The Cuba Story: March

Monday, March 01, 2004 8:50pm
So this weekend� kind of a bust. Friday afternoon I had to go meet my exchange partner. They set up this program with the law school at the university where we each get assigned a student with whom to socialize. My partner, Marjorie, and I were assigned to a very nice girl who happens to talk extremely fast. Now the problem is that Marjorie speaks fluent Spanish because her family is Peruvian. I did not know this until Friday. I spent three hours, horribly ill, being drug around Havana in silence not understand either of them because they were speaking so fast. It was so disturbing and disheartening. Every time I think maybe my Spanish is really starting to improve, I have an experience like that. Saturday morning, however, on the 190 bus on my way home from using the internet, I met a 5th year medical student from the Dominican Republic who was with others from Guatemala. One of the Guatemalan girls asked me if the bus stopped at a certain place and of course I had no idea, then she laughed and told the Dominican guy "haha look who I asked!" and he told her way to go for asking the most obvious foreigner there. For a minute though, when she asked me, I thought maybe I had passed for Cuban. Guess not. He asked me where I was from and asked how long I had been in Cuba. I told him one month and he looked shocked. Where had I gotten all my Spanish from?? I told him I had lived in mexico, and that worked for awhile till he asked how long I was there. Two months. Haha. How do you explain that some people just learn languages quickly? Anyway, it made me feel good that he was so in awe over my Spanish haha. Actually very soon after I told him I was from the U.S., he began to speak to me in almost perfect English. It was actually very refreshing. That's the only occasion in which I've made a buddy on the bus. Usually people won't even look at you on the bus. I find living in a big city very disturbing. It feels like people are so rude. They don't even say hi to you when you pass them on the sidewalk. What's that about??

Anyway, Saturday afternoon I was supposed to go meet Yorvi's family, but he didn't show up. He called around the time he was supposed to be here saying he had just woken up. That was ok because I was feeling terribly ill. I finally gave in and returned to the doctor on Sunday. They gave me five prescriptions for a mouth infection and put me on a liquid/bland foods diet, with lots of rest�. He almost told me I couldn't go to class. Are they trying to kill me?? Also I was told to come back for an appointment today with an ORL doctor which I BELIEVE is an ear nose and throat doctor, though I'm not completely certain.

So today was spent at two different doctor appointments. This morning at the most traumatic gynecologist experience of my life, all just so I could get some freaking monistat. Then at the ORL doctor I was lectured forever about not putting "earrings" anywhere except my earlobes, then prescribed one additional medication. The whole day was very distressing, and I came home and took a 4 hour nap.

Now I'm just sitting here hoping my parents will call so I can cry to my mom about the evil man gynecologist (I always swore I'd never go to a male gynecologist) and all of my physical ailments. I feel like my body is useless, I come to a different country, and everything goes wrong. I blame the U.S. and its overly-sanitized society of anti-bacterial this and that and everything. A society based on fear. And companies that capitalize on the fear that they instill in people.

Tuesday, March 2nd, 2004. 6:50pm.
Tuesdays are entirely too long, I swear. I just got home and my first class started at 8am. eeee. Ok well now I'm here. I passed most of my classes feeling weak, about to either throw up or pass out. I think it might have to do with some of the antibiotics I'm taking. I had two batidos, fruit smoothies you can buy for 3 pesos, that they serve in small glasses so you have to stand there and finish it because you have to give the glass back. Also I had 3 ice cream cones. I swear it's ingenius. For three pesos, about 12 cents, you can get a full ice cream cone. Sure, the ice cream isn't the filling kind from back home, but still, just as yummy. The batidos and ice cream are the only things I've eaten today besides a piece of bread I ate for breakfast. It took me an hour to eat that piece of bread!

The whole not eating thing won't be as bad on the days I don't have to do anything. Yorvi is supposed to come over tonight so we can go to Coppelia. He usually calls before he comes though and since I haven't been home till now he might not show up, which would honestly be ok, too. I'm so TIRED. But I would like to see him� I miss talking to the kid. I can't wait to meet his family.

Today the cute Peruvian told me I look linda, which means pretty. I was telling him about not being able to eat and stuff and he pointed out that I've lost weight (yesssss). I was like "that's good because I want to lose weight" and he said "don't lose anymore, te ves linda asi." You look pretty like this. Plus, he was worried about my health. It was cute. It made me feel good. Ah little infatuations, don't you love them?

Anyway, not much else to say at the moment. I'm definitely feeling like my body is taking a beating. Definitely ready to start feeling healthy again soon.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004. 9:20pm.
I'm afraid my journal's a bit boring at the moment. I can't really DO anything. Today I went to class, checked my email, and came home. Took a nap, washed some clothes, ate my dinner of spaghetti with cheese with no sauce. And the waitress told me it was $3. no, 1.50 for my food plus 50 cents for my drink equals two dollars. "And a dollar for my tip." What?? I don't even give 50% tips in my own country!!! Then she started getting all chatty with me and I gave her my money. She asked if I was ok with the 3 dollars. What was I supposed to do? I felt defeated. I said ok. Then I just resolved never to go back to that restaurant. Maybe it'd be different if I wasn't paying for everything on this trip with money from loans. I don't know. If I was going to spend 3 dollars I probably would have eaten something better.

Anyway, that's the most exciting news I have at the moment. And it's not even really news that people are taking advantage of me here. It's hard to not have anyone you can trust, anywhere you can turn. It's lonely.

