale, by the way, because here the art of children is not for sale). The most amazing part of the day for me was seeing a group of girls, about 10 years old, who crochet the most BEAUTIFUL clothes for themselves and pretty much know how to make everything, including tablecloths, purses, hats and bottle covers. All of these things, they make for their family. One girl had made baby booties for her pregnant mother. All the materials used by the kids are provided by non-profit organizations and donated by students families. It's worth noting that Pinar del Rio is no better off financially than Havana (because socialism of course implies that it can't really happen).

But the countryside is beautiful (and much cooler than the city). One odd point of the day was when we stopped at a rest stop to use the bathroom. The rest stop felt like we had stopped in Cancun – it was obviously made for tourists and tourist buses. People were selling coconuts and fancy drinks and souvenirs. There happened to be a group of American tourists (with huge ugly name tags with USA printed on them, and their city of origin) at the rest stop with us, and I'm proud to say they didn't think we were tourists. One man from Carmel tried talking to us in poor Spanish when I pointed out in English that his name tag said, very large, where he was from.

On the way back from Pinar del Rio, our bus popped a tire. I've never been in a car with a popped tire before, that I can remember. So we stood on the side of the road next to a sugar cane field watching tractors and busses pass us. The bus was fine, but I actually enjoyed the experience. All of the boys on our program thought they knew how to change a tire, but they didn't end up being much help. Us girls weren't even allowed to help.

On Thursday we returned to Fresa y Chocolate, the Trova venue about 20 blocks from our house. Thursday was probably one of the hottest nights we've had here, and sitting inside a packed room was absolutely grueling (we started fanning ourselves with whatever scrap paper we had in our bags). But when my girlfriends stepped out to smoke (which stopped bothering me a few weeks ago. Smoking here is very common but not nearly as obnoxious as in Europe), I made some friends! Some guys were standing next to our table so I invited them to sit with me while my friends were outside, and they were happy to do so. It turns out that one of them reminds me a lot of my guy friends from home, so we've now hung out a couple times and have a terrific time! It's about time I made a good friend here. It's pretty accurate to say that my new guy friend is my Cuban kindred spirit.

I'm a bit nervous about completing my independent project, considering I was going to do a report on a day in a Cuban classroom. Apparently I have to go through a huge bureaucratic process to even get permission to be in a school. What I'm thinking about doing is comparing different internet views on Cuban children, then possibly using some children of Casa employees to do an art project for me, possibly to make a picture about what they want to be when they grow up, or what they like best about school. I'd really like to know the value of education to children here, and if they are happy. We'll see how this turns out.

I'm getting really sad about leaving Cuba, because whenever I will return to Cuba, it will not be the same.

And at the same time, Cuba will keep spinning. The friends we've made will keep living and we will be filed away as memories of strangers are, and we will be replaced by other students in the following years. The Trova concerts that we love so much will continue to play and create in our absence, the Malecon will continue to fill with young adults every night, and the busses will continue to fill and run full of hot and tired families throughout the day.

There is nowhere on earth like Cuba, and I have not been everywhere. The way the air smells (sometimes like trash, I'll admit), the way the sounds sound and the way the waves crash against the rock wall is irreplaceable. I am going to miss searching my brain for the right Spanish words in my conversations, and I'm going to miss conversing with my American friends in a laughable Spanglish mix. Sometimes I think in Spanish, and dream in Spanish. I love walking outside the door and meeting anyone new. I love taking cheap taxis, or walking for miles, eating rice and beans and buying cheap Cuban wine.

America is only 60 miles from Cuba, and yet these places are worlds apart. I only hope I don't remember this like a dream and more like a huge accelerating part of my life.

Love,
Caitlin

Getting Close To Home

One morning, I woke up and decided that I wasn’t homesick anymore. I think it stems from the prospect of seeing everyone I love in less than a month, including my “friend” in little more than 2 weeks. In fact, it seems like I’m running out of time. There are so many things I won’t be able to do, whether from financial constraints or otherwise, but it only gives me reason to come back one day soon to see what I missed.

Last week was filled with theatre and music. I believe I already mentioned modern dance and Brazilian circus, and on Thursday we went to a Trova concert, but on Friday we got to see an amazing thing – the Contemporary Dance Company of Havana put on an AMAZING show in the most beautiful theatre of Havana, the Gran Teatro.

Getting to the Gran Teatro was somewhat of an adventure. Some friends and I got on the wrong bus, taking us to the National Theatre instead of the other one. We got off in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, and tried to catch a cab. When we saw one, we ran like crazy across a park only to discover it was a cop car, and then we turned around and ran the other way. Our savior taxi driver we also ran to got us to the theatre right on time, and we sat down as the curtain opened.

The second act was particularly impressive. Beautiful men and women danced in white underwear (and the women, often without any top) in an amazing gymnastics/dance/movement/yoga thing. I wish I could describe it better. But I was so impressed I almost cried.

Yesterday we went to the Playas del Este with some Swiss guys my friends met in Trinidad (the city, not the island). My mom would appreciate their driving techniques, as driving in Havana reminds me very much of driving in Spain. We got lost a couple times but the drive was beautiful, along the north coast of Cuba. The beach was beautiful. Hundreds, maybe thousands of Cubans go to the beach on weekends. The water was clear and clean. We made friends with a beautiful Cuban baby boy playing in the shallow water, who was very belligerent when his mom tried to take him home. He was happy to pull tiny sticks out of the water and show us, or to throw sand in his hair (which his mom remedied by telling him to shut his eyes, dunked his head underwater, and the baby responded by making a spitting face and blowing salt bubbles out his mouth).

