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