I really hit it off yesterday with a girl in my program with whom I have my History of Cuba class. I think we're both kind of feeling the lack of someone to confide in. We can listen to and support each other without judging. I think that is the most important thing you can find in a friend. Something I honestly have trouble finding even at home. That's why I'm feeling it so much now that I don't have Noe, Denice and Jessica, or Mandeep. I think right now I'm starting to realize how difficult it will be for me to change schools next fall. I know it's the right decision� it's just that college feels like this constant state of transition, of insecurity. Blah.

This weekend the program is taking a trip to Vi�ales in Pinar del Rio. I'm not really sure what to expect� I haven't heard much about it yet. I'm worried that I will have to spend the whole time resting. I end most of my medicines in the next few days. Let's hope after this goes away that my immune system will pick back up!

Sunday, March 07, 2004. 5:24pm
I'm so glad we went on our trip to Vi�ales in Pinar del Rio this weekend. It was so amazingly beautiful! It's in a very remote area, surrounded by tobacco farms and hay-stack shaped mountains and hills. Every view was breathtaking and I swear I wasted tons of film. Our hotel was situated on the side of a hill, with a gorgeous view of the valley. It's said that Los Jazmines (our hotel) is the best place in Vi�ales to stay because of the view. Just being in the country was very refreshing. No traffic, no smog, no rush, no noise. Just a few cars, lots of bikes and horses, fresh air, and birds chirping. Doesn't that sound like somewhere you would want to be?

On Saturday I was determined to go out and experience the beauty of Vi�ales. A group of three girls and I went horseback riding around the farms in the valley beneath our hotel for only five dollars an hour. After we came back and ate lunch, I went with a group of people to walk to the town. We ended up hitching a ride on one of our tour busses that was for some reason headed toward town. From there we rented bikes, and I rode with a group of girls, five of us in all, down the highway about four kilometers, through a beautiful canyon-esque area, to the "Prehistoric Mural." The mural was actually a rather awful painting, painted on the side of an enormous cliff. It had outlines of a man, woman and child, some dinosaurs, and some snails. It cost a dollar to get in to look closer at it, but I paid it just to be able to get some pictures.

After the mural we stopped at a campground nearby to take pictures and relax in the shade for a minute. We ran into the boys, who had also rented bikes but then separated from us. They told us about the path they had taken to get there, and it sounded fun. We went down a gravel and dirt road to a dirt path that split off of it. They had said it had barely taken any time at all, and that it wasn't very hilly. Boys. Up and down, up and down. The bike I had gotten sounded like it would fall apart over every bump, made a squeaking noise when I pedaled, and the gears did not change. I wasn't ashamed to walk over those hills! At one point we arrived at a spot in the road where a giant mud hole had been created. Most parts of it seemed hardened and dry, with one obviously still wet part. Tara and I had ridden into the middle of the dry part before realizing we wouldn't make it through. She climbed out one way that looked to hard with a bike, so I decided to go around the other way. As I walked over the apparently hardened mud, my left foot suddenly broke through the top crust and into the thick mud below. It was almost to my knee and I was stuck. I couldn't get my foot out with my sandal. I was not about to leave my $20 Nike flip flops behind. They were a huge investment for me. Finally the other girls suggested I pull out my foot, then retrieve my sandal. I had been avoiding this idea, but I finally decided it was inevitable. They had already taken my bag and other flip flop for me, and now they took my bike up to higher ground as well. Also, they had already started taking pictures of me with my foot stuck. I pulled my foot out and got onto my hands and knees in the mud. Then I reached in up past my elbow into the mud. It took quite a long while to work that sandal free. The mud was so thick that the hole and filled in as soon as I took my foot out. I pulled and pulled on my sandal and gradually, with lots of gross mud-burping sounds, it came out. It was unrecognizable�completely covered in mud, without even a shape. I scooped off enough to be able to put my sandal on (my feet were already muddy) and put it back on. This worked until we got to another hill, because walking in such a slippery sandal was too difficult. I stopped, took my sandals off, and put them in a plastic bag I had in my bag. I tied a knot in the handles and hung it off my handlebars. Problem solved. As I rode/walked barefoot the rest of the way back, I was amused at the thought of my mom knowing I was riding a bike with bad brakes that was falling apart, without a helmet, barefoot.

Anyway, the sun was beating down on us, we were all hot and thirsty, and the end of the trail was nowhere in sight. We started to wonder if we were lost. Up and down, up and down on that damned dusty trail. We finally asked at one of the small farms if the town was close. They said it was "just over that hill." Yeah right, try over the next four hills. Anyway, eventually our path turned into a paved road lined with small concrete houses that all looked the same. Kids in the street laughed at me first because of my red face and then because of the mud that was caked and dried onto my arms and legs. Three girls had gone ahead, and when I reached the main road, I didn't know which way they had gone. I waited for the girl behind me to catch up, to see if she knew where we were. She was freaking out, convinced we were in a different town, not Vi�ales. I thought she was being ridiculous because Vi�ales is in the middle of nowhere�it was not possible to be in another town. I pointed to a sign that pointed toward Los Jazmines (our hotel) but she insisted out hotel was El Jazmin, not Los Jazmines. Just to put her mind at ease I asked a Canadian woman sitting with her husband at an outdoor table of a restaurant on the corner we were standing on. I explained to her that we were a bit lost and that we needed to return our bikes. We chatted with the Canadians for awhile and ordered some drinks before heading up in the direction that the waiter pointed us in. Turns out we were only about a block and a half from where we needed to be. We found the other girls who had already returned their bikes, then we tried to get a taxi.