The Swiss guys were also interesting (my age). They’re going into the army after they get back in a week (I didn’t realize they have an army in Switzerland, which doesn’t fight in anything). Their Spanish and English wasn’t very good, but they spoke German and Italian. Language barriers are really hilarious sometimes.

The beach surprised me. Because the only Caribbean beaches I’ve been to were on our family cruise, I’ve only seen tourist exclusive beaches, where chairs cost $5 apiece and locals only come to sell necklaces or hair braiding. In Guanabo, families bring poles and blankets to make makeshift umbrellas. Young men stand in the water with bottles of Havana Club rum. Families toss volleyballs and drink orange soda. It’s so pleasant, because it is obviously just as easy to have fun at a beach without fancy chairs and food and games.

On a similar note, did you know that there is a huge initiative for community gardens in Cuba? The message they are trying to send is that food is for eating, and not for profit. A woman at a foundation we visited told us “The right to eat, and eat well, should be a human right for everyone.” When I get back to Davis, I plan on going to town in our garden. In Havana, people plant vegetables in beer cans, and collect rain water for their plants. Perhaps I won’t have to go that far, but I realize that gardening is not about aesthetics so much as it is about being proud. Almost all my life I hated when my mom would ask me to work in the garden, and now it’s practically the only thing I want to do.

Cuba has grown on me. I’m not sure how I’ll feel without dirt sidewalks under my feet, or living without plastic bags and waste. I won’t have to save my leftovers in paper to give to hungry dogs, and I won’t be able to see the ocean from my window. Walking outside won’t feel like walking into a wall of warm water. Every day, I am more fond of my temporary Caribbean home.

Love,

Caitlin

Running an Uphill Marathon!

I deeply regret not having written in quite a while, but at we only have about two and a half weeks of class left, things have been very busy. I had a fantastic short chat with Mom, Dad, and Kiera (who didn't recognize my voice) on Mother's Day. Mother's Day is hugely celebrated in Cuba (I can just hear Mom right now saying "As it should be!") It was so nice to hear everyone's voices. I'm also greatly anticipating the arrival of my "Special Friend" as Mom likes to call "It", who is going to be staying in my favorite hotel in Vedado, with a pool!

A Special Update: the elevator is chronically broken as of two days ago, which means that every time anyone wishes to leave the residence, it takes 27 flights of stairs to go down and back up again. I will be able to run an uphill marathon after this is over, I think. The neighbors feel bad for us now, because everyone knows the students live on the 13th floor and we can be seen at any hour of the day trudging along. In truth, it isn't too bad until you get to about…the 8th floor. At that point, it is absolutely no fun anymore.

Yesterday we had quite a full academic day, because after classes we went on a field trip to the Latin American Film Institute, which is housed in a gorgeous colonial building in the most beautiful part of Havana, Miramar. (Miramar was where all of the wealthy families of Havana lived before the Revolution, and now most of the embassies are housed in the old colonial mansions). We got to see old documentaries from some of the mot famous film makers in Cuba, including Now, a 6 minute documentary from 1963 about racism in the United States.

Also, this month is Mayo Teatral month, where the Casa de las Americas invites theatre and dance groups from all over Latin America to perform around Cuba. Because our program is run out of this institution, we get free tickets to almost all of the shows! On Monday, we saw a Brazilian group perform O Cano, which was a musical comedy very similar to America's STOMP. There were dozens of Cuban children laughing hysterically the entire time, and the adults did too. When the performance was over, the children were invited to play with all of the instruments on stage (all made of recycled materials!)

Last night, we saw a contemporary dance show by an Ecuadorian named Wilson Pico. This was not as enjoyable to as many people, but I loved it. (Kind of weird to those who hate modern dance, because it was exceptionally different). His dances were based on his childhood in Ecuador – on the overpowering of the Catholic Church, of hunger, and of the struggles faced by his mother and grandmother – which I thought were absolutely gorgeous. It was also very political. I don't know very much about Ecuadorian politics, but he was very critical of the government and of religion.

This past weekend, my girlfriends and I went out clubbing several nights in a row. We met a culturally insensitive Australian guy who we ended up having to shake off, but altogether had a really great time. If you can, please picture this: There is a dark and smoky dance floor with strobe lights. Everyone is gyrating quickly to salsa music, when all of a sudden the DJ begins to play "Take On Me" (yes, the 80's song). All of the Cubans bolt from the dance floor, which my friend Christina and I proceed to absolutely steal the show, bouncing from wall to wall alone in this giant club. This was probably one of the coolest moments I've had thus far in Cuba.

I also made a friend at one of our favorite paladares (tiny restaurants) – a 3 year old girl. I didn't catch her name, as her Spanish is very difficult to understand, but we were able to communicate enough to play hide-and-seek. I'm doing a small project/presentation on elementary school students, which I'm planning on observing after class tomorrow. I miss children! (And unsick dogs!)

As much as I may complain sometimes, I am really not having as bad a time as others. My friend Rosa got a horrible infected bug bite on her ankle that has confined her to bed for the last 4 days (and it's worse because there's no elevator!) Last night, one inebriated student thought it would be fun to put another inebriated student on his shoulders and run. (I was asleep, but I've been helping with the aftermath this morning). Apparently they only made it about 15 seconds before the guy fell flat on the hard stone of the Malecon, bringing the girl with him. Both of them are at the doctor's currently getting x-rays for concussions. Que triste.

Otherwise, things are going great. I'm 99% positive we're going to a place called Las Terranas on Saturday to go ziplining through the jungle!

Love to everyone,
Caitlin

PS. Does anyone know how to send relief aid to Myanmar? Let me know if you find out – the media is awful about reporting the stories and the poor people are so devastated – I would really like to do something.

