A week at home

It's Friday. A week ago I was on a PUNCTUAL flight from Havana to Nassau, Bahamas...weird, I know. I didn't think it would show up on time...if at all.

But there I was and here I am. I am no longer sarainhavana, more so reflectivesaraingreensboro.

English is no longer my secret language, I am no longer "YUMA!" or "pretty lady" and I get questions of "How are you?" instead of "where joo from?"

I fear no sandwiches/electrical wires/rocks falling on me as I walk down the street. My dead goat/pig counts are zero. No sacrificed chickens have graced me with their presence.

Although I can't say I miss men cat-calling me down the street, I do miss some sort of interaction. I walk down the street and stare at people in the eye as they pass me just to see if they'll look...

they usually don't.

I've turned on the television to 1) fall asleep 2) watch the Flavor of Love Three finale and 3) laugh at The Office episodes with my parents. I am not so sure why so many channels are so overwhelming. I take that back...so many English channels...aye, mami....

My last week in Havana went by too fast. I'm not even sure it happened.

We had a good-bye cocktail with our teachers and got T-shirts from the Univ. of Havana (but on the back they say they're from Mexico...of course). Needless to say, I fear washing that shirt. It will probably rip apart.
or something. like most things in Cuba.

The last day Kristin, Caitlin and I went on a double-decker bus tour of Havana (one of Raul's new contributions) and we were possibly the worst riders that bus had ever seen. When the woman would say, "And on the left is the Calixto Garcia Memorial," it was hard not to yell "why yes, hello Calixto! Too bad you can't hide that bullet hole marked in your forehead from when you TRIED TO KILL YOURSELF." Or...

Calle 23? Yes, a very important and busy Street in Vedado. Also full of crap. Watch out when it rains.

The Revolutionary Square complete with Che memorial...you know HE'S NOT FROM CUBA. He was born in Argentina. And he's dead.

It was also hard not to get a lil misty-eyed on the bus. Every time I looked at the malecon I couldn't help but think there just had to be one like that in North Carolina...

but there's not.

I got off at the Hotel Presidente to get supplies for our good-bye dinner at the residence that last day. I made trail mix with magical shape cereal, raisins and dibus (chocolate teddy bears). Lizzie made Mac & Cheese...yummy!

We spent the evening drinking Cuba Libres, dancing Irish Step dance (courtesy of the Irish Step dance queen herself, Cayleen Ross) and sitting at the malecon.

All things Cuba. (even the Irish step dancing...can't think of anything more Cuban actually...)

Will continue to write. have lots of time to ponder.

If you are in a good mood and want to ruin it...check dis out:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/05/21/bush.cuba/

TWO DAYS

May 14^th, can it be so?

This week has already been a blur. I know this weekend I went to Guanabo, a beach next to la playa Santa María, and had one of the best nights of rest I think on this entire trip. I slept in an air conditioned room with tightly shut windows...aaand not to mention two puppies named Luna (moon) and Negrita (little black dog).

It made me really really really miss my couch.

And my furniture weight of a dog...my tilley.

Monday, Catherine and I bought a bottle of rum and developed two photos to give to our viejito (little old man), Nardo Mestre. I wanted to make sure we said good-bye at the beginning of the week just in case he decided to go to the beach or something…like he would sometimes do…and be late for boxing lessons.

Oh, cuba.

It turns Nardo has this baller boxing past where he trained with Kid Chocolate (a famous Cuban boxer…I recommend looking him up) and also went to China for a while to train the Olympic Chinese boxing team.

Now, he’s off to Yemen for two years to train THEIR Olympic boxing team.

Damn!

He told me his only worry was that there are terrorists there. Let’s analyze this situation: a terrorista cannot possibly compete with Nardo, a superhero of boxeo. No es posible.

He graciously accepted our rum and photographs and told us to make sure we e-mailed him as soon as we made it home. He then proceeded to say he hoped Catherine and I married the best men in the world and that our kids would hear about him one day. Also, when we came back to Cuba as rich tourists, we could come by again and say hello.

Reason x infinity Nardo Mestre is the man. Aside from the whole training Olympic boxing teams and all...

Yesterday afternoon we met with the US Interest Section and it was weird 1) to hear other American voices (not that I don’t hear American voices everyday…it just happens to be the same 15 American voices every day) and 2) hear people who were defending the embargo, even though I think deep down they know it is silly…especially the visiting family visas that don’t consider your aunt and cousins family. That is crap.