Now, the legal taxi we found would only take four, but there were five of us. Anna and I stayed behind, and had to find another one. We started walking in the general direction of the hotel and waited for a taxi to drive by. This is when the lack of traffic in Vi�ales became annoying. A Jeep drove by going the other direction and looked at us, honking the "need a taxi?" honk. We told them we were going the other way, to Los Jazmines, and they said that was fine. They'd only charge us $2. A legal taxi was $3. The guy in the back seat scooted over for us and we climbed in. Oh what an adventure! It was enough that the three guys in the car wanted to know everything about us and about our country, but then the horrendous driving on top of it was almost too much. First he tried to pass an enormous tractor pulling an even bigger trailer. He honked and honked but the tractor would not move over, and it was taking up most of the road. He decided to just go around anyway, and that didn't really work so we went off the road. Not all the way, but enough to where everyone was yelling and the driver was frantically steering. The car was going back and forth and I was predicting the loss of control at any second. I held on and closed my eyes and resigned myself to either dying or being seriously injured while hitchhiking in Cuba. Luckily, we pulled back onto the road, probably slightly side-swiping the trailer of the tractor. As we passed the tractor, the two guys on the right side of the Jeep stood up and leaned out their windows, yelling and gesturing at the tractor driver, who was doing the same. They continued this behavior until the tractor was out of sight. I laughed hysterically. Cubans are so passionate. Right now I'm at the point where a lot of the things that bothered me before just make me laugh. Anyway, we then went through a shortcut to the hotel, a very narrow, very rugged path. But we were in a Jeep, right? I laughed hysterically through the whole thing. I couldn't help it. I just couldn't believe where I was. I ducked to miss the branches that were flying in and out of my window, all the while laughing and laughing. "Mira como se rie!!!" Look how she laughs!!! The guys in the car got a kick out of it. I swear I couldn't stop. Then over one bump, my door popped open. I squealed, all the while laughing my ass off. The driver stopped and pulled the door shut, and kept going. When we got to the hotel, he didn't pull up all the way to the hotel because they could get in trouble for driving us as an illegal taxi. I had to hide while I got my money to pay him, because a hotel security guard was watching us. I think it was pretty obvious, though, so when we walked by the guard Anna and I just didn't look at him. Everyone got a huge kick out of my mud-caked legs and arms, and we took a few more pictures before I showered off in the pool area's outdoor shower, then again in my room.

I tired myself out so much that day, but it felt so good to be doing active things in the fresh air. I think the city makes me feel dead in a way. I feel so much more alive in the country!!

Tuesday, March 9th, 2004. 9:31pm
Yesterday was el Ocho de Marzo, el D�a de la Mujer. Woman's day. Like Mother's Day or Father's day. What a novel idea!! People are shocked to hear we don't celebrate that in the U.S. The best part is there is no Man's Day. Hehehehe. I think it's because every day is Man's Day. Just like when I was little I used to ask my parents why there was no Kid's Day. "Every day is Kid's Day." I hated that answer!! Haha.

Last night I bought a bike from this neighborhood kid. Thirty bucks. Actually thirty two. He tried to raise the price at the last minute five bucks, saying it was because I told him it was too small and he had to go out and buy a piece to raise the seat. I told him that piece didn't cost five bucks, and I told him I'd give him thirty two. Really just so I didn't feel like I was getting taken advantage of. He seemed fine with that. He really wanted me to want that bike. The bike itself is way too small for me, but the higher seat makes it not as bad. Only one brake works, the tires squeak because the brakes rub funny, and the gears shift very difficultly. But, it gets the job done, and it's a lot better than other bikes I've seen here. It's painted an ugly brown color and has a "USA" sticker on it. Adrian told me his brother knows someone who will paint it for free. But I don't know, the brown is growing on me.

What else was I going to say? Oh yes. Very important stuff. The other day I was telling Adrian how much I loved Vi�ales and he asked if I would live there after I finish school in the U.S. I said yes as a nice thought, but later I was really thinking about it. The truth is, I don't think I would want raise my family in Cuba. That's a really sobering reality for me. I just don't think I would put myself in a position where I felt I couldn't provide things for my children. I think it's really hard to come from my 19 years of hardcore capitalism in the U.S. to Cuba. There's something confusing to me in Cuba, the fact that one literally cannot do anything to change his position. This is where my upbringing conflicts. Because in the U.S., we like to think that if one works hard enough, he can overcome poverty. But in reality this is not true. Some of the poorest people in our country work the hardest. So then what? Maybe I just feel like in the U.S. at least you have a CHANCE. I am by no means advocating the American economic model. I really believe in a level of equality. The problem in Cuba is that there isn't enough money. So everyone is equally poor�.theoretically. Even this isn't true because there are those with dollars and those without dollars. The Cuban economy is something extremely complicated. I don't know. I just found it interesting that although I appreciate the Cuban attempt at equality, I don't appreciate it enough to want to live in it. I found the whole realization pretty profound. I'm still really confused though, about my feelings regarding Cuban economics.