Nueva Trova & Habaneros

The best night of the week is Sunday: Sunday is Nueva Trova night. In the garden of an old colonial mansion is a gathering of a few hundred young men and women who love cheap live music. 50 cents gets you a ticket to two hours of live music by young (often very good looking) Habaneros, and it is the most magical thing in Havana.

Nueva Trova is it's own genre, but to describe it to the internet, it is like a mix of rock, folk, and a bit of pop. Some songs are lamentable and others are hilarious, and the instruments used range from guitars to violins to oboes to harmonicas. Most performers are students at the University of Havana, and everyone crowds around on bleachers, benches and the ground to hear the music. Nueva Troba isn't so much about dancing as it is about listening and appreciation. We American girls like to bop in our seats, which is considered "loco" by the natives, and we found ourselves the subjects of many foreign cameras.

After we're kicked out of the Casona (the name of the venue), a large group of musicians always migrate to the park at C and 3rd, which is only a few blocks from our residence. Most people buy beers and/or mojito-in-a-box and settle around the large abandoned fountain. This fountain was probably glorious in its heyday, but now it is empty and cracking; young kids like to play catch inside of it.

In the warm night air and under the stars, with guitars and drums and violins playing, I find myself in the most tranquil place in the world, discounting a few drunken men who like to stare and sometimes start odd conversations that I have trouble understanding. We've even begun to make friends, and friends of friends, including three French guys of very good genetic breeding.

A few small adventures:

Chinatown, Havana: Apparently there used to be a huge Chinese population in Havana that has somehow disappeared. Chinatown is by far the filthiest, smelliest part of Havana I've found so far. You don't get much more dirty, decrepit urban than this weird landmark right next to the Capital building. My friend Catie and I went searching for a specific Chinese restaurant, only to find that all the restaurant names were in Chinese (and we don't speak Chinese…) and then to find that the one we were looking for was closed. We ended up eating at a Chinese/Italian restaurant with strong AC and a well-priced menu. Not bad chow mein, considering the lack of spices and food available to make it with.

Club Night: A group of us who stayed in town this weekend went out to celebrate a friend's 22nd birthday at a nightclub in Havana (walking distance…though not comfortably…from the house). The music was simply amazing – a girl salsa/cover band in shiny outfits playing all sorts of fun songs. A handful of Cuban friends and…random strangers…ended up teaching us how to dance. It was an absolutely terrific night.

Feeding Stray Dogs: I finally gave in and fed two stray dogs. I had an extra small sandwich in my bag about a day old (and there was no way I was going to eat it), so I split it in half and gave it to two dogs that looked like puppy and mother. I watched to make sure they didn't fight over it. I think they were very grateful. The good thing about feeding stray dogs is that unlike some homeless people, you don't have to worry about them misusing your gift.

A side note:

I have a lot of time to read the news here, and I find it to be extremely enlightening. For my housemates who know I like to share the news every day, Cuba is an even better opportunity to check things out. There are a lot of really disturbing things going on in the world right now that we should be aware of. Check out stories on Myanmar, especially the fact that the U.S. thinks that 3.2 million dollars is enough aid for their crisis. Also check out Somalia, Haiti, and other very poor countries: they're rioting because they can't even get bread or rice anymore.

It's when we educate ourselves that we are inspired to change things, so get to reading!


An inside joke or two:

My Spanish professor, who is really kind and teaches us a lot (and corrects us even more…) looks like Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars. Every time I take a good hard look at her, I say "IT'S A TRAP!" to myself.

We started using the "Unagi" fingers from Friends (remember, Ross thinks he has "Unagi"?) and our French friends thought we were making perverted hand signals. Sometimes a lot gets lost in translation.


Love to all,
Caitlin

Havana...Up Close!

Click the + sign to get an up-close look at the area Caitlin is living in. Try grabbing the screen to move the map. It's really cool! :) Diana, Caitlin's mom!


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May Day

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Yesterday we were told that everything would be closed tomorrow, so I went to the grocery store to buy some essentials. Therefore, I would like to begin this blog with a description of what a grocery store in Cuba looks like.

The market next to our house is inside a "mall." The "mall" has a few clothing stores, a dish store, a furniture store, a perfume/cosmetics store, and a grocery, among other things (like a fake flower store?). Somehow, there's always Michael Bolton songs playing inside and it makes me laugh. There are almost always lines outside of the stores on the weekends, because these shops are small and crowded. People like to sell puppies outside of the "mall."

The store is just groceries, alcohol and soap. I bought some particularly pungent clothes soap there that has so far kept me very clean. There is no fresh food in the grocery store – to get fruits and vegetables, you have to go to an outdoor market. Milk is not refrigerated, because it is either powdered or boxed. There is generally only one brand of everything, and sometimes it even comes from the US. My peanut butter is from Illinois. We found some pretty decent yogurt that tastes like tropical scented lotion. There is pasta, a few canned veggies and fruits, and lots of canned meat like tuna, Spam, ham, and my favorite, canned hot dogs.

There is no beef in Cuba.

Standing in line at the grocery store with my few carefully selected items (peanut butter, crackers, pancake mix and canned peaches), I noticed something peculiar. Not just that people were actually buying the canned hot dogs, but they were buying bottles of beer just by the bottle, not by the pack. This gesture of having only a few beers in a hand basket seems to sum up a bit of Cuban life: get what you can, but only in moderation, because there isn't enough to go around.

But May Day. It's like the 4th of July, except so different. Huge Cuban flags are hung everywhere, along with signs like "Viva el Primer de Mayo!" At 6:00 AM, all of Havana is awake, walking to the Plaza de la RevoluciÛn. It's pretty contained and solemn. At about 6:40, some friends and I trudged through the streets (we live about…20 – 30 blocks from the plaza), watching everyone line up to desfila. At first I was curious as to why there were so many school aged Cubans marching, but then realized that it's a long, hot walk, and their elders probably wouldn't fare well.