But this is not a “why the embargo is silly” entry more so of a “holy crap is this almost done?” entry.

And HOLY CRAP. I leave Friday morning!

After our US Interest Meeting, we had a despierto cocktail with all of our professors and each other. It was nice for everyone to be together one last time.

I can’t go the next two days thinking “lastly” though. You know, like “this is my last Wednesday, Thursday, Friday”…that’ll drive me nuts-o.

I’m already going nuts-o.

But I get to see my family/dog/couch/friends soon!!!!!!!!!!!!

...was that enough exclamation points

cooking with Yare

a quick documentation of my last Spanish class before finals.

We took a gau-gau to Yare's neighborhood where we bought fresh fruits that both Dillion and Mickey enjoyed before we spent the rest of the morning on Yare's backporch.

sweet havana gust

So last night Rodney brought two magazines with articles written by students who came on the program last year. One of them wrote about meeting a barber on the street and how he called his wife fat and ugly (que surpresa!) and the other one was about an evening with Ernesto on his motorcycle.

Now, being the new critical and horrible person I am, I had a few problems with the second article. For one thing, Ernesto doesn’t own a motorcycle. Secondly, she kept describing the “warm, Caribbean breeze” she felt when riding the supposed means of transportation.

As long as I’ve been in Havana, there has not been, nor do I think there will be, a “warm, Caribbean breeze.”

There is exhaust. There is pollution. There is the smell of death…dead carcasses to be exact.

I have felt no “warm, Caribbean breeze” on my walks down calle 23.

But today as I was walking to the Habana Libre to work on my papers, a woman asked in Spanish if I knew where the Farmacía was. “No, no se. Pero hay un hospital cerca de la Universidad. Lo siento! Suerte!”

It was at that moment, I felt the supposed “warm, Caribbean breeze.”

It didn’t matter that a maquina drove by, most likely contaminating my lungs with its 1957 exhaust; I breathed it in anyhow and did a little dance in my detergent-stained blue birthday dress. If someone had enough confidence in my Spanish speaking abilities to ask me a question and expect an answer, then I sure as hell have no excuse not to have the same confidence in myself.

The thing about expectations in Cuba is that this country will surely meet every expectation you never had. If you expect nothing, you get everything.

And despite my dead goat count, dead pig count and sacrificed chicken count, I feel like you have the choice to wake up here and say, “Today I will chose to smell death or feel a warm breeze.”

And I sure as hell hope a maquina drives by and blows exhaust in my face as I choose to feel that sweet, sweet Havana gust.

lessons i learned from camping

1. Hershey train car switch in Hershey, Cuba. Founded 1912 for the Hershey factory
2. ON THE TRAIN
3. HERSHEY TRAIN




Lessons I learned from camping this weekend:

1. "Sleeping like a rock" means you sleep really well.

sleeping ON a rock means you wake up with pain.

2. Cooking pasta in saltwater will make you really thirsty. Make sure you have lots of (drinkable) water on hand.

3. Just because it's hot during the day, doesn't mean you shouldn't pack your long johns.

The days are dwindling but I'm happy I got to FINALLY go camping. I wouldn't think it was a great experience unless I got to nap/sleep two nights on rocks.

I would say napping on the rock was much easier than napping on the Hershey Train...which is my new favorite means of transportation.

As opposed to the P11 gau-gau, the Hershey train is old, rickety & AWESOME. The scenery was BEAUTIFUL...and we were able to enjoy it to its fullest because we had to switch carts twice and wait 5 hours for a new cart.

oh, cuba.

you can imagine my shock when the train was actually punctual on Sunday and we actually got home in less than three hours.

oh man.

dear time,
please slow down.
K? get back to me on that.
-Sara

1. Krisitin and I from Dillon's birthday. I tried to kiss her on the cheek and my hair got stuck in her armpit.
2. Quanic. is. pretty.
3. circus tent and mini tent
4. pretty
5. Quanic is still pretty.
6. holding onto lizzie because the train is rickety!

study break

the best. thing. ever.

Baracoa waterfall.

