February 5th-February 12th

One of the things that I have been thinking about recently being surrounded by this socialist experiment that is Cuba and the pervasive anti-imperialist sentiment rippling through Latin America is the future of this government. Castro has done a superb job at quelling opposition, while keeping Cuba modern (being a leader in biotechnology) and succeeding when faced with imminent failure (bouncing back after the fall of the Soviet Union). People love him, for the most part, and he has kept this revolution and this country going for more than fifty years. But anyway that spends any time reading about Cuban politics or a few days talking to the comrades of this country can intuit that Castro is the only reason that Cuba is still the way it is. His intelligence or his despotism, depending on how you look at it, has kept the country in check and his system of government in place.
This is all old news however. What had me thinking is that no matter how things work out, he will inevitably fail, and because of that, I know part of him must be a very sad man. Whereas many US Presidents have claimed that they would only wish the responsibilities and work of their position on their worst enemies and never on their friends, and that is the loneliest position of power, Fidel has held that same position for over forty years, and has undoubtedly had many more responsibilities than a US president does. Furthermore, even if he lives another ten years, he and everyone else knows that his time on Earth is limited, and with that limit comes the limit of Communism. Though other Latin American nations may transition to a socialist system in the next ten years (I’m looking at you Venezuela, although a very intelligent and respected Cuban recently told me that he knows that Hugo Chavez is nothing more than a dog that is being fed by his master, Fidel, and without a master, the dog, and thus the country, will become a stray), this social-governmental experiment is an inevitable failure.
No one else is committed to carrying on this society, and thus the past forty years of absolute dedication on the part of Fidel has been for naught, in a sense. Think about knowing that soon after you are buried, the one thing you have worked on for your entire adult life will be abolished (though not forgotten). It’s impossible to not be saddened at the thought. It also seems impossible not to be tempted to give up now so at least you can be responsible for two of the world’s most radical government revolutions. Fidel Castro’s dedication is beyond admirable. We all ought to find something in life worth that selflessness.


We went to the Feria Internacional de Libros (International Book Fair) on Tuesday with Delio. We had to stop every five or ten minutes for him to say hello to someone he knew or to ask someone where something was or how much something cost. Diana remarked that it was like going out with her Ecuadorian grandparents in their village because they have to talk to everyone.
It is held every year in one of the large forts of Havana, which is an amazing setting. I was looking for more English books to read while I was here, so I found a copy of The Once and Future King to replace my misplaced version, The Pearl, and an English/Spanish compilation of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Wednesday we learned about the architecture of Cuba, and then took a walking tour of the old part of town in order to see what we had learned about. The changes in the architecture is very interesting, and the reasons for the changes are a total reflection of Cuban history. For instance, many two story buildings were split into one office floor and two floors for living space, after the sugar industry took off in Cuba following the Haitian revolution.

