A Tale Of Cuban Adventure.

Walking around the streets of old Habana is like entering into a time capsule. All around you are restored, or beaten up cars from the 1950s and 1960s painted wild and vibrant colors. The colors and conditions of the cars seem to blend perfectly with the Caribbean background, luscious trees and brightly colored flowers that litter the scenery. On Obisbo Street there is store after store selling everything from pizza, to art, to memorabilia. The art galleries are filled floor to ceiling with paintings so vibrant that their color palate seems to come from the scenery itself. You can buy a half shell of coconut filled with coconut ice cream while milling about and taking in the life around you.

Nearly all the buildings and houses all have a flare of Spanish architecture and give you a feeling that you are wondering through history. Some of the buildings have been rejuvenated in downtown Habana with a government recuperation project, but the majority of the others stand in different states of disrepair. Paint chipping off the walls, iron balcony’s rusting and filled with drying laundry. The once stately manors have been turned into multiple family homes or government buildings. When driving on what used to be Park Avenue of Habana you can sense the forgotten glory of the estates of the sugar kings. One particularly ostentatious estate now houses an ATM at what used to be a grand front door.

The grand houses still stand, but their glory has faded, they no longer represent wealth and success. Many of the houses have been slowly restored, but instead of a massive overhaul the restoration takes place over time. A house may have a beautiful coat of paint, yet shutters that are still crumbling. Some of the former one family homes now look more like apartment buildings than grandiose estates.

The majority of the people live simply. A doctor’s house is similar to what many late 20 year olds would have as an apartment. A full bath, living/dining room, kitchen, several bedrooms and closets, no rooms left unoccupied or infrequently used. Even the most pristine houses near the pristine Varadero beaches are houses that by US standards would be a starter home or a middle class home. Living room with separate dining room, kitchen, patio, several bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and clean-cut floors, furniture and light fixtures maybe even a back or front yard. These houses are nice, well kept and grand on a Cuban scale, but nothing compared to the sprawling manors of the US.

Driving along the coast to get to Varadero beach you can see miles of untouched forests, full and vibrant with life, densely covering the mountains. The coastline varies from rocky to sandy. Although you pass some factories and oil refineries for large stretches there is pure, untouched land. The beaches of Varadero beach are white sand beaches with calm crystal blue water. Although this is the most trafficked tourist beach in Cuba the sand remains largely free of liter and it is possible to find a spot where you can sit down and no one is within 50 years of you. There are a few resorts that line the beach front, nothing more than 7 stories high, but for the most part there is foliage with houses tucked in.

Throughout the day and night the streets are filled with vibrant life and lively people. Only occasionally will you get asked by a panhandler for money or overly pressured to enter a store, but never so much you start to feel uncomfortable for your safety. There is not a single child working on the street selling gum or food. It is rare to stumble across a disheveled homeless person, although it happens.

At night young people gather on the Malercon, the “couch of Habana.” A long, low wall that stretches along the waterfront where you can gather to sit, dance, drink, and waste the night away with friends. There are also dance clubs that play vivacious music and lead to sensual and sensational dancing.

This is the image I leave you with of Cuba. A land shrouded in mystery that houses friendly, vibrant people largely unknown to the American people. A land full of colors and life in every sense of the word that is untouched. A small island nation that is presented as America’s enemy and filled with so many questions it is hard to unravel.

Recently I was fortunate enough to go to Cuba with my grandmother, mother and several family friends. We went as part of a religious delegation. Under current US law religious delegations are allowed to obtain visas to go to Cuba to strengthen the relationships between the Cuban and American religious organizations. I would like to preface this part of my story by saying that this was not exactly your typical vacation. A part of me would not consider it a vacation at all due to the amount of meetings and events we attended. This was a bizare trip partly because it wasthe first trip that I took with real people that were not peace corps volunteers. I throught it was totally normal to say things like !”thats some fucked up shit” and eat with my hands when knives seemed inconvient. I realized I will have a lot to adjust to wjen I return stateside. Anyways back to cuba...