Havana, may I never leave you

Yesterday two significant things occurred:

1. I discovered the Cuban Emo crowd! [not real emos…but they like American rock songs like the Cranberries “Zombie” and Maroon Five’s “Makes me wonder.” SWEET VICTORY]
2. Before discovering the Cuban Emo crowd, I GOT CARDED! Not for my carnet…oh no…for my AGE.

That’s right. I had a big bouncer man ask me what edad I tengo-ed and coming from a place with beer vending machines everywhere and no laws prohibiting alcohol whatsoever, I found this quite the chuckle.

…and still do.

The piano bar Tun-Tun (where I was carded and where all the Cuban emos hang) was probably the most fun bar I’ve been because I knew the words to most the songs and tourists weren’t even allowed in! yayyyy

But now our carnets are being taken away...nayyyyyyyyyyyy.

Because of this rash action by the Cuban government (that I knew was coming since we got here...so not so rash really at all...), we did a habana vieja crazy tour this weekend. Excursions included the chocolate museum, the international art museum (google Luis Aute, crazy man but cool nonetheless), scenic views aaaand the ballet.

The ballet was better this week (than last week) because there was an orchestra that was real and the stage didn't look like it was going to collapse so much.

I defined a few words and wrote a few haikus for this week's entry. Enjoy! I will be writing papers this week (BLAH). Cuba's school of life > lame-o papers.

la reina de los emos,

sara la fresa

Vocab:

Gau-gau [pronounced GWAH-GWAH]- the bus. More specifically, the P11 gau-gau. It takes you (kind of) straight to the Capitolio. Chickens, snakes, guinea pigs and puppies tend to ride along. Yesterday I even saw a man carrying a saw and a big piece of wood.

*sidenote: the gua-gaus are imported buses from Russia, so…they are designed to keep the cold out and the heat in. No, gracias! It’s hot enough in Cuba thanks.

The U.S.-Cuba conflict/Imperalism-I realize there is a real meaning for this, but I felt like I should put my History of Cuba professor’s take on it instead:

“I dump trash in your backyard. You cut down the trees and poison my dog.” -Profe. Rosa

Carnet [pronounced car-nay]- Our Havana residence i.d. cards. Similar to the word for ‘meat’ carne. This has been my proof that yes sir coppelia man! I am Cuban and I am allowed to pay in your cheaper currency.

But we have to give them back tomorrow. So for the last three weeks I only have my wit (and Cuba skillz) to convince people I live here.

Emo- Short for “Emotional.”People who tend to listen to scream-o and cry all the time.

Haikus:

Havana, the bus
of my dreams. May I
never leave again.

Reacting here is
Over-rated. I’d rather
run errands for fruit.

Sweating in these old
Chevy’s is what I will miss,
but sell them gently.

I fight your livestock
on the gau-gau. Who knew snakes
could be travel size?

Imperialist
rage! Card me man--- I have a
carnet for a while.

boxing frustrations

In the Cuban spirit, I have decided to be honest.

And honestly, Cuba and I were not friends last week.

In fact, Cuba and I were so not friends that I seriously wanted to pack Cuba up in a box, put that box in another box, mail that box to myself, and smash it with a hammer. (insert evil Yzma laugh from the Emperor’s New Groove monologue).

In all seriousness, if I studied abroad in Santiago de Cuba, I would hate this place. Even if I vacationed in Santiago de Cuba (which I did…in a way), I would hate this damn archipelago.

My traveling posse and I met some Europeans from France and the Czech Republic and the French man said, and I quote,

“I’d never ever [louder] EVER thought I’d say this but, [insert long pause and clearing of throat], America is right. This country is [excuse his French] shit.”

That got me thinking…Ok, Cuba:

Yes, your medical care is great.
Yes, everyone gets to go to school.

But some tourists hate you and will not come back. Why is that?

Maybe it’s because most everyone else in the world is punctual and if there is one thing Cubans have, it’s plenty of time. A scheduled 5 hour trip from Santiago de Cuba to Baracoa (worth going to) took 7 ½ hours because the driver ran errands up the mountain…you know, getting tomatoes here, water there, a couple cigarette breaks…and did not care tourists (who paid in CuC) had waterfalls waiting to be jumped in.

Or maybe it’s because you can’t possibly escape the fact that this is a third world country wherever you go. Tons of jiniteros and jiniteras (hustlers and hustler-itas) approach you as soon as you get off your 25 hour train ride and ask, “where joo from?” or “I jove you!” or “casas conmigo?” (will you marry me?).