This whole country, is full of paradoxes. For instance, many guidebooks warn that Cuba really isn’t a cheap place to visit. And if that’s what you want to believe, then it will be true. Many of the restaurants will charge between $7 and $15 for a plate of food; clubs can cost between $5 and $15 for entrance, and the charter buses and Cubana Airlines can cost between $30 and $150 one-way.
On the other hand, we find a new place every day to buy a cheap lunch, anywhere between thirty cents and $3 for a full belly and a cold drink. A tangential point was made by Alex the other night: Cuba is like a ten year old’s dream. All of us here eat pizza daily (usually the size of a personal pan pizza at Pizza Hut), some of us more than one pizza a day (my record is four). Afterwards, we usually eat some ice cream (once again, my record is six cones in one day), which is so much creamier and better than American ice cream. Then you can head down to the Malecon on a hot day with a rough sea and get splashed by giant waves, just like a water park. If it’s still hot, you can go get an orange for one peso (1/24th of a dollar) and it eat like you would at a youth soccer game. And the best part is that all of this can be had for about $5 a day, which is around what you would make for allowance as a ten year old. Hell, it’s just as much of a dream for budgeting college students who still like the finer things in life, such as alcohol which can be purchased for a dollar or less for a beer or about $3.80 for a bottle of Havana Club rum that makes Bacardi look like the cheap imitator it is – alternatively, you can buy peso rum which runs about $2.50 (60 pesos).
Ask a taxi how much it is to such and such place, and they’ll tell you. What you don’t realize is that they’ll tell you a more expensive price than what the meters would run you. Such is the life of an extranjero. Last Sunday, when Valerie and I took a cab back to Havana from the International Book Fair, we knew how not to get screwed over – we asked the cab driver to run the meter. The difference this time in how he ended up screwing us over was by taking a roundabout way that tacked on extra kilometers to the meter. A ride that should’ve been about $3 ended up costing $4.50. When I took my cab on Saturday to Casablanca to take the Hershey Electric Railway to Playa Jibacoa, he quoted me $6, but forgot to turn off the meter. When we arrived, the meter only read $4.50 but at 7AM I wasn’t ready to argue in Spanish about getting taken advantage of. Similarly, charter buses run daily to Playa Jibacoa, but they run a much more expensive price than the trains that I took. For a 55km train ride, I paid 1.65 pesos, less than ten cents.
When I arrived in Jibacoa, I still faced a 9km walk to Playa Jibacoa. After a couple of kilometers, I heard a truck rumbling behind me, so I waved them down and asked if they were headed to Playa Jibacoa. They told me to get in the back and they drove me into town in the bed of their bread truck. At one point, a bread basket turned over, so I righted it and put some of the fallen bread back in – I figured it was the least I could do for a free ride that they would not take any money for, not even fifty cents. On the way back to Havana, I took a twenty cent (pesos) train to one station, hitched a ride to another town, got on a guagua (Cuban public bus) for three pesos, then switched to another guagua for two pesos to Havana. The total cost of my transportation for over 100km of travel was essentially ten times less expensive than just the 5km taxi ride to the train station.
The good thing about going to Jibacoa this weekend was that Saturday was the first day I spoke only Spanish. I compare Saturday with this past Wednesday, when I realized that I had spoken less than ten sentences in Spanish the whole day. This is again an example of the problems with American University’s enclaves. To finally become immersed, I had to travel by myself outside of Havana. Whether or not I should celebrate my first day of only Spanish or I should be embarrassed that it’s taken me three weeks to achieve that, I don’t know.
