How I Learned to Dance the Ola

In class yesterday morning a very hyperactive woman came to talk to us about Cuban architecture. Included in her presentation was the mention of the Escuelas Nacionales del Arte which are located in Miramar. From the pictures she showed us, the campus was absolutely insane - before the revolution the area was a golf course, and (per Che's request) architects were hired to design a structure which organically integrated a structure into its surroundings.

Here's an aerial picture that I found online which shows a bit of it:There are several parts for theater, ballet, modern dance, fine arts, and music.

So we had a couple free hours yesterday afternoon and figured we'd go check it out. Six of us jumped in a cab, and we got dropped off in front of the main entrance to the campus.

About a half hour later, we had tried to enter via two different gates, having asked two different security guards if we could go in. Turns out that only students of the school are allowed to enter (not even their parents can visit without permission) and international visitors like us need a guided tour. Apparently a casual stroll through a school's campus is not allowed. As one kid was about to enter (with a music case in hand) we asked him if he knew how to get us in. He was about to conspire with us when the security guard started waving his finger at him to shut him up. Oh well.

Rather disheartened, we walked away, looking for the magical supermarket or a park in the area where we could enjoy the sunshine and try to salvage our disappointing afternoon. While walking past a gas station, we heard a guy yell, "Hey, want a ride?" He was standing next to an old school bus which was getting filled up. Presumably just a pass at us, we ignored him at first, until we thought about the possibilities of taking him up on his offer. "Yeah!" we yelled, and he ran over, saying that he was just joking, that they were a group of students so they really didn't have room for extras. We chatted for a bit, and he told us that they were headed somewhere outside the city. He also asked us where we're from, and when we said the United States, he made an odd noise like "Ayee-eeee!" which was notable. Anyway, after telling him that we live in Vedado, he sprinted back to the bus, chatted with the driver and one of the teachers, and sprinted back, reporting that if we paid a dollar each we could get on, and would get a ride back to Vedado.

The bus was full of kids our age who were all wearing black-and-white ensembles (or at least the majority were) and they squished over in their seats to give us room to sit. One of the girls kept turning back to her teacher to ask him what she should ask me because she wanted to talk to me, but couldn't think of anything to say. I got some interesting questions regarding my age, if I smoke or drink, the types of music I prefer, and my favorite color. I found out later that the teacher she was speaking with is actually their English teacher. His English was a bit iffy, Chelsea reported after. Turns out they were all culinary students, hence the black-and-white garb. I really wanted to tell them how terrible Cuban food is, but I didn't have the heart to mention anything of the sort. The kid who had originally yelled to us is the English teacher's best student (which we could easily believe, as his English was much, much better than the teacher's).

But then, a guitar case was passed from the back of the bus to the front. The kid that had originally yelled to us at the gas station was given the guitar, and everyone cheered. When he took it out of the case he saw that the bottom string was broken, paused, but decided to play anyway. That's when the entire bus started singing a Cuban pop song to us. Quite spectacularly we found that the terrible dance move known as "the wave" is a universal phenomenon, though with some variation. The fabulous gal who was sitting next to Courtney started "LA OLA!" in which one's hands are thrown in the air then swooshed down low, returning up in the air again. We all started doing it, and one kid leaned over to me to tell me that I wasn't putting my hands high enough in the air. With increased enthusiasm, I mastered La Ola to his standards.

Emma's on the left:

The woman on the right (who I assume is a teacher) does not like the music. The gal on the left is an example of a perfectly fabulous Cuban chica:
So in the end, our afternoon was completely unlike anything we could have considered planning, but it was spectacular. After the bus ride, the entire trip to Miramar was worth it.