My group landed in Havana, Cuba after our subsequent red eyes to Atlanta, Georgia, groggy and ecstatic and generally overwhelmed by what we were getting ourselves into. Despite a history class and a few orientation meetings, any logistical details and narratives on what it is actually like to live in Cuba were delightfully vague. Rules were constantly changing regarding what we could and couldn’t access once in the city, and since we were going to be spending 3.5 months there, the general rule of thumb became, if you want it, bring it (I’ll go into the validity of that statement later). There are 10 other Lewis & Clark students here with me to study at the Institute Superior de Arte, and we are led by a SOAN teacher from our school, Sarah Warren. Accompanying her are her husband Paul and their three children, the youngest of whom is 6 months old. Our Cuban contact is an art professor named Julia Portela Ponce De Leon, and she has been a complete blessing to the group, putting us in contact with a slew of influential people in the national and international artist community, from acclaimed poets and painters, to Cuban film stars and journalists. One night, for instance, Julia put her vivacious personality to use, scoring us entrance into a fashion show where we were mingling with actors from the famous Cuban film, Fresas Y Chocolate and pouring over many incredible dresses and coats created by some of her students. Every night there is a wide array of events to attend, and by just walking a few blocks in any direction, you are guaranteed to come across a well-attended live music event of some sort. Since I am a member of the young, hip crowd now, I am exposed to an advertising network that durning the first couple of weeks completely mystified me. Somehow people were in the know about all these incredible music, art or cultural performances, and there is no advertising for them (except maybe taped in one window in small print at the actual venue). The Granma, the official newspaper, also rarely advertises events or movie times, so the entire entertainment industry here basically relies on spontaneity and word of mouth. Thanks to our host brother, Omar, for instance, we got to cut the 2+ hour lines to La Fabrica, a renovated warehouse with a distinctive brick smokestack that doubles as both an art gallery, dance club, restaurant and bar. Just walking around the entire Fabrica can take about an hour in itself, with its spiraling staircases, beautiful balconies, movie theatre and stage that was occupied by some zealous screamo group. It’s an incredible multistory club packed to the brim with a wide collection of Cubans, students and foreigners. That being said, while the entrance fee is 2 CUC (CUC=USD), the average Cuban salary is $20-40 per month, and so the type of folks that can attend most likely have some access to foreign money. Which brings me to my next point. When I landed in Cuba, I brought with me some clothes and pens and notebooks to give as gifts to people. At school we had learned about the prevalence gineteros, Cubans who were always out to trick ignorant travelers into friendship in order to swindle you out of shoes or cameras or your stipend, and that nearly everyone we met would be expecting a “transactional friendship.” In my mind then, I was anticipating people desperate for money, food, clothing, etc, and being quite brazen in their asking for it. Once I got here however, two things struck me. First off, the Cuban people on whole are quite proud, intelligent and well-educated; the ginetero population is quite small and universally disapproved of, and since I arrived, I have only had one ginetero interaction (a lady and I talked at length about the virtues of my hydroflask). Secondly, I came into Cuba with a US definition of poverty, and was surprised to see people living much like a lower-middle class city family might in San Francisco. Food is never really impossible to access (peanuts, pizza, tostones, and many other calorically dense foods can be bought for a peso (about 5 cents). Clothes are more scarce, to be sure, but everyone is well dressed in bright colors, with elaborate haircuts, makeup, and jewelry. Such items are bought at home sales, where a family member brings back clothes from abroad and anyone in the know can stop by and purchase them at reduced prices. As a result, the current US fashions are just as popular here. However, since nearly all of the clothes I have seen come from the US, a few shirts printed in English made me wonder if everyone knows exactly what their shirts are saying. For instance, one older woman had a shirt that read “Brian’s Bar Mitzvah” and my younger host brother was wearing a tank top that read “there’s a fine line between genius and insanity” and an arrow indicating he was insane. We had to explain the joke to him. Upon arrival at the airport, we had a couple exciting moments. First, figuring out the Cuban accent with dropped s’s and r’s and a weird ‘a’ pronunciation whilst trying to answer important visa questions on about two hours of sleep was very exciting. Thankfully, out teachers and most everyone we meet speak quite clearly and are very patient with our attempts to respond. But had I come here for three months without any Spanish speaking abilities, I would be probably sleeping in a tent on the malecon, fishing for my survival. But everyone I’ve met so far has been a wonderful help in furthering my Spanish. Second culture shock moment I had in the airport occurred when I had to walk through the metal detector. The female security guards all wore gray uniforms with matching skirts, but every single one of them also wore a pair of heels (or stilettos) and a variety of flashy fishnet stockings. I then formed the opinion that this is exactly what federal employees are lacking back home when they complain about unflattering uniforms. To continue this tangent about Cuba’s