This was also another week of crazy weather. It seems that we have finally entered into Cuba’s winter, with warm days, between 70 and 90 degrees, and cool nights, usually in the 50s or low 60s. As another example, when I came into Jibacoa on Saturday, it was hot – at least 85 degrees, and I was more than ready for a swim in the cool, crystalline waters. I ended up getting a little sunburned on my shoulders, but I headed back to the casa particular I was staying at around 4 because large clouds were rolling in. Around 9:30PM that night, the clouds broke and brought cold winds and a light drizzle all through the night and into midday, meaning I had to walk the drizzly 9km back to the Jibacoa train station with nothing more than a light sweater, and two trash bags. For the rest of Sunday, it remained mostly cloudy, chilly, and windy.
Playa Jibacoa was beautiful. It was exactly what I was looking for in a Cuban beach. It is demeaned as having poor, yellow sand, and smaller beaches than places like Varadero and Playas del Este, but the water more than makes up for it. It was clear as bathwater, much smoother waves than at Playas del Este, and teeming with life. I played with a crab on the shore, chased lizards with tails like a pig’s in the trees on the waters edge, saw urchins, fish of all possible neon colors, a barracuda, incredible corals, and teeming schools of fish. I was glad to discover in my travels that it was definitely doable as a day trip in the future.
The first hotel I had intended on staying at didn’t take walk-in reservations from foreigners. The second hotel required your physical passport, not a copy (the copy of which I had incidentally lost on the bread truck when my backpack came undone), and all of the casas particulares on the beach were occupied. Thankfully, I found a sweet couple fifteen minutes out of town who took me in. The husband was 31, and a speargun fisherman. His wife was an 18 year old Jessica Simpson lookalike who grew up on the beach, although she told her husband after hearing all about the jellyfish and the manta rays that he has seen that she was never going back in. They very illicitly took me into their house (they told me that if while I was at the beach anyone asked where I was staying that I should say at the hotel, not at their house), and while I paid a little much ($35), I had my very first lobster tail for dinner that was caught that same day, had a wonderful breakfast, and was very well accommodated in their house. They both stayed with the wife’s mother that night and allowed me to stay in their bed. The price was more than worth the experience and the knowledge of the sea that the husband passed along to me. Plus, he offered to take some of us speargun fishing if we called him ahead of time.
Friday night I spent the evening with Delio Cuevas, the much mentioned university historian. He told me a ton of incredible things, many of which were told to me in secrecy and thus I cannot relate most of them. He did tell me that he was friends with Fidel Castro in their school, and because of this and his dedication to Cuba, he has been allowed many freedoms in travel. He also told me that he has Fidel Castro’s cell phone number if something important ever comes up. We talked about politics, movies, the United States, and education while we had a daiquiri at Floridita, one of Hemingway’s haunts, and a mojito at La Boguedita, the other of Hemingway’s most famous bars. I shared that I felt that I may never meet another person as intelligent as him in my life, and I stand by that. He spoke to me for fifteen minutes or so entirely in Latin. He also knows at least seven other languages (including Esperanto!). I feel very lucky to have a connection such as him here in Cuba, and he told me that his car and any of his knowledge or connections are at my disposal whenever I should need them.
We’re still being taken advantage of here, but it’s occurring less and less as we learn more about la vida cubana. Our passports were finally returned to us on Thursday, after two weeks, so we can now withdraw money from our TransCards, and also travel. On Friday, we gave our fingerprints for our Carnets, the cards that show us as temporary Cuban citizens, and when we receive those (fingers crossed for sometime in the early part of next week) we will be entitled to better prices on almost everything. Essentially, when we think we’re getting screwed on a price, we can show our Carnets as if to say “Now give us the real price.”
It looks like next week is a trip to Camaguey. This week I’m going to try to explore a bit more of the city, as well as once again trying to keep more up to date on the journal, as I’m sure I’ve already left things out that should’ve been in here. Til next week, think of the world.