Maybe I’ve become too accustomed to life in Havana and don’t notice third world aspects like Che Gueverra’s face everywhere and Fidel’s quotes about the “solution” being “more revolution,” but Santiago was like a different planet. The living conditions were x infinity times filthier, the people were more desperate (one guy took my hat OFF MY HEAD) and the roads might as well have been gravel. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing Camillo Cienfuegos’ smile and my dead goat/dead pig tallies were out the window.

The Triumph of the Revolution supposedly helped the Eastern half of the island out the most, but (because I am a journalist) for the record, I did not speak to anyone that felt triumph in anything except their dreams.

I am here to say you cannot possibly visit Cuba as a tourist, Santiago or Havana, without some psychological exhaustion.

My week of 25 hour trains rides and 20 hour bus rides was to be expected, but I have less than a month left and I don´t have time like Cubans. Excuse me driver if your government gives you no incintive to drive me ¨muy rapido¨to one of the most beautiful places in the world, but I am not going to continue making excuses for you because you don´t own a car and this bus is your only ticket to buying groceries without hiking them home.

As cold hearted as that may sound, I have waterfalls to jump off of... thank you very much.

I have come to adore this place and I feel my percentage of frustration is directly in proportion to the many things I’m emotionally invested in and care about.

In that light, this week is our last week with our carnets (proof of residence to pay the cheaper Moneda Nacional prices) so I anticipate a great amount of time at Salsa matinees and El Museo de Bellas Artes (one of my fav. places in Havana).

photos
1. adventure girls get tired too
2. el cobre
3. maceo monument
4. place near greatest waterfall
5. GUANTANEMO
(could not get near American base)

After my trip to the Oriente province on the Eastern half of the island, I am officially upgrading myself to Super Hero status.

25 hour train rides? No problem!
Taxi rides for $3 CuC? Heck naw, we ride for $1! Nothin' more!
Try to charge me as a tourist? Oh no he didn't...
Crazy hooligans stealing the new Santiago Baseball hat I bought off my head?
Take it! It supresses my lion man a.k.a. my source of super powers anyway.
Riding in a tiny Lada up and down steep roads to the Sierra Maestra mountains?
We ain't skeerd.

All in a day's work for LA FRESA SUPRESA! (strawberry surprise).

In addition to being a new super hero, I am now officially the worst tourist ever. I avoided them like the plague in Santiago, mostly because they were European women hanging out with jiniteros (hustlers) and I already had my travel posse.

duh.

Super things about Santiago:
I. MUSEOS
Sunday and Monday our super team explored as many museums as our little legs could take us. My favorite museums were: 1. Emilio Bacardi (because it had Cuba's only mummy! A MUMMY!) and 2. The Moncada Barracks- complete with bullet holes! Moncada is where Fidel and his revolutionaries attacked on the 26th of July. In short, the plan went terribly wrong, Fidel was taken prisoner (which is when he wrote "History Will Absolve Me"), the country was MAD, Batista felt bad because everyone hated him anyway, and Fidel was released.

I would be more than giddy to give you more details on the history of Cuba when I get back...

II. MUSICA
The music in the Oriente Province is like Havana, except it's EVERYWHERE. The eastern half is more isolated so it makes sense that they have developed their own sound. When we were in Baracoa, there was a group practicing for "Carnarval" in July banging on steel rings and drums.

It. was. AWESOME.

speaking of...

III. AWESOME WATERFALLS WITH NO TOURISTS
On a cold day in Baracoa, we hiked up to this seemingly secret spot (that I'm sure is filled with Europeans when it's warm) and swam in a natural pool with a HUGE waterfall that was ideal for jumping. Not only was I able to jump from this great waterfall into a great pool (that tamed my lion mane for the time being), I was able to drink FRESH hot chocolate afterwards (because Baracoa just happens to be Cuba's chocolate capital...SWEET!)

Bay of Pigs

Bay of Pigs

This week’s list---
New road kill: crabs
Crabs our yellow bus hit on the road to Playa Girón: about 50
Worst smell in the world: dead crabs on road already tainted by dead goats and dead squirrels…

(If I thought calle G was bad, I would hate to be walking on the road to Bay of Pigs when it rains.)