Monday, March 15, 2004. 10:09pm
This last weekend has been really full. For me the weekend starts on Thursdays here, so I went out Thursday night with Adrian. We went to this club, El Tropical. Maybe I just found it disappointing because I'm not used to bars. It was small, dark and smoky. The music they were playing when we first went in was bad early '90s music. From there it only got worse. They started playing techno, house, drum 'n' bass, all that stuff that sounds the same to me. Horrible music. We bought a bottle of rum, and I didn't drink that much, just a little so I could dance and not feel weird about the techno. Anyway, I don't know how it happened, but I got extremely extremely drunk. Unbelievably drunk. I've drank before here, but never like that. Just enough to feel happy. Anyway, for awhile, I was having a ball, dancing my little heart out and everything. Then I sat down for a minute and suddenly realized how drunk I really was. And all of the sudden I needed to throw up� and I needed to get away from the loud music and that damned strobe light. I got Adrian to drag me upstairs, to the upper part of the bar where the door was, but I think he was trying to decide whether to take me outside or to the bathroom. I started saying, probably too loudly "Sacame de aqui, sacame de aqui," which just means "Get me out of here," so he did. I stumbled down the stairs to the sidewalk and puked somewhere on the sidewalk. It's amazing how much easier it is to puke when you're drunk�you don't even feel it! I don't know why, but my foot happened to get in the way and I kept saying "I puked on my foot" in English. So when I was done Adrian took me to the bathroom and washed my foot off for me. Now that's dedication, I'm telling you. Anyway, we tried to go back into the bar but by then I was just done. When we left they were finally starting to play good music, too. So we waited for a bus, but I didn't feel like waiting so I gave Adrian a dollar and told him to catch a maquina, an old car that is a taxi that you pay with 10 pesos (less than 50 cents) per person no matter where you're going. The bus came before we got a maquina, so we got on the bus. Apparently because he was a little drunk also, Adrian paid the bus with my dollar. Now, for clarification, a dollar is worth 26 pesos at the money exchange, and 25 pesos on the street. The bus costs 40 cents of a peso per person. So, he paid 25 pesos for something that cost 80 cents of a peso. And the change she gave him? 3 or 4 pesos. Hahaha. It actually just makes me laugh. Anyway, although I tried really hard, I ended up throwing up on the bus. On the floor. I hate people who do things like that!!! I kept saying that I needed to clean it up, but for heavens sakes I could barely see. 4 girls from our program and a guy from school were on the bus, but when Adrian pointed them out to me, I couldn't SEE them. Anyway, eventually I made it home, but I had to spend some time sitting by the toilet before I could go to bed. I think I fell asleep a couple times there, all I remember is sitting with my head resting on the lip of the toilet bowl, with the seat resting on top of my head because it's really flimsy and wouldn't stay up. What a sight. Hehehe.

Friday morning I woke up still drunk, of course, but I had the wonderful idea to eat breakfast to make the drunkness go away. Yeah, worst idea I've had in my life. I came back feeling even worse. The housekeeper had taken our sheets off the bed to wash them, so I just laid on the bare mattress and moaned. Eventually I had to throw up my breakfast, which sucked. Every time I got up and had to do something, I'd feel horrible. The thing was, I had to leave at noon to go with Adrian to his mom's house in Cotorro.

The trip there was really tough, I felt soooo sick on the bus. I decided to spring for a maquina instead of taking the camello from Virgen del Camino to Cotorro. Camellos are Huge busses (with two humps, that's why it's called a camel) pulled by a semi. There's one seat on each side, then standing room in the center is about 5 or 6 deep. It's insane how many people they cram on there. I've heard around 200. Anyway, I was completely not going for that. It's about a 45 minute trip on the camello�. There was no way.

Anyway, when we got to Cotorro Adrian told me his brother had invitations to a "quince" one of the big celebrations for a girl's fifteenth birthday. It was a beautiful party and all, but ooooh I felt so bad. It was kind of boring for me because here they dance to music that's not just different, but impossible for me to dance to. Salsa, well they try to teach me. But the "reggae" they have here is ridiculous. I can't even describe how those girls shake their asses. It's embarrassing. I have too much self respect for that�plus my body just doesn't move like that. Anyway, we went to another one of those parties the next day and that's when it got frustrating. They all yell at me and try to instruct me and it's just embarrassing. Everyone was already looking at me, the really tall foreign girl with a Cuban boyfriend. I really hadn't noticed the staring until he pointed it out to me. Here in our neighborhood, no one really looks because there are so many foreigners in Miramar. But outside of that, like on the bus and everything, everyone stares. Especially in Cotorro. So anyway after awhile I got really agitated with all the dancing. Plus, a lot of the people at those parties are, well, fifteen. It cracks me up, cause they pass out free beer and other alcoholic drinks the whole time. At a fifteenth birthday party. Can you imagine that in the U.S.??? Never!!

On Sunday we got up early and set off for Adrian's aunt's house. It was in some other part of Havana. When we got there she was working. Her second job is as a hairdresser and she does it in her house. There is a special chair that she puts in the middle of the room, and a big mirror on the wall behind the sofa. That day she was re-doing straight extensions that black women put in their hair. She says it's really good business because so many women do it. I found it interesting because in some of my classes in Idaho we've studied the attempts of a dominated race to change their appearance to look more like the dominating race. Anyway, for the first few hours everything was a fast jumble of super animated and incomprehensible Cuban slang. I just kind of sat there, laughing when they laughed, etc. After the last woman left, Adrian's aunt, Sonia, served dinner, which she had been preparing while she worked. Spaghetti with sauce that actually didn't resemble ketchup for a change. With a little cheese, and some bananas. Mmm. It was really good. So then we got to actually talk with his aunt for awhile. She was very nice, very outspoken. Talking with people like Adrian's family and friends gives me a chance to get to know what cuba's really like and how people feel about it. At one point, she looked at my nails and decided to paint them. As she painted them a whitish silver color, she went on and on about how light colors are in, and how the darker colors are what loose women wear. "Red is the color of prostitutes!!" she proclaimed. I turned red and looked at Adrian. We both new my toenails were painted bright red. I overcame the initial shock and laughed, showing her my feet. She was not embarrassed at all. Of course she wasn't, she's Cuban. She just said "oh don't worry we'll take care of that," and sent Adrian upstairs to get nail polish remover so she could paint my toenails too. So far one of his aunts has implied that I'm a prostitute and the other called me "rubia peligrosa" or "dangerous blond girl." Why do I feel like they're not getting the right impression of me. And why do they all want me to marry Adrian?? What pressure!! Really I know they just want the best for him and they see an opportunity that could be good, so they might as well at least try. I don't know it just puts a lot of pressure on me I guess. And embarrasses him a little too.

