Today I am leaving Cuba. As I write this I am sitting in Terminal B, waiting for my flight to Cancun that leaves in a little more than an hour. And after 99 days here, I don’t know how I will feel. Time has flown by. I knew it would, because it always does. Yet now, as always, I find myself surprised and unprepared for the approaching end. I am leaving behind this time machine of a country — full of contradictions which have made me marvel at times, and have also driven me absolutely crazy. Getting to know Cuba has been like getting to know a country and a culture unlike any I have been to.
One of my biggest worries upon re-entering and re-emerging back to the states is being asked over and over again “how was Cuba??” and especially with such a politically-charged country as Cuba is the US, having to defend and reason my responses. Cuba was exhausting and I worry the transition back to the States will be an extension of this. Some possible explanations as to my experience in Cuba are as follows:
I could say that On the one hand, Cuba has been marvelous. I have been able to explore this pocket of the world full of boteros, milk shakes and music. Boteros are the American cars form the 1950s and 60s which people utilize for a taxi system here. Wherever you are in the city, make it to a main drag, stick your arm out and these brightly painted cars will pull over. Leaning down to the eye level of the driver you shout over the engine and the Reggaton music “por linea?” and if they are going that way, the door flies open and you jump in. Slumping onto a seat with lumpy springs, pushed onto the person next to you or in the unfortunate position of being in the middle front seat, in-between the driver and his stick shift on the one side and a second person on your right. The music is absolutely blaring, shaking the beasts of cars as they rumble down the road, driven by macho brutes smoking cigarettes and wiping sweat off of their brows as their left arm dangles out of the window clutching a wad of cash.
Boteros have been one of my favorite aspect of Cuba – always having an efficient and cheap way to maneuver around the city. In the US, we don’t interact with strangers. We start our day in our houses, get into our own cars that we drive directly to work where we get out, see the people at work and then drive home. Cars are driven by one person, usually without any passengers. However, here, one is constantly interacting with the city and its inhabitants. Making friends, having conversations, sharing space.
On the other hand, however, it is difficult to contextualize my romanticized view of the botero car system when a history of colonization and the current embargo prevent new cars, buses and transit systems from entering the country. Additionally, botero drivers are one example of the inverted social hierarchy with unskilled jobs in the tourist industry earning higher salaries (in CUC) than skilled professionals.
This is similar to what I could say about the school I studied at – the ISA, talking about the ruins and the incredible architecture of the five schools – yet after years of neglect, the once beautiful buildings have deteriorated beyond recognition.
I could keep my answer short and sweet and say: Everything I encountered in Cuba was so complicated, trying to understand if I was going crazy or if the situation was actually as ridiculous and strange as I felt it to be.
I could describe Coppelia’s the ice cream parlor or the intersection between communism and consumerism or about Fidel and governmental propaganda.
Or maybe about the difficulties of staying and feeling connected to the outside world – from the news to internet, and having to maintain ties with friends, family and my long-distance boyfriend through it all.
Trying to explain my experiences is like trying to explain a 4 part PBS documentary – there are too many details, scenarios and personalities to do it justice, yet you can’t walk away from the question and leave it unanswered. So what do I say? When someone asks me — and undoubtedly they will — how was Cuba?
There are so many possible explanations, yet none of them will of course encapsulate everything I want to say. And especially since so few Americans have been to Cuba, I worry that my experience will have opened so many doors and questions, that I will not be able to discuss with anyone I know. But seeing as one of the reasons why I wanted to go to Cuba was because so many people told me not to go, dissuading me for reason A or B or C, I wanted to go to Cuba myself and see what the country had to offer and separate the myth from the reality… and 99 days later, I still am not 100% sure what Cuba is and what it isn’t. The whole country is shades of grey. I guess that just means I have to take time outside of Cuba to reflect, find some people who have been to Cuba to digest this information with and then one day return, to see what has changed and what has stayed exactly the same all this time.