Even after a week I still have to stop myself and say,
"damn, I am in Cuba."
Certain instances come to mind, like driving to the beach in a 1957 Buick or watching a dog get hit by a car.
Both make me stop and say, "Damn, I really am in Cuba."
Havana is not only old cars and stray dogs. Havana is walking to the Malecon at night and meeting someone from Paraguay. Havana is a Cuban indiscreetly yelling "hola fresa [strawberry]!" but you smile and take it because it's better than "hola [big thighs]" or "hola [pale skin]." Havana is WATCH YOUR HEAD for falling branches or sandwiches from the top of the roof. Havana is if you are blond, you are a tourist. If you have freckles, you are an alien.
But above all, Havana is old.
The second night we went to the Hotel Nacional and it was like walking into a time bomb. I wanted to expect spring breakers to come stumbling out of the bathrooms, but I should have expected Frank Sinatra to be singing in the main hall.
Instead there was a terrace full of eastern Europeans with jineteras (will explain later) and me, the alien, with nine other Americans.
At least the bathrooms had toliet seats and toliet paper. This is a very big deal.
The first week has been orientation so we've been exploring Havana through the Jose Marti museum (had toliet paper), habana vieja (no toliet seats or paper), illegal cab rides from Florencio to la playa Santa Maria (a beach) and the Latin music channel (we have cable).
I am making use of my own means to orient myself including carrying sunscreen, claiming I am Canadian and eating the best ice cream in the world for dessert...and sometimes snack.
But this is a place where the bookstores consist of ones about Fidel, Che and how to be a good parent to implement the two into your child's life. This is a place where museums label art with printed paper and tape, and this is a place where the nation's newspaper goes against every journalistic practice i've ever learned.
this place is old. and this place is different.
but damn, here I am and here I'll be.
todo mi amor xoxo
la reina de pecas (the queen of freckles),
Sara
I look forward to your comments when you visit El Capitolio. It is great that you will be there in such an historic time keeping such a detailed journal. Write on Little Strawberry!
ReplyDeleteThis is Kate and I have a little story about skin color.
ReplyDeleteOne of my kids, her name is Tangela and she is mentally disabled. She is always smiling, speaks in a monotone voice and says exactly what she is thinking. This is the dialogue:
paddlefoot: "ok Tangela, tell me about the girl in the picture. What does she look like?"
Tangela: [pensive pause] She's fat. Yeah, She's fat.
paddlefoot: Ok, well What color is her hair? Is it brown or blonde?
Tangela: brown (it was blonde)
paddlefoot: Brown like mine or blonde like yellow?Tangela: blonde
paddlefoot: Tell me about her clothes.
Tangela: [gently takes my hand and points to it] Her skin is the same color as your skin. [gasp and puts her hand over her mouth] ooooo, I'm sorry, did that hurt your feelings?
paddlefoot: No it doesn't hurt my feelings, I know that I am white. Its just a color.
and giggling ensued.
SARA K!!! I love your blog. Sounds like you're in for an amazing experience! Hope my Canadian patch is serving you well! Miss you!
ReplyDelete-Katie T.
Cassie and I listened to Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights for the whole ride back from Greensboro last night. We thought of you the WHOLE time!
ReplyDeleteLove you.
we will miss you at pizza nite.
ReplyDeletewe will try pizza cubana!!
we had a big time at joes birthday.
and i got to have fried pickles again. we sang a bit and i had cervesa frio!
be brave and remember who you are simba.
sounds like you are having an incredible time! we miss you much. Me and SP eating lots of pork and drinking the occasional cervesa (SP abstaining from latter). Waiting for babies, no more yet. LOVE YOU!
ReplyDelete