We waited in the mob (cnn.com says 200,000 people) as the sun came up and the street began to get hot. Some of us fell asleep standing up. There is always a lot of waiting in Havana. My metaphor for this event is "Nazi Disneyland". Allow me to explain:

Cuba is a militarized dictatorship. It is socialist, and trying as hard as it can, but it is not without its disarming moments. The streets were lined with guards and police, stoic and silent (which isn't always the case, because the cops are as likely to whistle at girls as regular citizens). Giant speakers were set up for at least a mile, playing patriotic anthems and spouting "Viva Fidel! Viva La Revolucion!" every few minutes, in which everyone around would pump fists and shout "VIVA!" Disneyland, because of the music playing everywhere you go, and because you were trapped in this theme park of a parade. Nazi, only because of the regimentation. This event was heavily publicized, and it almost felt like a shame on you to not attend. And because of the veterans in their uniforms, and the shouting, and the marching. You walk into the plaza, see Raul waving from the MartÌ monument (we tried to tell which one he was, but he was high up and surrounded by similar people), and then move along.

There is shouting and music and signs and political assertion, but there was something funny about it. There was something about the way Fidel is still revered, about the way the government is referred to as "Fidelismo." My personal opinion, and I hope I don't get dinged by any governments for saying this, is that Fidel is dead. But the longer he "lives" the longer the United States will stay away, and Cuba will have enough time to sort out its woes. The post-revolution Cuba is nothing without Fidel Castro. I would almost be willing to say that Cubans are not Cubans even now – they are Fidelists. Cuba does not exist if the man is not alive. I don't think he will be martyred like Che Guevara and Jose MartÌ – he will be controversial. I think there was a tone to this May Day – because this is the second year in which Fidel has not attended – of extreme apprehension.

How many more marches will be held in honor of the Cuban Revolution?

I've been meaning to address this philosophically for some time. Cuba feels different than everyone describes. It feels like everyone around you is holding their breath, because the island is spinning around in the air and no one knows how it's going to land. Devilish tourists are hanging around, waiting for the government to dissolve so they can buy and develop land into resorts. (This is true, we've met some). Soon, Cubans will once again live the Bautista-esque days of frivolous tourism and souvenirs. Habaneros will be out of their homes, because all of Havana will be bought up by developers. Will it be better this way? No one knows.

Is it better if children aren't playing in abandoned lots full of trash? Is it better if the houses stop disintegrating into the sea? Is it better if people can buy new shoes and fresh fruits and have the internet in their homes and have cars that won't break down?

Will it be better when Cuba turns back into a plantation, when the U.S. brings automobile dealerships back in, and when the Cubans are forced back into the slums or Havana while tourists move into their homes? Will it be better when Cubans are puppeted by their bastard protector to the North?

If I come back to Cuba in 5 years, 10 years, it will not look or feel like this. But maybe there will be more smiles, and more parades.

Cubans also don't have balloons. Maybe the end of the Revolution would bring balloons.

Love always,
Caitlin

Mostly About Music

I can't begin to explain to the rest of the world how good it feels to be out of bed. I've had a week-long battle with a stomach bug which it seems I have beat into submission by eating a lot of…bread, bananas and rice – which are fortunately very plentiful here.

I have a few stories to tell:

Sunday, pre-sickness, a large group of us decided to go to a party hosted by a student at the University of Havana, but ended up being very perplexed because we couldn't find the party, despite the hoards of young adults wandering the streets that night. We ended up in my favorite park (which I believe is actually called the Plaza of the Fountains, about 4 blocks from our house), because we heard music being played. It turned out there was a random talented group of musicians playing in the park, a couple of guitars, a violin, and someone doing percussion on a violin case. Absolutely beautiful, We sat in the grass listening for about an hour. It was mostly drunken university men there, so it became a bit…stifling…because Cuban men really enjoy staring. I spoke with the violinist, William, afterwards, but it was nearly futile because he was drunk and this makes communication a bit difficult. They're supposed to be playing somewhere tonight, and I may make an effort to go see!

Did you know you can buy mojito in a box in Cuba? Apparently you can. And daiquiri in a box? I have a problem drinking anything out of a juice box, so I stay clear. But the people at the park really seemed to like them.

Skip forward, past the early nights of sleep and days in bed listening to music and reading The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down.

Friday, we went to visit a Policlinico, which is like a neighborhood medical clinic of which there are over 400 in the city of Havana. Like any doctor's office, it was full of people and crying babies and elderly people waiting to be seen – not much different from a Kaiser office except that the aesthetic is completely different – paint chipping off the walls, broken chairs, etc. There was an ingenious sign in the stairwell that said "Las escaleras son un gimnasio. El elevador es una jaula," meaning that the stairs are a gym, and the elevator is a cage. This may be because the elevator doesn't work very well, but it's also smart to encourage exercise.

The most uncomfortable part of the visit was going to an examination room a few blocks away, to peek in at a pregnant woman's visit. Of course she had consented, but the doctor really liked to talk and we all grew uncomfortable in the very tiny and hot room – and I'm sure the pregnant woman had places to be other than surrounded by people. Interestingly, we learned that in the Cuban medical system, doctors work in teams of specialists, primary caregivers, and psychiatrists with patients, instead of separating all of the fields. And of course, everything is entirely free. I keep wondering how much more amazing their medical system would be if the United States would stop being such a bully, if the Cubans had access to anesthetics and aspirin and new equipment.
Curiously, there was a large Fidel photo in the clinic room, which reminded me of that Diane Sawyer special in North Korea. There were pictures of their president everywhere…and it seems like Fidel fills similar shoes here. Even though Che Guevara and Jose Marti are the country's poster boys, Fidel Castro still holds a huge omnipotence over Cuba.