Pictures and a video

Here's where I'm putting my pictures now:
http://img149.imageshack.us/img_viewer_framed.php?g=img0126medium9pv.jpg

And here's a video of big waves on the Malecon:
http://www.youtube.com/?v=4790rF5lxro

Enjoy!

Jan30th through February 4th

First, I must apologize. I did not keep up with my journal writing, even to the poor extent that I did last week, in which I recounted my days a day after the fact. It is Sunday afternoon, and I’m recounting the whole week’s events – but in a different light from the previous week.

I talked to a friend this week via AIM who has traveled on six-month plus trips to Russia and India, two of my own Holy Grails of travel. He only read one of my last entries, but advised me that while I was very thorough, I was not very succinct or tangential. In the words of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, my entries “avoid emotional pitfalls and confine themselves to relating the events of daily life in the utilitarian style of a ship’s log” (I’m reading Love in the Time of Cholera). So in order to be more interesting and more introspective, I’m going to do a retrospective on this week mostly regarding really interesting things. I’ll try to stay chronological, but many of my musings are culminations of the week.

Firstly on the topic of classes – to refresh your memories, we’re taking courses on Cuban history from the 1400s to the present day, Cuban culture, Cuban international relations, and a Spanish course. History is surprisingly everyone’s favorite subject, mostly due to the pair of professors. They go off on necessary tangents of world history to help us understand the context of the Cuban aspect, while essentially spinning a great tale of a much storied country. It helps as well that they butcher some English words to keep things amusing, like “chips” for “ships” – “Cuba went from one chip a month to over NINE HUNDRED CHIPS during eleven months!” – and “chopping” for “shopping” – “It was like a chopping mall”. The class is three hours long, two days a week. Cuban culture also will be a lot of fun. The class lectures last only an hour and a half, but almost every week we also have cultural outings in which we tour museums, visit theatres, and actively seek out the Cuban culture. We will also take a four day trip to Trinidad and make stops at important villages along the way.

One of the most interesting things we already learned of the culture is in regards to names. While Cubans have a large number of strange Russian and African names due to obvious factors, the US’s influence as a forbidden yet highly visible fruit is most visible in Cuban names. I’m not referring to James, or Richard, or anything general like that. Some Cubans, especially those in the Guantanamo region, have taken to naming their children Usnavy (pronounced Oos-nah-vee) or Usaf (pronounced Oo-sahf) after the US armed forces presence. Senor Cuevas told us as well of the names Madeinusa (pronounced Mahd-een-oo-sah) and Onecent (pronounced Ohn-eh-cent). Though we’ve yet to meet anyone with these names, I’m convinced they do exist – though I’m still having enough problems figuring out the names of the people I meet in the street.

Cuban international relations looks to be the most difficult class – not as far as subject matter, but insofar as taking notes and understanding where the professor is going with the class. The way we are given our lessons are circular and repetitive, and despite the fact that we discussed the US and Cuba’s reasons for certain foreign policy decisions and the factors that go into that decision-making for at least two hours, I took less than a half-page of notes. Of course, the class also goes from 2PM to 5PM in the afternoon: prime siesta time, so the lack of notes could be attributed to that as well. The party line was towed pretty steadily throughout the afternoon, and hopefully we can expand in the future.

I was placed in the intermediate Spanish class which wasn’t so much a surprise considering my lack of knowledge of both Spanish and English grammar, but because for the past two years I have taken topics courses taught in Spanish. I think it will be an important remedial class in my Spanish, especially being here. The first class was a little basic, going over beginning conversations, but we also covered some idiomatic phrases and words specific to Cuba, which was helpful. While it isn’t helping my academic requirements, I welcome it as development for my language skills.

Valerie and I have been talking a lot this week about the limits of the enclave programs of American University. Enclave programs are groups of AU students who generally live together, take classes together, and venture out together. This is opposed to direct enrollment programs in which the student is typically enrolled in the college dormitory or finds housing outside of the college, takes classes along with the local students, and is responsible for their own social life. We’ve definitely had some trouble immersing ourselves here in Cuba. Most of the day I spend speaking English as opposed to Spanish, which is no fault of the Cubans but rather the nature of this program. We’ve made very few friends with students or just regular Cubans, save for the two guys that Jessica met – one who is attached to her and his friend who presumably wants to get with one of the other girls here. Essentially, guys only want to hang out with American women, and Cuban girls are too submissive to start up conversation with American guys, and I’m not as forward as the catcalling Cubans when it comes to approaching women.

Furthermore, a lot of the people that approach us inevitably want something. Earlier this week I was sitting on the Malecon playing my harmonica when a family of five approached me. First they offered me a pull from their bottle of rum, which I would never pass up here, but after a little chatting they asked if I could buy some sodas for the kids. I ended up buying sodas for the two children, three beers for the husband and his sister and myself, a pack of cigarettes, and a pack of crackers. While they definitely appreciated the luxury and I feel much too guilty not giving when I am able to, it was fairly obvious that I was being taken advantage of. The desire to know me beyond an American or someone to drink with was not there. Still, I hope that with a little more time and impatience I can start spending more time with the real Cuban people.