When I was 13 we went to Cuba, but I think I was too young to really appreciate what I was seeing. What I can really remember from that trip was being exposed to papaya for the first time and initially thinking it tasted like poop, although I have since come around to the fruit. Having a celebration with Elian Gonzalez and his entire family and being overwhelmed by how quickly everyone was speaking Spanish. In one conversation the only word I understood was “tierra” (earth). Going to the tobacco factory and later smuggling cigars into the country because my parents felt my suitcase would be less likely to be searched.

Clearly.

And finally I remember falling asleep at the dining room table after eating dinner with Fidel Castro. Castro is notorious for long conversations and being a master of communication. I would agree with the fact that he is a brilliant orator but my 13-year-old self became overwhelmed with exhaustion at 1:00 am when he and my parents go lost in an intricate conversation about municipal development. You would think one of the most vilified political figures in the 20th century would be bothered, or at least notice, that someone from the country that actively presents itself as Cuba’s enemy, fell asleep in the middle of one of his sentences. In fact he simply told my mom to move me to the couch outside and kept weaving in and out of conversations with my family for another hour. He did not seem remotely phased that I could not keep up with his marathon conversation. Maybe I wasn’t the first.

It is always a slightly odd experience going to Cuba because Fidel is one of the most polarizing political figures in modern political history. As a result it is hard to get a clear picture of what the country is actually like. What the lives of the average citizens are like and what are their feelings towards their situation, livelihood and government. It’s hard to actually look at the country without being shrouded in stereotypes, mystery and unbearable curiosity. I am not saying that I got a clear and balanced picture of Cuban life but I made my best effort to ask questions, explore and find out some answers that always prodded my mind.

This trip to Cuba was very different, not only because I am now 23, but also because I can speak Spanish. When you speak the language you can gain a clearer picture of the reality at hand. I am not going to pretend that I got a completely even-handed picture of everyone’s perception of the Revolution or life in Cuba. The majority of the people I spent substantial time with were members of the government or members of the Cuban Council of Churches, and a handful of artisans, street vendors and families of political prisoners. So there are shades of grey.

When we went to Elian Gonzalez’s house we saw how he has turned into a healthy young man, regardless of the political battle he was the center of when he was 7. He lives in a nice house not far from the Varadero beaches. Once one of the most notorious children in the US, who got caught in political warfare between the US and Cuba is now a happy and healthy 20 year old boy. He lives with his family and is in a serious relationship with a girl from University where he is studying Business Administration. This child who became the center of every news cycle, entangled in legal battles, and almost unable to return to live with his father, stepmother, brothers, and grandmothers because his uncles wanted to prove a point about the US and the evilness of Castro, is now a humble young man. He has been able to mature outside of the spotlight of prying eyes and live with a family that loves him. This served to prove the point my grandmother, who was heavily involved in his rescue, always said, “governments don’t raise kids. Families raise kids.” Sometimes you have to look beyond the problems of government to the people that lay underneath.

One of the most interesting things said to me during my visit was from the President of the Cuban Council of Churches. He said (paraphrase from memory) we recognize that Fidel is not a perfect man. We know that he made mistakes, especially at the beginning of the revolution, when he was a young revolutionary heavily influenced by the policies of the Soviet Union. But as the churches of Cuba we choose to forgive, we choose to look towards the positive and remember the things that we have gained from the revolution as a way of moving towards an untied future.

If we think about it what political figure hasn’t made mistakes? I feel like the 24-hours news cycle survives pointing out the mistakes of American political figures. And if anyone says our politicians are perfect to that I say George W. Bush. No government is perfect. But I think it is telling that the churches are willing to recognize the mistakes of the past, forgive but not forget. They support and remember the good; the benefits such as free mandatory education, food stipends and world-class medical care for free, instead of engraining themselves in blame of past mistakes. They work to create a culture of forgiveness, not forgetting the mistakes of the past but working to create a better future through unity.