Almost ironically, one of the girls in our group was suffering from severe dehydration and got really sick on our visit, so she got to stay and receive medical care there, also for free, and was driven back later. We are aware, however, that as students and Americans, we are subject to better treatment than almost anyone else in the country right now. A few days ago we were told that there are lists with all of the people we hang out with in Cuba on file in the central government at all times, because if anything happens to us, all the people we've been seen with will get dragged to jail. We already suspected we were being watched, because curiously, Facebook stopped working in our residence, but we didn't know it was actually true until now. Kind of 1984-esque, and kind of scary.

Friday night, we were shuttled to ELAM (The Latin American Medical School, which is FREE to those who are accepted for 6 years of comprehensive medical training and practice.) to see a "USA Culture Night". Security was really tight and we almost didn't get in, because not everyone had ID (even though we were guests). But inside, it was interesting to see how Americans can be portrayed to other people. They did spoofs on TRL, Jerry Springer, they did step dancing and hip hop dancing, etc. I made friends with a medical student from Mexico, who may want to hang out at some point, though he made the point that he's very busy pretty much all the time with school.

After that, we begged to stay out a bit longer (we were supposed to go back right after the show ended), so we got to go to the town of Baracoa and dance for a few hours. It's amazing the diversity of people I met that night – people from Botswana, Bolivia, Brazil, Jamaica, Mexico, etc. It was kind of overwhelming, but I made a couple more friends that may hang out later on.

Last night, we went to an Afro-Cuban concert at the Palacio de Bellas Artes, for about 50 cents per person. It was absolutely amazing, and there were so many people of all different ages there. It was outdoors in a huge courtyard, which obviously isn't a problem because it's so warm always. We then went to our favorite sangria hangout, which I will be taking my "friend" to when he comes because for lunch, they have the $6 lobster paella that may be the best thing I've had so far in Cuba. A group of Cubans were celebrating a birthday at the table next to us and we had some pretty funny interactions with them, safe to say we make friends wherever we go.

On the bus ride back, and you wouldn't believe how many people are on the public bus at midnight, we had yet another encounter with a group of young Cuban men (and a few women). They assumed we couldn't speak Spanish and therefore ensued in a slightly perverted conversation in completely audible and understandable Cuban. They talked amongst themselves about how to invite us out in English, finally coming up with "We would like to invite you to have a fun with us." My reply? "We speak Spanish, you know!" (In Spanish, of course) which got the whole bus roaring in laughter. If I had been feeling 100%, we probably would have gone to hang out with them, because they had excellent senses of humor, but so goes life! Another such encounter is bound to happen in the weeks ahead.

It keeps getting better here, and more comfortable, but one thing I miss more than my family, my dear friends and Kyle (yes, you get your own shout out!), is pepperoni pizza. I think I'll do a separate blog on food later, but just about every meal I eat I imagine is pepperoni pizza, with Parmesan cheese and hot pepper flakes. Pepperoni is a very foreign concept in Cuba, but boy, could I go for a slice right now!

Love always,
Comrade CaitlinWarning...video has NO sound

What It Is Not

Cuba is not a playground, or a park, or a vacation. It's life. It's Friday night and I am inside my room alone, and why? Because we went to a house party that my conscience didn't like, and I ended up mothering a drunken, disillusioned friend and putting her to sleep. It's like home, and it's certainly not magic. But it is real, and that is perfect.

It isn't easy to make Cuban friends here, because I feel so adamant on being careful. I haven't really had more than a few sincere Cuban conversations since I've been here, because men seem to only harass you for being a woman, and women tend to stare you down for being foreign. This is definitely not a playground.

Somehow, I don't mind that every day has not been a giant adventure. I still have stories to tell. I still have so many things to see. But many of my peers here are so preoccupied by what this trip means to them, or with seeing everything, all the time. I need to find someone to slow down with, to see things slowly and happily. When I take walks myself, I feel so much more fulfilled than when I have to listen to English jabber in front of or behind me. So I am learning how to learn here, and sometimes it just has to be on a long solo walk, seeing the streets and cars and people and trees, seeing everything at my own pace and with my own open ears.


Yesterday I walked about a half hour into Central Havana on a pre-dinner expedition. Our Spanish teacher had explained to us how to get to the University of Havana, so I decided to try it out on my own. I found myself weaving through beautiful old neighborhoods, lined with huge draping trees like redwoods, except with whiskers hanging off them. Up a hill, past a fruit market, and onto the busy street.

It turns out the university is a lot like NYU, in that the buildings are really just all over the place. There's a center strip of grass and benches between the busy street I walked on, until I came to a huge monument to some seemingly unimportant Havana mayor of the past – this thing is giant, but altogether abandoned.

This monument is like others because it's beautiful and grand, but with fountains containing no water. Almost every fountain and decorative pool in Havana is a desert now, because of resource shortages. This seems to be what has happened to the houses too. When I walk past them, I can't help but imagine what they looked like 60 years ago, 70 years ago, and what the streets looked like. The most beautiful houses you've ever seen are all over my neighborhood of Vedado, but they are crumbling and grey. Columns and stained glass and incredible ironwork, huge wooden doors and twisted staircases are everywhere, but only a shadow of their former selves. It gives me a lot to think about when I walk, about what happens to things so wonderful in their own time.

