La Marcha: Playa de Girón

On Saturday we had planned a boat trip, but the day before learned that it was canceled because no boats were allowed offshore on April 16 – the 50^th anniversary of the Bay of Pigs. Security was high in case of a contrarevolucionario (counter-revolutionary) attack, which I think was less of an actual threat, and more of a demonstration of how well the government protects its citizens (although my heart still skipped a beat when the jets flew over). But whatever works….I guess. So what else to do but wake up before the sun and head downtown to partake in the celebratory march. Oh, you mean, the celebration of my country’s defeat? Just a tad embarrassing. I thought about whipping out my janky British accent, but decided against it and instead just endured the painful singe of disapproving eyes as we walked down the looooong seemingly never-ending avenue toward the center of the excitement, La Plaza de la Revolución. It actually wasn’t that bad; people were just more confused than anything, wondering what the hell these little yankie blonde girls were doing at their anti-yankie parade. There was a huge section with thousands of students marching and cheering with their signs of Fidel or Che and hand-made banners that read “Viva la Revolución” and “Tenemos y Tendremos Socialismo” (Long Live the Revolution! We Have And We Will Have Socialism) and so on. There were huge speakers at every block, booming radio broadcasts and then, when the march began, relaying the speeches taking place in the Plaza. It was really fun, actually, and exciting to see all of their excitement.

We were supposed to meet up with a group of Charleston students that night, but after waking up at 5 and walking all day, I was out before 9:00 and I think the rest followed suit. Sunday, we worked all day to get a start on finals deadlines. Next week, I have to give a 25 minute presentation on the development of Cuban agriculture and how Cuba is now a world leader in sustainable agriculture solutions – in Spanish. I’m terrified. On top of that, there’s a 20 page research paper, and 15 page Cuban-U.S. relations paper, on which I’m still debating a thesis. I have three weeks and a really poor sense of time management to accomplish this, in addition to savoring the rest of my time here. Must go work on that. Chao!

P.S. Here’s the link to Shelby’s blog. She’s better at the chronological update thing. www.ShelbyinCuba.blogspot.com

Weather

It stormed today. I thought it was an earthquake, but really our apartment building just has easily aggravated ceiling tiles. I did realize this relatively quickly, although I’m still not sure whether or not it was a particularly large storm, or if the quake-like feel was just a result of the not-so-rugged building standards. Judging by the fact that Pavia’s bed is now drenched with rain and there are paint chips, dried leaves, and an unidentifiable substance scattered about our living room floor, I’d say maybe a combination of the two.

Here’s a picture of what happened when our patio chair tried to commit suicide over the balcony and Pavia went out to save it, prompting chaos: flying artwork, slamming doors, possessed window curtains, etc.

Sorry for the tease, but the picture wouldn’t upload.

Thus far, this is the third Havana windstorm we’ve managed. The first one came without rain and lightning, but was definitely more eventful, as we were downtown when it hit. I was laugh-crying the whole time because, for one, all of the dust particles of the city were in my eyeballs and secondly, it was hilarious. Hilarious in that oh shit this is dangerous kind of way. The trees were basically parallel to the ground. Flexible little things. Car parts spontaneously detached from the cars and were bouncing down the street. One car’s hood popped all the way up, completely obstructing the driver’s windshield. Although apparently for him, being able to see the road is just in the trivial details, because he drove on. At this point, my eyes were trying to expel the sand particles with a stream of tears, and some plastic bags had assaulted my shins and would not let go. You realize how much pollution there is in this city when it’s all flying at your face. The funniest and strangest part was that we were the only ones who seemed to acknowledge the chaos. Habaneros are tough.

I’m hoping more storms ensue before my departure, for the excitement they guarantee and a break from the merciless heat.

Cangrejos y Cocodrilos

Friday was eventful. We drove 3 hours southeast to Playa de Girón (Bay of Pigs). By drove, I mean swerved – the whole way – because during this time of year for about two months, the crabs are out. There were thousands of them, darting across the road with their claws pointed upward. Being in a minivan while an aggressive Habanero driver dodges suicidal crabs at full speed is what I can imagine being in a video game would be like. It was the most entertaining car ride ever, especially when Jefe either over or undercompensated one swerve and slaughtered a crab, who in turn, slaughtered our car tire. Sharp lil suckers. So we then bobbled as we swerved, through the swamp – the road littered with dead crabs and the air smelled of… dead crabs. I did, however, get to abandon my wooden bench-seat temporarily because we had to take 2 cars. I got a taste of luxury with a real seat, and was in the van with our professors, a Cuban photographer, and our con-man taxi driver. Intriguing conversations ensued, especially when Nestor, the photographer, thought I was too invested in my Che book to be paying attention. Compiled a whole vocab list of creative new curse combinations and slang expressions.