Although it’s known mostly for the American invasion on April 17, 1961, Playa Girón (Bay of Pigs) will forever be (for me) the place with the jumping crocodiles. I did not see any leaping-action, but I did see a legitimate park with legitimate fences to protect tourists…and we all know if fences are involved…there has to be a serious threat.

No wonder invading was such a poor decision (among other factors…claro).

I went in thinking, “oh man…another museum with rocks that Che once saw in a river…” but it turned out to be expired ID cards, bloody pants and broken watches in a glass case below posted photographs of all the men who fought and died. Not to mention the shoes of civilians in the area. Shoes!

It certainly is more emotional to look at bloody pants than to read about an American embarrassment. I’m not sure how it was in the 60’s in the States, but in Cuba the news reels only spoke of a “triumph” over “evil imperialistic powers.”

They even rebuilt a plane they shot down to commemorate the occasion. Can you imagine if the United States rebuilt every plane it ever obliterated?

…hmmm.

We spent the rest of the day at the beach. Morgan’s friend Christopher is here doing medical research but was able to come with us. It’s been really fun showing someone the ropes around Havana. It makes me feel Cuban…and it makes me realize my daily ice cream consumption is a bit out of control. Oh well…

It’s hot outside. Ice cream is logical.

I’m going to attempt to upload some photos. I’m also attempting to upload some art pieces I like. I’m not sure of the names but I’ll post those later. I think they speak more about history than any textbook…as art rightly should do.

Tonight I leave for a 20 hour train ride across the island to Santiago de Cuba, the first Cuban capital before Havana. I will be there until April 19.

Time’s a soarin’…

Soon I’ll be back to flushing toilets.

...damn.

todo mi amor,
la reina de crazy puma,
sara la fresa

rain means ninja time

Although boxing with Nardo for four hours makes me feel gross (but awesome), rain in Havana is disgusting (and invokes a vomit reflex).

At home, rain is cleansing. We’re usually in a drought anyway, so rain dances are welcome. Here, if you perform a “rain dance,” I will want to practice my boxing moves on your cara (face).

When it rains in Havana, all the poop, trash and dead animal carcasses get caught in the runoff down Calle G (my street) and not even the best galoshes can protect your feet from the bacteria and mold.

On the plus side, rain inspires many great thoughts like:

1. I am pretty much desensitized to dead animals.

If someone at home pouts their lips and tells me, “aww, I saw a dead squirrel on the sidewalk today” I would most likely shrug it off as “at least it wasn’t a dead goat” or, as Lizzie says, ask “did you step in it? Because I hate it when that happens.”

Sad, but so true.

2. Although I am desensitized to dead animals, Santería is not for me and serves best in my life as a new list of baby horse names for my brother’s horse farm.

Meet baby Ochún, Chango, and Yemoya.

This past weekend we went to Matanzas to learn more about Santería and how they sacrifice animals at their ceremonies (although there is the occasional tree) for the different Orishas (Gods). They also offered to do readings for us where they put magic powder on a sacred board and the Babalawao (pronounced BAH-BA-LAO) would tell you your destiny and your Orisha. Even if you don’t believe in Santería, everyone has an Orisha (God) that identifies them.

As cool and awesome as magic powder sounds, I told the Babalawao “no, gracias” and said I would choose my own Orisha. I picked Chango, the one in charge of lightening and manhood because everybody wants to be friends with the lighting God. CLA-RO.

He told me I couldn’t do that, but that doesn’t much matter. He's not my homeboy.

3. I want to buy a “Jesus is my homeboy” T-shirt.

Because he is. Chango and I are just friends.

4. With this new lightning friend, I am officially ninja-ready.

duh.

This weekend will be lame-city because I am going to try and get some of my papers done. But then again, it’s Havana…the epitomy of a not-so-lame-city.

La reina de ninjas,

Sara la fresa
p.s.- i realize from my last entry that “leonesa” means a dessert (that is quite delicious i may add) but I meant it to mean “female lion.”

i hope these pictures upload!

misc. pictures: 1. from the US interest section meeting...those are REAL hamburgers
2. sunrise at Santa Clara (my new disney world)
3 & 4. we dyed lizzie's hari!
5. The Che memorial. inside are pacho and tito.
6. another top of the mountain victory pic
7. Who doesn't like ice cream?

SWIM MEET PICTURES!