Friday evening we went to another large march, this one held under the façade of UNESCO. The Latin American Jose Marti Award was being presented to Hugo Chavez by Fidel Castro. The seated audience was mostly trabajadores sociales, a group of student Communists, medical workers from around Latin America (we played a fun game of “Guess that flag!” and saw everything from Guyana to Argentina to Jamaica), and some Cuban secondary school students. The event started out with the Cuban and Venezuelan national anthems, then a multi-country dance, and then the reading of a Marti poem which almost every Cuban was reciting. Then an Argentinean diplomat started the program with a speech in which he lambasted Bush & co. for being imperialists with an evil agenda. After he finished in about fifteen minutes, we were treated to our first speech by Fidel Castro in person. He spoke much slower than I expected, and were it not for the absolute boredom his words inspired I could’ve understood the whole speech – which clocked in at an hour and a half: short by Castro’s reputation. At one point while watching the screens that relayed the view along the Plaza de la Revolucion the cameraman cut to a shot of Chavez listening to Castro – in his lap were two children (presumably his own) who were dead asleep. Surprisingly, the majority of the Cubans grew restless as well, and very few were intent on what Castro had to say. While I was moving along the side of the seated audience to get a closer view of Castro, someone behind me yelled out “Hook ‘em baby!” I wheeled around and saw this short young guy beaming at me who asked “Are you American?” I said yes, and he told me that he was as well. He went to UT as an undergrad, and had been out a few years. He was in Cuba illegally, but we traded a few stories and tips. He was flying out a few days later, so the odds that we would see each other again were slim. Castro finally finished speaking, and so we listened to the first few minutes of Chavez speak, and then decided to book it, which turned out to be a good decision as he spoke for a little less than three hours.

It was exciting to see both Castro and Chavez in the same setting and at such a great venue as the Plaza de la Revolucion. Both berated the Bush administration quite a bit, and it was interesting seeing the Latin American solidarity against the US. I’m not the first to say it, but we are definitely entering a new era of Latin American – US relations, with many south of our nation turning against us and banding together. Both presidents referred to Bolivia and their recently elected indigenous president, Eva Morales. Next year Cuba will host the Non-Aligned Countries meeting, which will undoubtedly move more nations behind the anti-American cause.

Saturday, we experienced our first tropical storm. While the day started off hot and sunny and we contemplated heading to the beach, a few hours later it clouded over and suddenly the sky burst open. I could picture a hurricane in Havana now after seeing the quick ferocity of this storm. This was the cold front that people had been talking about during the week which I didn’t believe was coming. I was quite wrong. Later, Diana, Valeria, Scott, and myself went to Senor Cuevas apartment, which was truly eye opening to me. The head historian of the university and a self-proclaimed friend of Castro lives in El Pentagono, a small apartment complex with five radial wings. To the extent of where he lives, there is definitely no inequality between the people. We watched a movie called Un Rey en la Habana, which was supposedly banned in Cuba because of the less than sophisticated way in which it portrays the Cuban people. The movie was a comedy, but every other word is a curse, which is all I could find that would not be so enjoyed by Fidel. I laughed a lot, and it made me believe finally that Latin Americans have a sense of humor, as opposed to Sabado Gigante and the other terrible comedy hours that Univision and Telemundo put on.

We had agreed to meet at three forty outside of his apartment, but we didn’t show up until four, which worried Delio to the point where he went downstairs to wait for our taxi. Unfortunately, we missed him, which is surprising because he had gone downstairs with a small US flag and was waving it on the corner by himself in the rain. Two police officers stopped him and asked what he was doing, and replied that he was waiting for the US students who were coming to watch a movie with him. He was carded (the police card suspicious Cubans), and when they realized he was a professor at the university, they apologized and sent him on his way. We couldn’t believe that he would do this, but we’ve since learned that you can’t put anything past this energetic old man.

We also met Redondo, his mulatto “servant”, as he called him. He was a young man around 21, who walked around in cutoff jean shorts and nothing else. Delio was quick to tell us that Redondo modeled when he was done working with Delio. A modeling picture was on top of the television, and while he ran to go get us some cola, he received two calls on his cell phone and one on Delio’s phone from someone named “Mamita”.