We finally thumped our way to the Girón Museum to learn that the electricity was out, so we couldn’t watch the documentary they had set up for us. But that’s Cuba, so we got over it, and Raúl, our Cuban-US relations professor, acted as our tour guide. Seeing the invasion from a Cuban perspective was fascinating. Instead of a “we screwed up” vantage point, we’ve studied the invasion through the lens of triumph. Seeing the entire relationship between our two countries from a Cuban perspective is fascinating. As a general theme, we tend to forget that the U.S. government is going to manage its own interests, which, in the case of pre-revolutionary Cuba, were in direct contrast to the interests of the Cuban population. In other words, U.S. imperialism was oppressive to the Cuban people. So, you get a revolution. And sure, there are still tons of problems, the first of which being I can’t really discuss those problems. But now I’m not even talking about the Bay of Pigs anymore. Must stay on track.

While we were in the museum, Jefe and Marci were working on the tire issue. Now, educated and hungry, we loaded up the van once again and took off, back up the swampy dead-crab road, toward los cocodrilos. Yes, we learned there was a crocodile farm in the area, so obviously, we have lunch plans. The restaurant was a few miles down the road, so I sadly didn’t get to see the lil crockies. Well, at least not alive. Sitting down under the straw hut, we began to tear through about 8 giant tomato salads and fish soup. Not even needing a menu, everyone ordered cocodrilo. While waiting, we looked over the bluest water I’ve ever seen and I remembered I was secretly wearing a bathing suit under my clothes. Always prepared. The crocodile was…uggh. I kind of expected as much, but had to try it anyway. Didn’t matter because I concealed the aftertaste with a shot of espresso and soon forgot about it as I had moved on to other, more important matters. Namely, the ocean. Darting off down the beach and stripping clothes off on the way, I arrived at the rocky shoreline and bought a pair of goggles, flippers, and a snorkel from another hut. Spastically splashed my way down the rocks, and went out to explore the coral reefs and make friends with the fishes. Cuba has some of the most well-preserved coral reefs because of the lack of fertilizer used in agriculture. (After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Cuba lost all its imports that supported industrial agriculture – chemical pesticides, fertilizers, tractors, irrigation equipment, etc. As a result, this lil ole island is a world leader in sustainable agriculture solutions. I have to put this in parenthesis because it doesn’t pertain to what I’m talking about and I feel a tangent coming on. Will write about that at a later date…very interesting).

Smiling awkwardly with my plate of cocodrilo:

To sum up the day: flat tire via crabs, on-site class at the Bay of Pigs, crocodile lunch, and snorkeling in the bluest, non-pesticided water. Que belleza!

P.S. We were lucky enough to be there on the 50^th anniversary of the invasion. Well, technically one week early, but they were starting the celebration anyway. Tomorrow, April 15 is the anniversary of the day they landed on the beach, and April 16 is when they met Castro’s forces.

jueves

In less…cultural news, Shelby has a Cuban boyfriend, which I think is hilarious, and from which we all benefit as he introduced us to all of his friends. Actually, I guess that is a cultural feat, because now we have a fairly established Cuban friend group. His name is Rey, which in Spanish means king, so naturally, I call him King. He doesn’t speak English, so not only does she have a Cuban boyfriend, but her Spanish is progressing faster than all of ours and she gets to wash clothes at his house. I really miss a washing machine. Last weekend, Shelby and I suited up and went to a concert at the University, which had an atmosphere strangely similar to Greek Fest in ttown …with obvious (political) differences. Rey took us, so I was enjoying being the third wheel until his cousin Laura showed up, who turned out to be my soul-mate, despite the giant language barrier and minor details like that. The four of us frolicked around the blocked-off city streets, but not too much because it was incredibly crowded and because we were the only non-Cubans in sight, which summoned much attention…as always. So, being socially savvy, Shelby and I thought it would be in our best interest to pretend not to be Americans, which is just always counterproductive. After partaking in a few revolutionary chants, we decided it was too crowded and too sweaty, so we pushed our way toward the Malecon. Didn’t see our soap opera friends there, but bought some peanuts and honey and popcorn instead and called it a night.

Laura and I at Casa de Balear – where we go for $.50 mojitos.

Cuba,Measured in Food

In food news, we’ve been getting more creative in our no-oven, ghetto kitchen. And by that I mean I cook beans every single day and Pavia gets creative. She taught us how to make Mexican flour tortillas from scratch, so we had a feast one night with chicken tacos and fresh tomatoes and ..… beans..…and lots of greens that I earned from working on the organoponico. We also discovered pumpkin at one market on the day that the supermarket happened to get a shipment of honey, and we’ve found that those two things mix well. All of our tongues are blistered from the copious amount of pineapple we eat on a daily basis. Vale la pena.

Good news on the bean front: finally tracked down a strainer. Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with an extra 20 minutes I’m saving every day. Seriously, there is no doubt that these beans are straight out of the ground – dirt, sticks, rocks, and all. What did I do before this glorious day? Cleaned each little beanie individually, even had a toothbrush reserved for my daily bean cleanin’. Not really, I just got a little extra B-vitamins from the soil…it’s good for you, kind of, and my hair’s been growing pretty fast. Ahh, the joy of simple things, like strainers.