Every person that we met was not as Zen about the government. One member of the parliament we met during our trip was the opposite of what the American image of Cuba would lead you to believe was in parliament. One shocking fact, to me at least, the parliament is elected. And since it is a socialist society there is only a brief biography about each candidate, which do not all necessarily share the exact same views. In my opinion, voting seems much simpler because there aren’t millions of dollars funneled into campaigns. This allows janitors, farmers and teachers to become members of parliament instead of relegating politics to the elite class.

But back to Mr. Parliament man. He was the definition of a showman and a chatty Cathy. Perpetually pulling the spotlight to himself. Sometimes saying outlandish or controversial things. He told us his wife once asked him if he was scared about being so outspoken, to wit he responded let them come after me if they want pretty much, criticism is the only way to get the government to do what the people want and need. To this point no one has arrested him, although I came close to throwing something at him. There is a level of freedom, political discourse and public awareness of the power of the people that is not presented in the American dialogue of Cuba. I’m not saying that it is a perfect system but there was a level of trust and respect, namely born from the access to education and health care. There are problems but there are certain things, namely the education and health care, which Cubans are passionate about never loosing. Just like any other society there are people that stand in opposition to the government. Those that fear it, or have problems with their situation or think it is not doing enough. One man we met, Ariel, was a one legged street vendor who was very frank with us about his dislike of the Cuban government. He told us that people are not paid enough for what they need to buy, and the only really good jobs are in the hotels, restaurants and taxis where tips serve to supplement incomes. He had tried to escape by boat 3 times to join his father in the US, but according to him there are sharks that surround the boat waiting for it to sink and eat you. None of us had the courage to ask if he in fact lost his leg to one of these hungry sharks. He saw the US as a land of opportunity and freedom but now he has given up his quest to venture there. He has bitterly accepted the opportunities available to him and works hard selling his music to earn an income.

Ariel represents a rising number of independent businessmen who pay for a government license and then are able to open art studios, restaurants, street food stands, or sell music and memorabilia on the street. His main complaint was the lack of strong economic opportunities versus the cost of living on the island. It is difficult to find a balance when you have an embargo with the one of the most powerful nations in the world and have to ship nearly everything from Japan, China, Brazil or other countries thousands of miles away. There is also a special “Cuba tax” implemented by most companies that protects them if the US decides to invoke economic penalties for dealing with a country they have an embargo against. So buy the time an average Cuban goes to the store the products are 3 to 5 times their original price.

The one thing that I do have to give the Cuban government credit for is its adaptability in the last 10 years. I am making this point based on the increased amount of small business ownership present in Havana. I have seen many changes since the last time I was there and although I am hardly saying that Cuba is a perfect government at least it has come adaptability, which in the face of growing bipartisan rigidness in the US Senate I think we could use some adaptability.

But even as I say this, I remember there was also one man that came up to us in church looking like the CIA was chancing him. He said that we had to help him because we speak English. People are scared of the government and we had to help his cause because we could communicate in English to everyone else. I cannot say where this fear grew from but unless he is paranoid it grew from somewhere.

Their voices served to show us that things are not a utopia socialism, there are problems with unemployment, dissatisfaction and frustration even fear. I think that these are the things that the US dialogue focus on when they are talking about Cuban society. But at the same time don’t these problems exist in a capitalist society? I don’t think a single American can say at this point in our history that they haven’t felt the pangs of unemployment or underemployment or dissatisfaction and frustration with the government. In my opinion that is how we have to change the dialogue between the US and Cuba; instead of looking to them and saying “prove it,” show me why your system is so awesome there should be an open dialogue. Because isn’t the fear of drowning under medical bills or college debt something that plagues millions of Americans? Neither society is perfect, neither is imperfect, that is what we have to accept. Throughout my trip I was exposed to what has to be one of the most under told stories in US history, the Cuban 5. The Cuban 5 are Cuban political prisoners that have been held in US jails for 15 years. Naturally since I was with my family I ended up in a press conference discussing the Cuban 5 in Spanish. Just your average family vacation. Since this entry is already pretty long I don’t want to go into the whole story right now and overwhelm this entry. All I want to say is that it was heartbreaking to listen to the stories from their families and really makes you question the integrity of the US government with regards to Cuba and the influence of the Miami anti-Castro Cubans.