Anyway, I decided to head back from the Central Monument to get to dinner on time, so I crossed the street and walked back down the way I came. Except, I made the mistake of making eye contact with a very gross, small and mangy dog. He looked at me with such pain in his eyes, and I knew he was hungry. I didn't have any food on me, but I thought…maybe he could benefit from a momentary friend, so I gave him a smile and set on my way. Except that this dog followed me. It clipped at my heels for a few blocks. I stopped, let him sniff my bag and hands, so that he knew I had nothing to give him. And I walked some more, and he kept following. I crossed the street into the center grass, and he followed again. I sat, and he sat across from me. We stared each other down for a good minute or so, and then he slowly came up to me and set his paws on my crossed-legs.

I couldn't pet him because he looked slightly diseased and I didn't want a foreign canine infection, but I offered him my cheek for a quick "hello". But he didn't know how to give a lick, I don't think. He stuck his dry nose into my cheek with such defeat. And then he backed away and sat down again. Having no clue what to do, I got up to walk away, and this dog began to cry. Not verbally, but in his eyes. Maybe I was imagining it, but he was just the saddest thing I had ever seen. So I told him "Vamos", and he got up and came trotting along with me.

We went along for about 12 blocks this way. He would wait at corners for me, catch up if he got behind. I knew I couldn't take him home, and I knew he was very sick. But for a few minutes he really loved me, and it gave me hope about being here. There's a reason, beyond the lost dogs. Maybe he was me, and soon, someone is going to invite me to walk with them. The heartbreaking part is I had to leave him behind. He stopped to sniff the grass and I kept walking, faster, because I could never bring him into the flat. What would I have done with him?

It seems like I talk about dogs a lot. But maybe that's because they don't judge you on where you come from, or your gender. Maybe you have food, maybe you don't. Maybe you have time for a walk, and maybe you don't. They are simple, and that's something I can really connect with right now. No drama, no purpose. Just a moment to be well fed and happy, and feel like you're home.


Love Always,

Caitlin

We Also Go To School Here!

The Museum of Modern Arts in Havana Vieja

Today marks our ¨more than a week of class¨ time, which are progressively getting better. We read a tremendous amount, and write a paper a week. The best part is that besides from just going to Spanish class, history class, and journalism, we also have guest speakers and field trips.

Tomorrow, a famous Cuban is going to speak to us about the evolution of Cuban nationalism, and on Friday, we´re going to the world famous Medical School of Havana.

My mom has commented that dogs don´t look so bad in Cuba, when in fact, they are incredibly scary. Dogs lie dying on the sidewalks..well maybe not dying...but resting from the heat. And they are tiny and scraggly and not fun to pet. I miss my Sheila.

A note about Cuban men: they like to hiss. I would like to ask them if they actually get anyone´s attention this way. They also like to make kissy noises, and say things like ¨Que bonita!¨as you pass. Too bad most of them are kind of scraggly like the dogs. Not meaning to be harsh, but Cubans have generally poorly cared for teeth (probably due to expensive toothpaste) and a kind of grumpy disposition unless you give them a good long smile. Not that men are particularly leacherous, but I think in the United States, men just don´t say what´s on their minds, and here, communication is crystal clear.

I wrote a paper this week on how volitile the tourist industry is to Cuba, because the only people who make good money are uneducated hotel workers and people who sell things on the black market. Having dual currencies is one of Castro´s less brilliant ideas. I think he tries/d really hard. I still have no idea if he´s dead or alive, but people here have the same questions I do- just not vocally.

I´m sending some photos taken by my friend Catie (who is actually also Caitlin!) that we took last Thursday after class in our favorite spot, Havana Vieja.

A quick note about the photos for everyone- I am wearing a cute orange dress, as you can see. However, in Cuba, if you aren´t wearing skin tight clothing, it is assumed you are pregnant. So that day, I was asked by at least 4 women if I had ¨BABY???¨It just got really funny after a while. Next time I wear that dress, I´m going to tell people eyes to see if they give me hugs or something.


Photo at the fountain: A giant group of resting Cubans watched us take this picture and thought it was hilarious. they really think tourists are strange.

The one at lunch: I had $6.00 lobster and it was amazing. We also shared several pitchers of sangria for very cheap. Even though Havana Vieja is super touristy, we´ve been given tips for really cheap spots by my favorite Cuban, Geraldo!

Love, Caitlin

Keeping Afloat in the Gulf of Mexico...

Dear faithful blog readers: Brace yourself, this will be a long one.

I haven’t written recently because SURPRISE, the internet hasn’t been working for the last 5 days. The electricity had gone out on Monday and everything got fouled up. The best part of the power outage was that the elevator didn’t work, so up we went, all the way to the 13^th floor…about 3 times that day. In honor of the power outage, we instated “Happy Hour”, with low budget Cuba Libres and high class cigars. (I bought my first pack of tiny Cohibas yesterday. You really can’t feel Cuban without a really good cigar.)

Monday was the first day of classes, which are really interesting. We do a lot of reading and a lot of writing, so it’s pretty perfect. There’s a lot of very opinionated people in this program, which sometimes gets frustrating when we’re trying to learn things. Discussions get taken to extremes, often for hours after class is over. According to our professor Raquel, “Ideas have no time limit” which can be a bit annoying when I miss lunch.

On Wednesday we watched a great documentary called Fidel, which everyone needs to rent and watch. The history of Cuba is truly amazing, and the Cuban Revolution is nothing to take lightly. It’s strange how in the United States we are taught to think of Fidel Castro as such a monster, when in fact he accomplished some very admirable things. Did you know that the revolutionaries that based in the Sierra Maestra mountains, among them Che Guevara and Fidel Castro and a lot of WOMEN, started with only seven guns? Such an amazing and sad story for an island that has only been independent for about 50 years of its entire existence. We have had many discussions about the tragedy of American youth, not will to fight for anything. It is inspiring, and yet I’m not sure what to do with this empowerment yet.