Anyway, I was just going to stay a night, but I ended up staying three. I really didn't even think about telling my roommates I would be gone since I don't really get along with any of them and I don't talk to them anyway. I'm used to living with two guys that don't give a damn where I am. I saw Maju and Maggie earlier in the day on Monday when I got back and they were like "Hey, next time let us know." Then I got home in the afternoon from the library and I was bitched out by one of my roommates (whom I won't name) who I really don't get along with anyway. She was yelling at me and telling me what a horrible person I am, how irresponsible and inconsiderate with no common sense, on and on. And because I didn't just sit there and take it she started telling me I needed to "drop the attitude." I wanted to lunge off of the couch and punch her. But I resisted. I resisted reacting at all, although it was very hard. The thing is, I know this girl didn't care where I was. She was not worried, she was just looking for a reason to get all over me about something. With everything I do she's always there waiting and looking for some way to bitch me out about what I did wrong. I really really really don't like her. Anyway, tonight everyone in my apartment's pretty mad at me so I've kind of just avoided the place. There's no place like home, eh?

Tuesday, March 16, 2004. 11:50pm
So I got robbed yesterday. On the bus coming home from the library apparently. Last night Adrian called and asked for my resident ID so he could buy us train tickets to Las Tunas in the east for the weekend. I went to my room and looked in my bag to get my money belt, which I only keep my IDs in, and it was gone. I knew I hadn't taken it out, but I still searched my whole room for it. Of course it wasn't there. The thing is, I would've preferred that they steal money from me rather than my IDs. It took a month to get my resident ID, I just got it a little over a week ago. It costs twenty dollars to replace and takes no less than 10 days after filing the paperwork. And then I need my university ID to get into one of the buildings where I have class. The third ID doesn't really do anything but it works as a valid ID in place of my passport. I honestly don't feel terribly upset over being robbed� I guess cause besides that stuff it only had a few Canadian coins in it. But I still lost twenty bucks really. It's just such a hassle. I have to go to the police station tomorrow and fill out the paperwork to get a new one. My program director said I could wait and see if whoever took it sticks it in the mail but I don't really want to delay any further. I pretty much can't travel without it without paying the outrageous tourist prices. Gah.

Besides that, today on the bus I met two old ladies who were eager to practice the English they learned in primary school�and it was good! They heard me say the word "Toronto" while I was talking to Adrian and I heard them start to talk about me wondering if I was Canadian. "But she's speaking Spanish�" One of them finally asked Adrian "De donde es?" Where's she from? I told them and they said in English "oh, there are too many Americans and Canadians here." I think they meant to say, though, that there are a lot of us, because they didn't say it inhospitably at all. In fact, they procured the next available seat for me and shooed some guy that was trying to take it saying "the girl's sitting there." They continued to talk to me about how they remembered their English from so long ago and the husband of one of them had been a minister of the bank so she had traveled to fifteen countries. It was seriously a delightful little conversation and they ate up my compliments about their English. I guess in the last two days I've encountered really good people and really bad people on that damned bus.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004. 10:02pm
Oh my goodness what a day. I went to class, 3 long hours of economics, but nothing out of the ordinary. But then I set out on my mission to replace my stolen resident ID. Ha, how foolish to think I'd get it done in a day. Adrian met me at the school to come with me because sometimes when I get stressed I forget all of my Spanish so I figured I could use him as my translator if I really needed to. First, I had to go to the police station. Twelve long Havana blocks away from the university in the nice shoes I decided to wear today for some reason. They killed my feet. We got there and I explained to them why I was there. They looked at me like I was from a different planet, then told us to go inside and wait. I swear we waited all day for what appeared to be absolutely no reason. Finally an officer came out of the office and asked me something in super fast Spanish that I didn't really understood but I took to be "have you been helped yet?" although I know that wasn't it because they don't say that ever in cuba and of course I hadn't been helped yet cause he was the one who was supposed to help me. Anyway, Adrian didn't come with me into the office for some reason, and I was left with this officer who spoke super fast Spanish. Now, knowing that the majority of the people who report robberies here are foreigners, you'd think he'd know how to speak more clearly. Anyway, I go the paper I needed from him and came back out. There were two men in the waiting area, one of them was an Italian who had apparently gotten $1,200 dollars stolen from his shorts pocket, and the other was the Cuban with whom he was staying. I ask you this: who walks around Havana with over a thousand dollars in his pocket??? Anyway, that's beside the point. I then wanted to go to the office of one of our program directors so I could make sure they had given me the right paper. However, she wasn't there, so we set out for the Ministry of Communications building near the Plaza de la Revolucion in order to buy some $20 stamp. I had been told it was close. What a lie. We got there and had to ask around a little bit to see where we could buy the stamp. At the Banco de Credito Comercial or something that they have in that building. There's one of those right next to the university!!! Anyway, we went to the window and asked and the lady said "sorry, the machine is broken today, besides, we're closed." We argued a little but what can you do? I got frustrated and wanted to cry. As we walked out I saw the hours posted on the window. 8:30am to 3pm. What kind of bank closes at 3:00?? I wanted to kill somebody!! I went outside and got out the clock I carry around because my watch stopped yesterday. It was 3:08. what the hell kind of luck do I have??