The things that never enter into the American dialogue are the effects of the embargo on medical care, on both sides of the embargo. For instance since the Cubans have to ship things from thousands of miles away they sometimes run out of things or simply cannot purchase it. One such item that they frequently have a shortage of is batteries for cochlear implants. So you can get the implant but it may run out of batteries and you could have to wait far too long to replace it. They also frequently run short chemotherapy treatments for children. The most innocent members of society, who had nothing to do with Castro’s Revolution, can be sentenced to death due to lack of medicine.

But this is a two way street. After Hurricane Katrina Cuba offered the US 100 doctors to New Orleans. These are world-class doctors that come from one of the strongest health systems in the world. They each had a backpack packed with their personal food and water supplies and medical supplies to help the US citizens, but President Bush refused to let them enter the country. Even though it would have cost absolutely nothing to the American people and there were American citizens living in a life-threatening and parlous situation. We also can’t have access to the Meningitis vaccine that has been developed in Cuba because that would violate the terms of the embargo.

These are the stories that we never get to hear. The dialogue that is largely inexistent. The reason I am going so in-depth into some political opinions is because these are some of the things I was exposed to on my trip. I think that these are the things that we never get to learn and it is what I personally chose to investigate. This is the image of Cuba that was formed throughout my trip. I had my eyes opened to many things. Some doors opened as many questions as answers. But for the most part I found that the Cuban people were vivacious people who did not hate the US, much as we would are to believe. It is a place I hope you all can be exposed to and form your won opinions.

Semana Santa

So this is long over due but this is the story of semana santa…. In Peru the holy week leading up to Easter is quite a festival, equip with countless parades and what I believe to be the worlds largest tower with a Jesus on top to celebrate his resurrection. This year I decided to actually go to a place where they celebrate semana santa instead of the alternate party world of Peru’s beaches which I did last year. So I went up to Ayacucho, a sierra city about 6 hours away from my site to. Ayacucho is the biggest Semana Santa celebration in all of Peru. Literally there are walls of people around every turn making it suffocating to breathe sometimes and can get extremely claustrophobic when you are used to a mere 150 people in your site.

Getting to Ayacucho was no easy feet. Although it is only 6 hours from my site, the same amount of time it takes me to get to my regional capital, the trip was far more perilous. For starters the road going down to the coast is windy for about 2 hours but then it becomes a straight highway. The road to Ayacucho on the other hand is a wildly curvy road that goes up to almost 5,000 meters. On the way up we went in a car that went slowly around the crazy curves, but also exposed us to another part of the travel. When you are driving to Ayacucho you drive through some of the most impoverished countryside in Peru. Normally isn’t a lot of tourist traffic throughout the year, the people of this area aprovechar any moment that there is heavy tourist traffic. It’s hard to not see an easy buck when there are Range Rovers and Beamers ripping through a largely commercial highway.

In order to trap cars and get some money people would stand on either side of the road holding a make shift rope up in the hopes that the car would stop rather than going through the rope. Luckily the rope would break if you drove through it or I think we would have been in some serious trouble. It was a really startling image to see kids trying to rope a car in or running alongside a car in order to make a sol. As interesting the trip up in a car was the bus trip down really tested your ability to not throw up all over everyone and have a panic attack. The bus would whip around the sharp curves with excessive speed and make you pray for your life. In short the trip to Ayacucho is not the world’s easiest trip.