A group of UA professors came down for a week of meetings (to set up more, potentially short-term programs for UA students in Cuba), and they took us to dinner twice. Eating out is a rarity, and you’d think we were savages (or just poor college students) based our behavior when presented with free food. The last night they were here, the dean rented out a restaurant for a private party and invited all of the Cuban professors with whom they had been working. There ended up being about 50 people, and the restaurant churned out huge (really huge) skillets of paella and vegetable salads. At the end of the meal, there was a considerable amount of paella left over in the 3-foot diameter skillets, which prompted all of us to start scheming a way to get it back home and into our refrigerators. Six full to-go boxes later, we had depleted the restaurant of their supply, but still half of the leftovers remained. The waiter, now amused by our desperation, went back to the kitchen to find another method of transport. He came back with a giant plastic bag, and for some reason, I was elected to scoop the paella from the pan to the bag. The wine was flowing to an extent that no one really noticed, and the ones who did came to join in on the paella-scooping merriment. Nestor, the photographer, has documentation of the event. Must get those photos.

We then returned to our room later that night, and, like skilled scavengers, proceeded to eat more paella. Success.



Below is something I wrote a while ago and forgot to post. Of course, it pertains to food.

Walking to and from the market takes about an hour. Once there, I load up my big green hiking backpack with beans and fruits and vegetables – a week’s worth for about $4. Then, it’s mandatory to stop at the panaderia across the street to buy a $.05 cookie, called simply and appropriately “un dulce” (a sweet). It tastes like cake batter. I have no idea what’s in it, but my guess is mostly butter. Some days, they have this other cake dessert-thing or sweet muffins instead of the cookies, which does not make me happy. Taste like soggy sweet-n-low. But it’s okay because I’ve made friends with another dessert vendor that I pass on the walk back home. Also for a nickel, he sells little pieces of baklava filled with guava jam, and sometimes, my favorite of all – flakey little pie crust pastries filled with coconut. I am officially obese. Although, perhaps it’s canceled out by the amount of walking we do on a daily basis, and by the fact that, besides those once-a-week indulgences, my diet consists of piñas y frijoles (pineapples and beans).

Oh, and tomatoes. I’ve been buying copious amounts of them at the market recently. I chop up about 10 at a time and put them in a big pot with some sautéed onion, garlic, peppers, and cumin. Let it simmer for a while and then I have a week’s worth of this pasta sauce/tomato soup/salsa/gazpacho/concoction. It’s quite versatile.

The supermarket is 3 blocks from where we live, and is a far cry from Publix when it comes to options, brands, and availability. Maybe in some convoluted way it’s more like a Whole Foods or an organic grocery, because everything is seasonal. Instead of being founded in growing seasons, however, their stock depends on the economic climate. In other words, what flavor of potato chips did China send us this month? How’s the desforestation in Argentina going? Meat market still holding up? Basically, I've never seen a more bizarre assortment of foodstuffs. During the first month, we mistakenly thought that oatmeal was a constant, but it disappeared a long time ago and has yet to return. But green olives and canned pears seem to be plentiful right now. If there’s more than one brand or flavor of something, it must be really special. Profe says it’s funny to see Cubans come to the states and be amazed at all the different options, brands, and flavors we have for one product. It’s true, we are so accustomed to having everything at our disposal all the time, consumed with options, and confronted with marginal decisions every day. Should I buy nonfat milk or 2%? Or soymilk – regular or light? The generic or the brand name? Here, there is one kind of milk, and it comes from cows. Actually that was a bad example because you can also buy imported powdered milk....sometimes. But my point still stands. It just makes me wonder, how does making all of these trivial decisions affect our ability to make important ones?

Anyway, I may have culture shock upon going to Target or Publix when I get back, and I will never complain about a lack of options. For now though, I rather like the factor of surprise upon going into the supermarket. It’s like Christmas everyday…never know whatcha gon get.

martes

Cuba week was a success, although we did have some English lapses. The money situation was not difficult at all, and in fact, I’ve been spending pretty much the same amount since then. Beans at every meal…my life is complete.

I’m trying to motivate myself to actually write this blog post, as the thought of summing up everything that has happened in the past month gets more ominous with every passing blogless day. Also trying to differentiate between culturally significant stories to write about, and digressions away from these stories that tend to creep in all the time. Whenever I try to journal about something we’ve done, I end up going on tangent about food. Need to organize my thoughts. So, I guess I’ll go ahead and falsely measure the past month with a list of some exciting things we’ve done. Is anyone reading this? Mom? Anyone feel free to inquire further on any of these, or let me know what you want to hear about. So here are some cultural outings:

La Fería – a huge outdoor once-a-month market with food vendors, fruits and veggies, jewelry, pig heads, etc.

El Ballet Nacional de Cuba – National Cuban Ballet

Varadero – small beach town on the north coast

El Museo de Ron – Havana Club Rum Museum

Fábrica de Cigarros – Cigar Factory

Canon shot

Zoologico y Jardines Botanicas – the Havana zoo and botanical gardens.

Casa de José Marti – house where he grew up in La Habana Vieja

1831 – an old jail renovated into a discotec

Playa de Giron – Bay of Pigs

Batabanó – small town south of Havana where trudged through forest and then ate lobster in a stranger's house.

More details on those to come, and will try to be better about updates in the next month.