I won’t lie to you, America. I’ve been a bit homesick lately. I had a couple good cries, found some very wonderful shoulders to cry on. It may have been brought on by this long and depressing discussion we had in class about feeling useless and American. I ended up convincing myself that I wasn’t good at anything in Cuba, and turned off my happy radar. Today I feel absolutely liberated. A group of girls and I went swimming off the Malecon, which is the waterfront right in front of our house. The tricky part about swimming in this part of Havana is that there’s no beach, just intimidating rocks and one lonely ladder. But the water is so blue (see the picture I posted of my view – it’s the same spot) that it’s worth dodging the rocks and sea life.

Yesterday was really great, too. Instead of class on Thursday, we do guided tours of different historical areas with Geraldo (my favorite Cuban professor I’ve met). Yesterday we went to the presidential palace, which is of course, is no longer a palace for any sort of royalty. The building is now a museum of the revolution, with artifacts and pictures from the whole process of overturning the Bautista Regime. One of the most prized pieces of the museum is the boat “Granma”, which brought over 82 revolutionaries from Mexico to begin their siege of the island. It’s kept in a heavily guarded glass building, kind of like our Liberty Bell, but so much better.

Some students and I are trying to plan a trip to Santiago de Cuba, which is about…eight hours away, but we hear it’s about $300 for a bus ride. We’re hoping we can find something cheaper, and hopefully slightly comfortable. Santiago de Cuba is the city where Carnival is held every July, and it also holds great revolutionary significance. And of course, it’s on the ocean and apparently breathtakingly beautiful. I’ll keep you posted on how that turns out.

Something really interesting about Cubans that I want to share is that they don’t believe their revolution is over. They don’t expect that what happened in 1959 was the beginning and end of changes. The Cuban people have been through so much tragedy and somehow have pulled through to near triumph. They are ready and willing to ride out the temporary storms, in order to achieve all socialist goals put forth so long ago. Yes, there are problems here. By American standards, Havana is a nightmare. All the buildings that used to be majestic are now literally crumbling down. Stray dogs are everywhere (and they are NOT friendly), and the city smells like fermenting garbage at night. But Cubans are artists of life. It seems that every Cuban boy plays baseball in the street at sundown, and all little girls run through the streets in tutus and ballet slippers. There is music and poetry and swimming and dancing. Geraldo, a university professor of History, is paid the equivalent of $60 a month, and yet he is so fond of his home.

It seems so obvious now, more than ever, that money will never be the key to our dreams.

Love always,

Caitlin

My First Sabado

So it´s my first Sabado in Cuba and I’ve come down with a case of traveler’s diarrhea. I win the prize for the first in the house to have such a fabulous experience, but I didn’t doubt it would happen. I suspect the day in the hot sun is behind it, but I didn’t burn myself! So I’m going to write a bit before I hit up the Immodium and get some rest.

Today we spend the morning and afternoon in Havana Vieja, or Old Havana - where the colony was first established. I was in my element because much of what we talked about had to do with history...so I had a lot to say, though that’s not abnormal. Remember Puerto Rico, family? That’s what I thought Havana would look like, but it turns out that only Havana Vieja is like that, with brightly colored buildings and cobblestone streets. In fact, the oldest streets are made of wood here, that have been replaced as they wear down. In this area there are art museums, restaurants, shops, historical museums, a craft/artisan fair (where people sell LOTS of tourist stuff), historical buildings, etc. There’s also an awesome used book outdoor area. I’m going to go back soon. It’s a regular tourist trap, with prices well beyond necessary for those gringos that I’m proud not to be a part of. But we are wiser.

Geraldo is a professor in Cuba, and he works at the Casa de las Americas (where we study). Today he was the one who showed us around and he is simply wonderful. His wife, Amarylis, was also there - I hope I get to take pictures with them eventually, because we all get along great.

For lunch, we taken to the cheapest place in the area - El Jardin del Oriente- (Cuban food, not Chinese), which came out to about $102 for 25 people. You do the math! We had drinks and dessert too!

Geraldo doesn’t like to speak English (it embarrasses him) so we have students rotate translating for students who are just beginning to learn the language.

I’m happy to report that I took over translating for a few seconds - the only non-native speaker to do so! Somehow I feel no fear with Spanish here, even if I’m not brilliant yet.

I’m going to teach Amarylis how to make pie.

One interesting thing about Cuba is that there aren’t people everywhere trying to sell you bracelets and key chains and everything. People who sell things, especially in a popular place, have to have a government license because of course, private enterprise is forbidden. I saw women crocheting dresses (I’m going to buy one eventually, maybe also for Kiera!) who had government ID cards on stating their occupation. Police are everywhere where tourists might be especially, so since Big Brother is watching, you can’t get away with a lot. Kind of scary, but...no disturbances yet!

Mommy is posting my pictures for me, since dial-up and this ancient PC have a hard time publishing them. A few notes:

The photos of the ocean and buildings: that is the view from our room balcony on the 12th floor. Our room is also all windows on the ocean side so we can see all the time. It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever had constant access to.

The money: Apparently a $3 Convertible Peso has a picture of revolutionaries fighting tanks with grenades and guns. There is also a train burning. Look carefully - it’s really interesting!

The man with the thing you might not recognize: We visited the only legal cigar shop in Havana today. I’m going to buy a lot to bring them home - if they don’t have labels, I can tell the customs officers I got them in Mexico! The man making them has had cigar making in his family for 3 generations. You may not know that the first union in Cuba was for cigar makers, and it was very influential in the forming of the colonial society. He made one for us and we got to all try it. Cohiba is just lovely. It’s heaven to smokers and non-smokers alike, being in the store.

