January 22nd

We arrived at Jose Marti (the famous Cuban poet-revolutionary-everyman) Int’l Airport about 100 yards from the terminal, walked down the stairs from the prop plane, and walked the rest of the distance into la aduana. Going through customs in Cuba is your first taste of the lifestyle. While waiting for our turn to process our passports, some people in the line only took a couple of minutes; others were processed for ten minutes or so. Then when they’d move through and you thought it was your turn to talk to the immigration officials, they’d tell you to stand back in the line. An older man two lines over began to wink at Courtney, presumably because of her blonde hair, and shared a few words with Ariana, then went back to winking at Courtney. Danielle was the only one who reciprocated, which obviously made the man’s day. In the baggage claim area (which is all part of the same large warehouse-like building), many of the Cubans immediately lit up their cigarettes, while we grabbed bags, switched Canadian dollars to Convertible Pesos, and watched the wandering kitten and the female Cuban officials with their curiously short-skirted uniforms. A large family waited outside for what seemed to be their grandmother – as soon as they saw her through the main doors out of the airport, they all yelled and cheered. I assumed she had been gone from Cuba for a long time, as one Cuban man lamented to one of our students: He had not been back to Cuba for twenty years, and had had much trouble finally returning, yet here was a group of 10 Americans who essentially came on a whim. He had a point.

Driving from el aeropuerto to Vedado, the neighborhood of Havana we’re situated in, we marveled at the cars, the packed buses, the ever-optimistic propaganda painted on billboards and walls, and the variety of the people. When we started to come into Vedado, I was amazed at the size of the houses, with beautiful columns, marble steps, and tranquil tropical plants. We stopped at one house, and I waited to see who would come out to jump on our bus, but was absolutely stunned to realize that this was going to be our apartment building.

We’re situated across from the Chinese embassy. Marble steps lead up to a beautiful marble porch. On the ground floor, we have a bar, a small office, and a small concierge’s desk. At the very back, you walk down some steps to reach the restaurant. On the second floor are all the rooms. We are split among five rooms, each with its own bathroom. We also have a second floor marble veranda with rocking chairs. At the rear of the main hallway, a door leads to a fire escape that goes down, as well as up to the roof which has already been claimed as the tanning/study spot. Scott’s and my room has a small wicker table, a desk, a TV (which I hope never to have to resort to watching), a small closet, and a window that looks out onto a tall tree.

We sat around for about an hour after unpacking, just soaking it in and realizing how incredible this location was. Dinner soon arrived, and we went down to our restaurant, where we were greeted with fresh pineapple, watermelon, orange juice, cabbage with peas and green beans, yams with garlic, and bread and butter. I was already amazed, but what really blew us away was when five minutes later, they brought out black beans, and then five minutes after that fried fish (the name of which I’ll have to get later and translate) with friend plantains and rice, all finished up with pureed, thickened mango and a small cup of strong coffee. I asked if we should expect meals this large every day, and they replied casually that yes, we should. Everything was fresh, wonderful, and I ate as much as I could. I think I’m the only one on this trip looking forward to gaining weight from all this food.

As all this paradise and decadence set in, I was tempted to comment to the Cubans around us that they must thank God everyday for the incredible place they live in, but I caught myself when I remembered the words of my fellow student Molly the night before in Miami: Despite how beautiful Cuba is, how incredible their lives may be, how easy they may be, they still live in a sort of prison. Only select officials and academics are allowed to leave the country, they still live under all types of censorship to an extent that I know not yet but will surely find out, and they still must deal with many third world injustices. One of the professors from the university ate with us, and she shared how excited she was to have visited AU a few years ago on a Latin American Council convention. I realized that that trip was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity for her.

After dinner, we obviously had to take a trip down to the Malecon. I grabbed a Cristal on the way over there, one of the national beers. The Malecon was fairly empty for a Sunday night (unless we weren’t there early enough), but the people that did dot the area were mostly lovers of all ages oblivious to all around them. A few families walked together, enjoying the sea spray.

We came back, enjoyed a very well made mojito, some beers, and one of the longest cigars I had ever seen and smoothest I had ever smoked. I tipped the bartender one CUC for which he thanked me profusely later in the night. After placticando on the front porch, it was lights out for me.