What really surprised me was some of the things he confided in us. First, he showed us his newest book, which he said was sold in dollars while he was paid in national pesos. Then he showed us all the gifts that his American friends would bring to him and he was very proud of – old, obscure movies, two or three year old Times and Newsweek magazines, and other little trinkets. What hit me in general is how limited the Cubans do live, even the more educated people. There’s no maxim here about getting ahead just by working hard. For the most part, it’s ingenuity and entrepreneurship that gets you ahead, and only by a little bit. Still, to see such a smart, respected old man be so content and willing to give when he has so very little to give in the first place is a touching sight.

Hopefully this edition of my journal was a little more interesting that last weeks. I still have some more general points to share about, such as the differentiation between social classes here, getting routinely taken advantage of, and any adventures that I have experienced or will in the next week. Thanks for reading.

Jan 29th

Sunday was spent as a lazy day. The three Catholics slept through Mass, and Scott, Molly, and I went to an upscale Italian place to eat lunch. The pizza margherita was exceptional, and it was actually a really nice place to eat, though it was prohibitively expensive for Cubans (5CUC for the pizza).

Earlier last week, I mentioned having a drink called Malta, a molasses-infused cola. Malta is in fact NOT the name of the soda I had. The Malta they sell here is sold by Bucanero, the cerveza company. Malta is advertised (I use that word loosely, as nothing is really advertised anywhere*) as a non-alcoholic malt drink, and it tastes as bad as it sounds. I’m still on a search to find what I actually drank last week.

We headed to the beach again today. Originally, I was going by myself to the Playas del Oeste (Western) – then someone found out and wanted to go, and then another, and when all was said and done there were six people going.

If there’s anything that Cubans are good at, it’s taking advantage of foreigners. When we asked to be taken to the Western beaches, the taxi driver and his friends insisted we go to Playas del Este (Eastern) because they’re prettier. I argued that they’re farther away, and that we really just wanted to see the Western beaches. They argued again that the Estes were mas hermosas and really just as far away as the Oestes. Whether or not it’s true, I still don’t know, but we all agreed that the taxi driver knew that he’d be getting a lot more money in going to the Estes than the Oestes – 40CUC actually. Many of the taxis have meters and charge somewhere in the area of .50CUC - .75CUC per kilometer, which should put most close locations at 2 or 3CUC, but too many times already I’ve asked for a price and been shafted with a 4, 5, or 6CUC taxi ride. Whether or not 40CUC is a decent price to the Playas, I’m not sure, but with prices in Cuba, being aggressive and assertive goes very far to make sure you’re treated fairly.

The beach was a different beast this time around. There was more of a crowd, but the water was bluer, the weather was hotter, and I spent a lot more time in the water. You have to stay observant of the ocean while you’re in the water, because every fifteen minutes or so you would spot a group of man-o’-wars floating towards you that you’d have to either dodge or wait out on the shore. We saw a girl actually pick one up by its bubble body, which I wasn’t aware you could do. What really surprised me though is that she PUT IT BACK IN THE WATER. Why you would want to give that thing another chance to get in the water and sting someone beats the hell out of me. I had a few beers and enjoyed bodysurfing on the waves while wishing they had surfboards or skimboards in Cuba.

Here would be a good time to follow up on that asterisk up there. Cuba doesn’t advertise anything. There are lots of billboards throughout the country, but they’re all occupied by national issues pasted on by the government. Everything from memorials to Che and his ideas, health alerts about AIDS (Todos caminos no van a Roma), to criticisms of the Bush Doctrine. The closest things to ads you will find are the small cigarette cabinets at every restaurant and convenience store that are provided by Pall Mall but hold all kinds of cigarettes. Like so many things in Cuba, when you DO see an ad it strikes you oddly because they’re so rare.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully as we prepared to turn in early for class on Monday.