The Bodega: That is where Cubans get their rations. For a month, rations of coffee, rice, beans, sugar, soap, chickpeas...and a few other things...comes to about $2. I’ll tell you more about this labor. If socialism does anything, it certainly keeps people from starving.

The Sunset (above) right outside our building yesterday, on the Malecon. We were going to the hotel down the street to exchange some money. The attendant looked like Barack Obama.

Love to all. It’s not the same without everyone here,

Caitlin

Mucho Photos!!!!

I had wonderful chat with Caitlin this afternoon. She is so happy and speaking a lot of Spanish. In fact, the people in Cuba encourage her to speak the home language.

This post will be a series of photos Caitlin has sent me. She promises to write more and to add more photo captions but the slow dial-up prohibits her doing so on a regular basis...that's why mommy is posting from the USA!!!
View from Caitlin's bedroom!

Caitlin's bedroom shared with three other girls.....

The "local" cigar maker.
Empty shelves of the WINE SHOPPE!

Room With A View

Good morning! I’m happy to report that I slept excellently on my first night in Havana. I was so tired it took hardly any effort at all. At ten, we were given our first desayuno, nothing like any breakfast I’ve ever had at home, but apparently typical for what we can expect. Scrambled eggs cooked in bell pepper, some sort of pork meat, some sort of yellowed cheese, fresh guava, fresh pineapple juice, fresh coffee that is amazing (no sugar needed), and rolls. According to Cuban standards, we live like kings.

I woke up to an amazing view of the ocean today. It’s no joke that we are actually on the waterfront. A smattering of tenements and hotels surround us, but most buildings are small and you can see very far into the city. People like to spend time on their balconies, and it’s nice to wave to people and have them wave back without hesitation. In a few minutes we’re going to walk to the Casa de Las Americas, where we will have our classes. We don’t start learning until Monday, so today is just orientation.

Cuba smells like one overwhelming thing: unrefined oil. The cars emit a smell we don’t have in America, like diesel all the time. We passed a bread factory that smells exactly like the Earthgrains bakery by 880, and it felt like home.

Cubans are beautiful. The airport was overwhelming, and I am very happy to be among such diversity. I made a friend….though I can’t remember his name…unloading luggage yesterday. He works for the Casa, and he is Afro-Cuban. He was wearing all orange, which was kind of strange. He told me, in Spanish of course, that if you spend your time sleeping, you forget to live. Good advice for this trip, although I will be napping in a few short hours, to catch myself up.

LATER:

This morning we had a VERY long orientation at the Casa de Las Americas. I can’t explain what it’s like just yet…a government institution that is in a small building with lots of art where you aren’t restricted access to anything…

I think it’s time for my nap now!

Hasta Luego,

Caitlin

I Thought It Was Wednesday All Day Long!

According to my computer it is 1:03 AM, on Friday, April 4th, but my new surroundings teach me better – it’s 4:00 AM in Havana, and I’m wide awake after over 36 hours of no sleep.

I’m writing to the United States from a small couch on the sub floor of the 13th floor of our Cuban “Penthouse”. I have recently discovered that although plug adapters are not needed we do not have three-pronged plugs in my bedroom and I therefore am forced to do my writing in a common area. Not that I’m complaining – it’s a very nice room, and right now it’s moderately quiet.

A quick rehash of what has happened so far:
*There was an attempt to sleep during the 3 ½ hours to Mexico City, slightly accomplished.
*Waited/napped two hours in Mexico City to get to Cancun.
*My flying partner Avani and I decided to ditch the airport for 4 hours during our 10 hour layover and take a bus to downtown Cancun, which was hot and noisy and really cool. We learned the art of Mexican road crossing, which due to lack of crosswalks consists of running from island to island when there is a break in cars. Don’t worry: safety in numbers. We were very careful. Everyone in Cancun seems to really like to honk their car horns. It must be a really stimulating part of driving in a city so hot and poorly designed. We ended up walking about…2 or 3 miles down a hot road to get to a movie theatre, where we paid $3 to see a really bad horror movie in English. (It was air conditioned so it didn’t matter). At that point, my shoes started to blister my feet due to the heat, which will be fine eventually but the miles and heat and swelling due to altitude change got the best of me. Now I am bandaged and happy.

When we finally all got to the Havana airport, we were met by some very nice and helpful people who are employees of the Casa, who helped us fly through immigration (they didn’t even check our bags). One guy (incidentally from Santa Barbara, slightly socially stunted) had put his laptop in his checked bag and found it was stolen when he arrived. So we waited about another half hour for nothing to happen. The computer is long gone. Since then, the guy has also cut his finger on a window. What a bad day.

From what I can tell of Havana in the dark, it’s nothing like anything I have seen. It’s not like the typical Caribbean, not like Mexico, and certainly not like home. Most buildings are broken down, whether modest or huge. Even our building, one of the better places in downtown, is a bit shabby – but the people around it make it very comfortable. Everyone is so inviting and loving and always smiling. Gender roles are more defined here so we women were not “allowed” to lift or carry luggage anywhere inside the building. All the students are really fun and kind and it’s going to be great getting to know them.

You will be happy to know that I have used more Spanish today than in about a years time combined. Many people in the house already know I understand what they’re saying so they urge me to practice speaking to them in Spanish. Very little English is spoken anywhere except for by our teachers, and it’s already starting to help.

I am exhausted. In 5 hours it will be time to wake up, have breakfast (with café con leche!) and have an orientation. Then we were promised more sleep. Sounds fantastic.

With love,

Caitlin