Already more than a full week in, Cuba still feels unreal. While the first week of classes have begun to bring me out of my non-academically oriented funk, our lives in Cuba so far feel more dream like than ever. Furthermore, many of my original conceptions of what Cuba would be like have turned out to be skewed. I would never have expected to be at a packed Cuban pool party at el ISA, while Sam Smith and Rihanna blasted over a PA system — the party felt like a scene from some american high school movie like project x.
One problem I’ve been trying to grasp is the question of whether or not our group is experiencing the “real” Cuba. Obviously as white “yuma” students (who appear to be tourists), who’ve been given a stipend of $20 a day, its easy to assume that our experiences thus far are privileges — taking bolteros to class, going to the beach, eating out at fine restaurants, and going to art shows. Lawrence and I met a Cuban photojournalist at a restaurant. I told him this question and he answered by saying “this is Cuba, what you’ve been seeing.” He might have misunderstood my dilemma. Meanwhile, being pinned down as a person with wealth can stifle with making real connections with people. When people often approach me on the street, I am skeptical to engage in a conversation because, more often than not, this results in a person asking for money.
Today, we went a beach about 30 minutes away for Havana. The scene was amazing: a white sand beach, souring palm trees, blue wavy waters. This was a nice escape from the noisy streets of Havana — a time to let loose and reflect on the past week. Sam and I noticed signs of Jinaterismo; we saw an elderly white bald man lying next to young (about 20) and beautiful mulatto girl. This was an exposure to this type of world that we had studied about before coming to Cuba. The man seemed very content and comfortable — at least from a distance. The rest of the day we swam, walked around the beach, and all received incredible sunburns.