peculiarities, I shall now talk about traffic, trees, and other aspects of “tropical surealisimo” that is a part of everyday life in Havana. Firstly, it is true, almost 90% of the cars I see here were all made pre-1970. The rare exceptions are either slightly newer foreign made cars, or brand new Mercedes Benz belonging to wealthy foreigners. The majority of cars on the road are either taxis or bolteros (the cheaper version of a taxi that only runs in fixed routes) As far as traffic rules are concerned, I have yet to see any followed. There are a few traffic lights at major intersections, but they tend to be viewed more like guidelines. And no matter what, the bigger, faster car has the right of way. I’ve seen police cars cut off by overzealous taxi drivers and buses completely run motorcycles and smaller cars off the road. So what is a poor little pedestrian to do? Well, the best answer is to run fast or die. No matter how far away a car may seem, the moment a pedestrian steps onto the asphalt, a game of chicken commences, where the car accelerates to encourage your prompt passage to the other side. Another nice thing to be mentally prepared for is the tree situation. The trees themselves are not particularly shocking, though they are quite beautiful, and the many park blocks, such as Avenido de los Presidentes and Paseo are wonderful spaces for reading or eating lunch out of the sun. The banyan trees that line every sidewalk, are something to contend with, however. Not only do they make the sidewalks quite treacherous, they sometimes house some of the strangest things, from a decaying goat corpse to a headless chicken hanging from a branch. Part of the Santeria religion involves animal sacrifice, so there is a delightful aroma whenever you pass by these trees that inspires some reflection on the circle of life. Thirdly, I have a few other peculiarities you might find interesting. When in conversation with Cubans on the street or at the ISA (my school), everyone is very frank with a fantastic sense of humor to boot. That being said, when dealing with the police, security, or certain salespeople, the conversations are so full of double meaning, it’s very important to understand what’s going on. For instance, if prices are listed in moneda nacional (1 peso=4 cents USD/CUC), it often means the restaurant will be considerably less expensive than cuc locations because it is intended more for Cubans than foreigners. So when you show up and try to order something, people will magically be out of all the inexpensive dishes, and all of a sudden you get a choice between a whole chicken and a mystery cheese burrito (beware the cheese here) for 8 CUC. There is a lot of arbitrary pricing for tourists, so it’s very important to make sure you know what price they want you to pay before ordering or you’ll wind up with a massive bill by the end of your meal. The same applies to taxis or veggie markets (their scales always weigh heavier for foreigners). That being said, everything here is is very inexpensive as it is. And since there are a slew of new private businesses here, it’s up to you to decide whether or not it’s actually worth it to try to cut the two extra dollars off your bill, because the money is all going directly to the family running the establishment. I mentioned interactions with the police. No, I haven’t been indulging in la mala vida. The immigration police is everywhere in our neighborhood, checking up on the casa particulares (the homes that rent to foreigners) to make sure everyone has the right visa and the family is properly registered, so they will randomly stop us to ask us the nature of our visit, what we are studying in school here, etc, probably to extract as many fees as possible from the Cubans with access to foreign money. Lastly, the issue of catcalling has been an exciting thing to get used to. I live with three other girls in a beautiful casa particulare quite a distance from the rest of the group. Consequently, we spend most of our time unaccompanied by guys and it has made us prime targets for catcalling, very obvious stares and many professions of undying love. What’s strange is that it’s not really a “type” of person who does this, but really any man that we pass in the street will usually say something. And it becomes quite draining and annoying, especially when there are things to do, like a catch a boltero to school, and three men are standing in your way. Most of the time they never pursue us beyond the initial comment, but death stares seem to do the trick if they try to. What works best however is to be walking with one other guy from our group, because all of a sudden we’re off limits to comments or lingering stares. However, it’s been a very wonderful trip so far. I’ve acquired one nice sunburn and a GI tract rollercoaster a couple times, but everyday when I wake up I have to remind myself that I am actually here, in Cuba, living the dream. I feel very blessed to have this opportunity and I hope all of you take the opportunity to visit sometime. It is such a strange and beautiful place that this description really doesn’t do it justice. This weekend, my student group is going to Viñales for a weekend of spelunking, horseback riding, hiking, and rock climbing. It’s a beautiful mountainous area of the Cuban country side, with many old tobacco fields and dairy farms. I will include pictures in my next post of that trip. I will be here until the 18th of May, and I am studying Spanish, Cuban architecture, art history, research methods, and oral history at the ISA. Thanks to the no phone thing (wifi is expensive here and strong hotspots are hard to find), I’ve read three books, and am working on my fourth. Next week, the 11 of us are starting our dance classes, and the following week, we are supposed to be taking a painting course. Much love to all of you, and please email me with any questions you might have!
Xoxoxo Sage