I am happy to report that I made it too and from all in one piece and was able to enjoy my vacation. Normally there are very few tourists that go to Ayacucho so the sudden massive increase of people makes it glaringly obvious how little the city is prepared for crowd control. There are lines of people walking too and from, participating in what seems to be perpetual parades. Packing into 7 churches at 7pm on Good Friday. Milling in the artisan markets that have some of the most beautiful handcrafts in all of Peru. Overwhelming the Pampa de Quiona, a beautiful hilltop with an obelisk statue that was one of the main battlegrounds in the Peruvian fight for freedom. Cramming the plaza during the running of the bulls, creating what Americans would consider a public health hazard.

There were several moments where death seemed like a likely option. The main one being de running of the bulls when angry bulls were running through a crowded plaza. Naturally. Apparently the bulls were much more controlled than in previous years but that still didn’t mean that they didn’t try to kill a bitch. Once I got knocked over when I tripped on a curb while masses of people were pushing back to get out of the way. Another we made a game time decision to switch to the other side of the street. Turns out that this was a good game time decision because right after we moved a bull went barreling into the crowd nearly spearing a guy we were standing next to. And finally one time we were far away from where the bulls were let out to run and thought we were relatively safe. Unfortunately it was just at this point that the bull got loose and started bucking around like a Wildman uncomfortably close to us.

But in light of all the masses of people and the occasional brush with death it is a beautiful celebration. The city even goes so far as to print up banners that say Ayacucho Es Semana Santa. This means Ayacucho is the holy week. An aggressive claim if you ask me. But they do a good job of living up to their own hype. There is a reason that this is one of the biggest tourist events in Peru.

During the week there are different events in the city throughout the week. Random processions or reenactments of parts of Christ’s life are a just a typical day. At first I thought it was weird, but after a while it just became standard. Every day the processions reenact a new moment of Christ’s life, culminating in his resurrection. The processions start from the crucifixion, with the entire roman squad filing through the street whipping Jesus with a cross. The following day there is a procession mourning his death. There is an ever-classy plastic body in a casket and a giant mourning Virgin Mary. I have to admit it was a bit strange seeing a replica Christ be carried through the plaza in a light glass casket. Even though I knew he was fake there was just something eerie about it.

The last day of Semana Santa, or really dawn, 6am, there is a procession representing the resurrection of Jesus. This is no ordinary procession. Every parade up until this point seems to be growing is size and ostentatiousness. On Easter Eve leading into Easter morning there is a party in the plaza. This is an all night party with fireworks going off every few hours and castillas lining the streets. The castillas are basically bamboo structures that have fireworks and sparklers attached. Normally when something comes fling off a castilla it goes up into the air, but for some reason this year there was an abnormal number of defects in the castillas. So instead of red sparkler shooting hearts flying up into the air they were shooting unto buildings while the occasional sparking circle came crashing into the crowd. Safety-first children. Safety first.

When I managed to not get burned alive by flying sparks, or the bon fires they were forming in the streets. Oh, I forgot to mention there were bonfires being constructed in the streets with drunk men getting far far too close to the flames. I stayed up dancing and chatting in the street. My friend John and I were drinking with some Peruvian friends and as a side not Peruvians really know how to drink. I was trying to pace myself and not become a drunken hot mess before the resurrection of Jesus. In my effort to maintain sobriety I was constantly ridiculed for my inability to drink. But what ya gonna do. Of course the only moment of the night that I felt inebriated was the moment that Jesus came out of the church resurrected. I have to admit I felt very sacrilegious. Jesus appeared in full glory with the rising of the sun. Around 6 am a giant ass Jesus came out of the main church on the plaza. This structure must have been 10 feet tall and at least 6 feet wide. The base of it was a pyramid covered in what looked like white crystal candles, with a Jesus regally standing on top. It took about 15 men to carry the structure and every 20 feet or so they had to take a rest and change shoulders.

As the giant Jesus made his way through the plaza people sang hymns and celebrated his resurrection. I have to say it was one of the most interesting ways I have ever seen in to celebrate the holy week. You know running of the bulls followed by building human pyramids in the plaza and getting hosed down by drunken firemen. Obviously.