THEN I decided to go check my email. This usually takes me no more than 10 minutes. Today, it couldn't go that way of course. I got to the internet place and I needed to buy a card. What you do is you buy a card for 6 dollars and then log in with the numbers on the card. It's basically a prepaid internet card that lasts an hour. Well today they didn't have any cards, and since I used up my last card last time, I couldn't just use one I already had. When there's no card, you have to log in and paid afterwards, but this only works on some computers. When someone got off of one of the computers, the lady brought me to that computer. "Oh, you're going to use a disk? You can't use a disk in this one." She took me to another empty one. "Oh, you don't have a card? You need a card for this one." I wanted to smack her! I started to be rude, something I don't do very often but UGH the horrible customer service in this country!!
"If you don't have cards, what am I supposed to do??"
You'd think that she'd just swallow it and walk away right?? Not in Cuba. She started chewing me out. "Mire, no hay tarjetas�"
"No hay nada-" there isn't anything. I almost said "-en este pais," in this country�but I resisted.
She stood there chewing me out but I didn't listen. I had already started to tear up. I put my face on adrian's shoulder and started crying quietly. I seriously just don't understand how a society functions like this. No hay. There isn't. that's the favorite expression here. And can you IMAGINE living here in the early '90s after the fall of the Soviet Union?? Back then there really WASN'T anything. That's why when Fidel lifted the penalty for leaving everyone left in '94. Funny, that's still all Americans focus on about Cuba, even though it's so much different than that now. I asked Adrian what it was like back then and he said before then, he had been a chubby kid, but during the special period is when he got skinny like he is now. He doesn't feel hunger now, it's weird. He likes to eat but even when his body is hungry he doesn't know what he's feeling. So now he stays skinny because sometimes it doesn't occur to him to eat. I can't imagine growing up in a time like that.

Anyway, today was just that day where I became so sick of everything here. I really just wanted to go home. The bad thing about everybody making close to nothing in their jobs is that no one gives a rat's ass about helping anyone. So on the way home (we walked all the way home along the Malecon) I decided to take us to dinner at the Karl Marx theater. They have a restaurant there that is SOOOO good, and cheap. Well, not cheap in Cuba, but cheap for me. They open the doors for you, pull out your chair, bring everything quickly, etc. I think the service is so great there because the 5% tip is included in the check. Anyway, it doesn't matter 'cause I sat down and ordered a cheeseburger. I almost had a heart attack when the waitress said the hamburgers are made with BEEF. In Cuba, casi no hay beef. Hamburgers by Cuban definition are made with pork, as is everything else. It was seriously the best thing I've eaten here yet. It actually TASTED like a cheeseburger with lettuce and tomato and everything. Dinner cheered me up a little and now I'm just really tired. I'd take a shower and go to bed but I'm waiting here for my parents to call. I think I'm going camping at the beach this weekend and I really should wash some underwear since I only have one clean pair left, but I think I'll do it in the morning if I wake up early enough.

Monday, March 22, 2004. 6:21pm
This weekend Adrian took me to a "campismo". Now, loosely, that means "campsite." Silly me, I thought we were going camping. So, I guess I'll start at the beginning. Technically, you're supposed to arrive at the campismo with a "contract," kind of a pre-registration. You can get it through your place of work or school, but I can't get one because foreigners aren't allowed and Adrian doesn't have a job. But he told me not to worry; we'd still be able to go. We had to leave at 4:30am on Friday morning. I thought I would die from being that tired. We took the P1 to the end, and then took the 462 to Guanabo beach. I was under the impression that the campismo was there, but I was wrong. From there we had to hitchhike. But this is government organized hitchhiking. At a designated place not far from the bus stop there was a Transportation Inspector who was in charge of hailing all cars with blue (government/government owned company) license plates, who are obligated to stop. The inspector selects the next person in line (someday I'll explain the whole Cuban line forming system) and charges them the appropriate amount for where they are going. Now, we ended up with pretty much the rest of the line catching a semi truck with a long flat bed. Don't worry mom, it had walls to hold on to, the only thing is they were really short and kind of flimsy. I had been told it wasn't that far, so I figured hey, no worries. Yeah right. After 50 kilometers and probably an hour (the roads in Cuba are bad and we pulled over 3 or 4 times for the drivers to fix something that kept breaking) of standing in the back of that truck with the wind whipping around me and freezing me to death, we arrived at the entrance to the campismos. We followed the crowd of mostly teenagers and a few families down the long driveway. It was only about 8am and the sun was already really strong. At the first campismo, Las Cuevas, we were told it was pretty much impossible to get a caba�a (a cabin) without a contract. They sent us on to Las Terrazas which was about twice the size. There was a large crowd gathered around the carpeta, the receptionist area. We sat down to wait and Adrian started asking around about people who were willing to "sell" us their cabin for the weekend. He said when people come in groups and they all have contracts, they'll get say, two cabins and only stay in one, then rent out the other one to someone who doesn't have a contract and make a profit. I'm telling you Cubans can find any way to make a profit. Anyway, one guy said he'd sell us a cabin for $12 for the weekend, but then he disappeared. A couple of the employees there told us we should go to the director of the campismo, William, and tell him our plight. That we didn't have a contract because we couldn't get one, we went there to pass the weekend enjoying the nature and everything. They said he was really understanding. When we found him in the cafeteria he just gave us the automatic "no" look before we even opened our mouths. We returned to the carpeta and sat down. A couple of the employees set off looking for other employees that might have a spare cabin. We waited and waited. Eventually William showed up again and asked if we had had any luck with the carpeta. We said we hadn't and he took our id (ok my photocopy of my passport) and said he'd see what he could do. We waited literally 3 hours before Adrian finally got up to look for him. They said he had left, to the empresa which I think is kind of the place that runs the campismos. He came back an hour later and called us into the carpeta. Then he handed us back our IDs and said "sorry they said I can't give you a cabin," and sent us on our way. At that point I was ready to explode. Seriously, make me wait for four hours just for you to say no? I don't think so! I had to pee, so we stopped at the bathroom there. The cabins literally only had enough room for bunks. The bathrooms and showers were outside. When we went into the bathroom I almost had a heart attack. They were holes in the ground with a place to put your feet!! Not only that, the stalls were separated by walls, but there were no doors! I've never used a latrine, nor needed to squat. Ever. I decided I didn't have to pee that badly.

