The Gang Flies in an Airplane

This weekend was time for the schedule group trip to Santiago de Cuba. A province down the other end of the island, we had to take a plane there. Exciting stuff.

Also exciting was that we got to go to Guantanamo. The city was rather unremarkable, though it was interesting to ruminate on the possible terrristz that were caged about ten miles away. Interesting. We weren't allowed to see the base (even from across the river) because of security reasons. Word on the street is that too many Cubans were swimming across the river to get to the base so that they were on US soil, so that made them cut back on tourist-viewing fun.

The bus ride to and from was absolutely stunning, however. I've never seen such beautiful land.


Fun things about the city/province of Santiago de Cuba:
1. Hot, hot sun. A lot hotter than in Havana. A lot further south.
2. Annoying, annoying men. A lot more annoying than in Havana. A lot more obnoxious.
3. Decent, decent cheese. A lot more decent than in Havana. A lot more edible.

Beyond that, the only event I felt the need to chronicle in my trusty moleskin(e) was the airport fun surrounding our return to Havana on Sunday. The following will be copied from said location.

Arriving at the Anthony Maceo airport in Santiago de Cuba at 3:00 pm, we checked the sreen of the flight times, seeing that ours had been changed from 5:00 to 6:10. Profe muttered something about how the flight time had changed from 5:30 to 5. Okay.

I find out a bit later (removed from Profe's earshot) that the airline had called him last Monday or Tuesday to tell him about the change to 5:00. He neglected to call after that to make sure all was the same. He didn't confirm a Sunday Cuban flight's time for at least five days before it occurred (and only did so then because THEY had called HIM).

It's now eight minutes of 5:00 and we've sat on the curb for an hour, checked in our bags, sat on the floor for a while, went through security, and I wrote this. Throughout said activities one - no, two - things have not occurred: 1. Profe has not admitted his mistake, rather saying that the change in time was sudden and unexpected. 2. I have only become more angry.

Time to read some Catch-22 for a bit.

--

A while later we noticed that our flight had disappeared from the flight list. We asked Profe if he knew what was going on. He did not know what was going on. Finally, upon coercion, he took a walk around the waiting area. He then asked the security guys if they knew anything about the flight. They did not (because they are security). Reaching the conclusion that it's probably because the flight is delayed, he sits down in his chair and takes the nap in an odd vertical fetal position.

Asking him to figure things out again, he finds no information. Courtney then decides to ask the airport people if they know anything. She finds out that our plane had left Haiti (its previous location) and should be arriving within the hour. We would probably be boarding around 8:00. Yes, the professor who is in charge of us all (or is being paid to be so) and is fluent in Spanish, and has traveled in Cuba many times, was not able to retrieve the information that Courtney, a 21-year-old student still learning Spanish, could get.

The following are notes from the rest of the evening:

7:13
"We are the world, We are the children" music video is now playing on TV above our heads. Leonard (Dr. Brown) yells, two times, "It's Michael Jackson! Back when he was still black!"

7:16
No flights on the board.

7:18
Cubana flight se fue (this was a different flight to Havana scheduled to leave at 7:15). Still no flights on the screen. European boy whose outfit has orange highlights (orange underwear showing slightly, an orange arm patch, and an orange tote bag) is now drinking a refresco naranja.

7:21
On the TV the third Shakira music video in the past hour is now playing.

7:22
A man in all gray has a José Martí mustache. Is he made of marble?!

7:25
Dancing and snapping to the beat of a Cuban folk song that's playing has led to concerned stares from at least five European tourists.

7:25
Cubana flight leaves gate.

7:28
Profe notices Cubana flight's absence, and announces this, standing up with a flourish.

7:30
An awkward, overweight European tourist in a tie-dye t-shirt is staring at me as he absent-mindedly bumps his large body against the bar along to the beat of the music playing.

7:30
"That's supposed to be our plane and that other one's already left so [hands waving] yeh know..." - Profe, referring to a white, unidentified plane which he speculated to be CIA, joking about this twice

7:34
Britney Spears' "Toxic" is now on the TV. We moved to a different seats for a better view. Singing along. Evil stares from European tourists.

7:38
Shakira video number four.

7:43
Ricky Martin's "Maria" video is on. Awkward chair dancing commences. Euro tourists continue to drown in their own misery.

7:46
Marc Anthony. Eh. Once again reminding us that everyone else gets Marc Anthony but Americans. Make it stop.

7:49
Door rustling. OUR MOMENT?!?! Profe's bag is ON.

7:50
Chels confirmed that it's our flight.

8:00
Went pee. Returned from the bathroom to find no progress. Profe's bag is on and his cane is in one hand.

8:07
Eagles' "Hotel California" on now. Euro tourists are slightly less pained.

--

9:09
Just served soda on the flight. Seating is as follows: Six seats, three facing the other three. Two tourists and Profe sit on one side. Steph, Danny and I sit on the other.

I write this whilst balancing my notebook, napkin, muffin, water, purse, and soda on my lap and the seat. Directly facing someone means:
1. No leg room
2. Awkward eye contact every time you look up
3. No pocket/tray on the seat in front of you
4. Nowhere even to put your purse

The French man across from me is reading a novel, has a white scarf on, white linen pants, and a black button-up short-sleeved shirt. His legs keep extending to under my seat. He slightly resembles Kurt Vonnegut in facial features, and has a smoker's cough. At the moment, I dislike him immensely, though in reality I'm rather fond of him. He has a mole on his left cheek and another on the right side of his forehead. These are things one learns about a stranger she's staring at for a couple hours.

The woman next to him has tan linen pants, a jean jacket, and the face of a conservative mother of three boys. We have made eye contact at least nine times. I wonder if she does have three boys. I suppose I could ask her, but I don't know French. Her hair is short, but not too short. Her hands are very feminine. She is napping right now.

--

Thus concludes the airport/airplane narration. Exciting, exciting stuff. We ended up getting home around 11:30 and were greeted with enthusiastic hugs from Maria and dinner on the table waiting (even though we told her not to).

The internet is being exceptionally slow this evening, so I cannot add pictures at the moment. I will make sure to add them later for the greatest reading experience.