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