We returned to the first campismo, Las Cuevas, and went straight to the carpeta. Outside the carpeta Adrian asked an employee if he knew how we could a cabin without a contract. He said yes and took us to the man who runs the music. He told us there were people that were supposed to come but hadn't come yet, and if we waited 45 minutes until 3:00 to be sure they weren't coming, we could have the cabin. We went to sit on the porch of the cabin. A few minutes later Adrian ran back to the guy to ask for the key so I could use the bathroom. The cabins at Las Cuevas are high class, they have bathrooms inside the cabin. I didn't look around the cabin until I came out of the bathroom. A drab, crumbling, concrete square with a two person bed on one side and a single on the other. Not really beds, more like wooden platforms. The "mattresses" (slabs of foam covered in old dirty fabric) were folded on a shelf in one corner with a rod over it, serving as a closet. A sink across from the bathroom could be used as a kitchen area for families who brought stoves. At this point I was very exhausted, physically and emotionally, and for some reason all I could focus on is that Adrian had forgotten to bring sheets to put over the mattresses. There is nothing I hate more in the world than a dirty bed. Just imagine the kinds of things that could be there!!! I tried very hard not to pout, realizing that this was what Cubans vacation in. I laid my towel out on one of the mattresses and rolled my sweatshirt up as a pillow. I needed sleep. But then, I don't remember what happened, but I argued with Adrian about something stupid. Maybe it was just that he wanted to go to the pool and I wanted to sleep. As he walked out the door he saw one of the tears rolling down my cheek. The one annoying thing about him is that he can't stand seeing someone cry. Telling me "stop crying, you're a grown-up you shouldn't cry" certainly won't make me stop crying. It just makes it worse. It seems very often here in Cuba that I really just need to sit down and cry. When many frustrating things happen in one day, I find it especially hard to not cry. I never could have imagined that my study abroad experience would be this difficult.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend was really fun. The campismo has just about everything you'd think a resort would have. A HUGE pool that they fill with water out of the ocean (ok it definitely wasn't the cleanest thing ever), a cafeteria that sells cheap food in pesos (TERRIBLE food, but food nonetheless), a snack bar, horse rentals (poorly treated horses), beach access (with petroleum pumps on the shore), and a dance every night from 9 to 12. Both nights there were fights among drunk teenagers that included knives. I only saw the one on Friday that didn't catch enough attention to cause problems. Adrian pulled me up onto a bench and pointed across the crowd. "Look, those guys are arguing, one has a knife." I didn't understand how he could tell from that far away. I couldn't even tell what guy he was talking about. All of the sudden I saw a guy in a white t-shirt hold up a machete. I almost had a heart attack. He was waving it around and yelling and a few other guys were trying to calm him down. It really freaked me out but eventually they pulled him away and everything was settled.

Saturday Adrian and I went down to the beach and hiked along the coastline all the way to this other campground that has been closed. It was less of a beach and more of a rocky coast, but it was amazingly beautiful. After we got to the other campground we hiked further, to a tourist point with a beautiful view. By the time we got back it was almost dark. We were both exhausted and the cafeteria (which I swear never actually HAD food) said it would be another hour before dinner so we went back to the cabin and plopped down for a little nap. When we woke up there wasn't any music so I figured it was around eight or so. Adrian went to see if there was food in the cafeteria. When he came back he told me it was 10:30. Apparently they had turned the music off around 10 because there had been a much bigger fight including several machetes and knives. Apparently these acts of violence are supposedly rare at campismos, but I don't know if I'm convinced.

Sunday we got up a early and I went to take a shower. No water. Then it finally came back on and I started to fill a bucket to flush the toilet. Suddenly the water coming out of the faucet turned black. The water was filled with dark sediment. I wanted a shower so badly !! I felt really gross from all the exercise I had gotten the day before. One of the employees told us to just leave the water on and eventually it would run clear. So much for being clean. Oh well, we ended up renting horses anyway. We went back to the tourist point so I could buy a t-shirt. When we got back on the horses to head back we noticed that one had a very bad foot as well as several open sores, including one on its mouth where the bridle would bother it. The other one also had several open sores around where the saddle rested. We started feeling bad and decided to just walk the horses instead of trotting or galloping. We took a rockier way back and after awhile we just got off and walked, leading the horses most of the way back. We got back late and had to pay more, but I just couldn't justify being a part of exploiting those poor things. We tried to tell the guys that rented out the horses about all the problems but they didn't want to hear it. They just dismissed it like it was nothing. The thing is they make money off of those animals, so it's not in their best interest to give them a break. They figure if you hit 'em hard enough, they'll go. It broke my heart.

We left the campismo too late to catch the last bus back to Havana so we stood at the end of the driveway on the highway to hitch a ride. We ended up getting on a bus that was taking some group of kids from a different campismo back to Cotorro, where Adrian's family lives. We went to his house just for a short visit, but ended up staying long enough for his mom to make us dinner to chat and watch TV afterwards. I was very nervous about meeting his mom, but she turned out to be really nice and I think she liked me. I hope. Before we left Cotorro I HAD to have a pizza "especial de queso" for 8 pesos from Pizzeria La Gorda. It's seriously the best thing ever. I didn't end up getting home till around 12:30 that night. I could barely stay awake on the bus, and I passed out in my bed when I got home.

Thursday, March 25th, 2004. 9.38am
This week has been pretty unexciting so far. I had a seminario in my Marxist-Leninist Philosophy class. It's basically a class discussion over the assigned reading where the teacher poses several questions. We're graded on what we contribute to the discussion. In the last one I didn't talk at all, so I didn't get a grade. I didn't want a repeat of that. So this time I actually studied, and I found something in the reading that I connected to something we had already learned, and focused on that. So then in class I was able to say "Lenin feels that the directors of the party should be the ones who think, decide, and guide the people, but this is very similar to the ideas of the Narodniki who Lenin criticized because they believed that the intellectuals should be the ones to think and guide the people." Ok so my broken Spanish didn't come out quite that smoothly but the teacher understood it and kept telling me what a good reflection that was. Hehe. I got a 5, which is the same as an A, but harder to get here. Hopefully I'll do well on the others and we just won't remember the one I didn't participate in.

Tuesday, March 30th, 2004. 7:33pm
Where will I begin? I guess I haven't written in awhile. I got robbed again. On Thursday. This time it was just my four dollar walmart sunglasses. But still! It's the principle. It was almost my stop on the bus, and these two guys were behind me acting kind of weird. At first I thought they were just cracking dirty jokes about me. I just told myself it was only one more stop. Then I felt some movement in the area of my left breast and looked down quickly. I won't even get started on how many times my butt has been pinched, grabbed, or grinded on while riding that damned bus. I thought I was being accosted again. But when I looked down, I saw one guy's hand ready to go into the hole that has been torn in my bag, right above the outer pocket in which I keep my sunglasses. As soon as I glanced down he moved his hand away quickly. It's one of those situations where you're not sure what you saw, and you don't want to create a scene so you just don't do anything. I gave him a dirty look and hugged my bag close to me with both arms.

After my class I walked to the Internet place on 23 and O to see if the internet was working yet. The glare of the sun was so strong that I could barely see. I went to take out my sunglasses. The pocket was completely empty. I thought back to the night before and distinctly remembered taking my sunglasses off my dresser and putting them in my bag as I cleaned my room. I knew right away that the guy had taken them. I was so angry, so frustrated that I wanted to cry. What gives these people the right to think that just because I'm foreign they can accost and rob me on a daily basis on that damned bus?

I got back on the bus to go home, and around the stop at Paseo and Linea, I finally made it to the back of the bus. I looked to the door, and to my absolute astonishment, the guy who had robbed me was standing on the steps by the door. I began to tremble with anger, and I glared at him long and hard. He sensed my stare and looked at me. We made eye contact, then he looked away and would not look in my direction. "Mira, PSSST," I said really loudly, leaning in his direction. He wouldn't look at me but I kept going. "Do you want to return to me what you stole from me this morning on this same bus? I know you took my sunglasses, I saw your hand in my bag."

I had been told that if you caught someone robbing you on the bus and chewed them out loudly, all the Cubans on the bus would get on his case. However, because he was not being caught in the act and was not standing directly beside me, everyone on the bus acted like I wasn't even talking, just staring blankly ahead, like I was one of those crazy people who just goes off on the bus. By this time I was trembling even harder with anger. The guy wouldn't even look at me. A couple of the people beside me asked what had been stolen and looked at me with a pitying face. But did nothing. I know there was nothing they could do, but they could have at least given the guy a piece of their mind. He got off at the next stop, and I was left standing there half satisfied, still very angry, and still trembling.

Over the last week or so I have just become more and more discontented with this country. The people in La Habana are so rude, so cold. Every day it gets more and more taxing. When we went to Vi�ales I noticed that the people there were a lot friendlier. This leads me to believe that in Havana there's a bit of "big city syndrome" which I'm not used to anyway. But on top of that there's just the people not caring that really gets on my nerves. If I walk up to the counter at a restaurant to ask for a soda, they won't even look at me, let alone ask how they can help me. In order to pry the person's attention from his/her phone conversation, book, other chores, etc., I must either just launch into "Give me a TuKola por favor." Or, the more common method: say, "PSSSST." What's that? They know I'm there, why must I be forced to be as rude as they are? I know all my preachings about cultural relativism are going out the window. I know that to them, this isn't rude. But to me, it's like I'm getting a slap in the face a million times a day. I've resorted to making rude comments in English under my breath every time someone is rude to me. I accidentally did it to an English speaking medical student today and he got mad. Sorry buddy but you were rude to me�. And you're not even Cuban!! I honestly never expected to hate my study abroad experience this much. I resent the fact that I hate it here so much because that makes all those jerks who told me I was insane for going to Cuba right. At least I know that the reasons I don't like it here have nothing to do with the reasons people insisted Cuba would be horrible. "They won't let you out." "It's dangerous there." "Everyone's so miserable there." "People are dying to get out and you want to go there?" None of those things are true, and none of them have anything to do with why I hate it. I just wish I didn't hate it here so much.

Cecilia's coming to visit me a week from Friday. I'm so incredibly excited. It will be so great to have something familiar here. Also, I haven't seen her in over a year!!! Sometimes I don't know what I would do without her. I guess it's kind of clich� to have your freshman year roommate be one of your best friends, but it's true. I tell her absolutely everything. She's been there for me in my most painful moments, she knows exactly who I am. What a shame she lives so far away. But yay!!!! She's coming to visit me!!! I mean, who can resist visiting her friend who's studying on a Caribbean island famous for its beaches??

Life In Cuba:
March 2004

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