The following is the first installment in a series of entries regarding the 4-day trip to Matanzas.
A couple weeks ago we decided that it would be fun to assign Harry Potter characters to the people present in our Cuban lives. We successfully found matches for quite a few, including (but not limited to):
Dr. Retamar (Head of Casa) - Professor Albus Dumbledore
Maria - Professor Minerva McGonagall
Chino - Sirius Black
Professor Víctor Fowler - Professor Mad-Eye Moody
Gerardo - Arthur Weasley
Sonya - George Weasley
Courtney - Fred Weasley
Steph - Ginny Weasley
Professor Brown - Remus Lupin
Chelsea - Hermione Granger
Me - Nymphadora Tonks
There are others, to be sure, though some are less flattering comparisons than others. Why do I mention this? Well, because the past weekend has been spent in Matanzas, a province to the east of La Habana province. All of us were looking forward to this trip, not realizing what a logistical nightmare we had ahead of us. You see, the man who organized the trip is much like the character Cornelius Fudge (with a little bit of Professor Lockhart mixed in too).
Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, is, above all, a politician. Prominent among his talents is the ability to convince himself that a problem may be solved by avoiding its acknowledgement. Also impressive is his raw determination in the ignoring of the wants and needs of all other human beings beyond his own.
Our trip to Matanzas began on Thursday afternoon. Piling onto a tour/short bus, we delighted in the possibility of a couple hours' relaxation whilst listening to our iPods. With only a commute on foot each day, we all look forward to trips in buses that afford us some time to listen to music and simply watch what passes our windows. Along with the short bus, however, we found that a funny little man in a Canadian Tuxedo accompanied us. Sporting an unfortunate face which makes me think of that line from the short story "A Good Man is Hard to Find," in which one of the characters is described as having a face "as honest as a grapefruit."
This man had a face as honest as a grapefruit.
He also had a microphone.
Silently we all began to grieve the loss of those precious, music-listening hours we had looked forward to all week, and resigned ourselves to hearing about the José Martí shrine, the history of the revolution, the national plant (La Palma Real), the national bird (I have chosen not to remember its name on principle), and the meaning of the different colors of the license plates on Cuban cars. Abandoning social decorum, most of us put our headphones on after about twenty minutes, drowning out the monologue.
At the end of the bus ride, we were walking toward the hotel when Sonya asked our Cornelius Fudge a simple question.
Sonya: So what is the room situation?
Fudge: Huh?
Sonya: Are we being assigned rooms?
Fudge: Uhh, well, uhh, uhh.. they're double. Double.
Sonya: Well, yeah, but I mean, who are we rooming with? Is that assigned?
Fudge: Uhh, umm... make sure you room with someone you like!
This did not answer the question. This merely avoided it. This was the first indication that our leader had not a clue what he was talking about, and wasn't ready to admit this.
Okay, I lied. This certainly was not the first indication, but it IS the first indication that I can remember in detail enough to recount.
So, we go to our rooms. Steph and I ended up rooming together after we figured out that we were allowed to choose with whom we were staying. Good. Then when it was time for dinner, we all met down in the lobby. There's a cute stray dog that stays in the lobby area, and I named her Eloise because of this. I was petting Eloise when Cornelius Fudge came up to me, saying, "This dog try to sniff your butt, too?" presumably in reference to the dog we had seen the day before that did, in fact, sniff people's butts. This is because it was a dog, and that's what dogs do. But this comment was shocking, and I chose not to reply.
Dinner was interesting. There were several courses (of mediocre Cuban food) and flowers on the table for an extra flourish. Following the meal was a Cabaret performance featuring underfed Cubans shimmying on stage half-naked. It was all very sad, and rather depressing. It was also a little creepy. (Oh, and the MC was wearing a hat with a Jamaican pot leaf on it.) All of this was outside, and we found out the next day that the temperature had been 45 degrees, and we certainly did not have winter coats (the majority of us with only flipflops to wear, for example). For several hours we had to sit outside to watch this show. The best part? The dinner and show cost so much money that, even though we had been told previously that dinner would be included in the price of the trip, no other dinners were now to be paid for. Fudge had blown the entire budget on an excessively extravagant meal, leaving us to pay for our own dinners for the rest of the trip (and, of course, did not even own up to this fact). The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful, or seemed to be from my perspective as I struggled to stay away and keep from shivering too hard while the dance show went on. I heard later the Fudge had tried to pocket the complementary bottle of rum for himself.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Showing posts with label canadian tuxedo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label canadian tuxedo. Show all posts
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Denim + Denim = Fun For Everyone
Changes in weather bring out the effects of one's internal instincts, their biological core's messages. On rainy evenings one can find earthworms struggling in puddles as they have moved to the pavement from the soil. In anticipation of a snowstorm, birds frantically gather food to withstand the oncoming crisis. Humans are much the same way, revealing their own vulnerability through changes in weather. On a rainy morning as the earthworms squirm, sorostitutes (sorority prostitutes) are seen traipsing down Boston sidewalks sporting Burberry rainboots, ecstatic to sport their impractical purchase whenever appropriate to the weather.
In Cuba, as a cold front moves in, temperatures plummet to frigid depths, reaching an unbearable 60 degrees fahrenheit. The sea-breeze is overwhelming, driving Havana natives to search for shelter out of the wind, huddling desperately in order to avoid frostbite. Instinct drives them to curious rituals, most notably excessive complaining about the cold, and the Canadian Tuxedo.
The Canadian Tuxedo is not meant as an affront to any of the lovely individuals residing in Canada. It is merely the term for outfits which feature both denim pants and a denim jacket. Considered the epitome of tacky fashion choices, (second to fannypacks and spandex, also both common here) the Canadian Tuxedo is generally avoided in the United States, and as such, this American writing has not had the opportunity to observe many of them in action. In Cuba, however, I have seen so many that a CTC (Canadian Tuxedo Count) accompanies many mornings' walks to class. The most I had seen was eight, and this was on one of the more frigid days.
Today was rather chilly, the highest temperature reaching approximately 65 degrees. The walk to class proved fruitful, and the CTC had already reached 11 before Siglo class. Already it was the best day ever.
We ended up going to the 'burbs to see some examples of individual gardens for permacultura movement in Cuba - this is meant to encourage the people to find a balance with their environment, feeding themselves from their crops, and helping to improve the environment by cutting down on the transportation required to bring produce to their local co-ops. This trip proved thrilling as it gave me more opportunities to seek out Canadian Tuxedos. From the humble Casa van, I saw many variations on the look: the classic medium wash denim jacket and matching pants, the tailored jean jacket with a jean skirt on the ladies, a light denim jacket with dark denim pants, and many others. Of course there are rules regarding the CTC, as established by the conductors of this count themselves. Though quite impressive, those sporting white denim cannot be counted as a true Canadian tuxedo. Acid wash is acceptable. Varying levels of darkness between articles of clothing is not only acceptable, but is encouraged. Creativity is revered. Blue hats are considered the ultimate accessory for the CT; like a formal tuxedo when accompanied by a top-hat, the CT has reached its potential with a blue head adornment.
By the end of the trip, the van pulled up in front of our building and I felt triumphant. My modest estimate that afternoon had hovered around 80 CTs, as the sun became more prominent, and the temperature was rising to the upper 60's. This increase in warmth was distressing, as I pictured Cubans all over the country shedding their denim jackets, leaving their jean pants woefully unaccompanied. Fortunately, I was wrong. As I removed my cardigan, the Cubans continued to wear their jackets proudly. Surpassing all previous estimates, the final count reached the illustrious number of 122.
122 reasons to love today. 122 reasons to smile. 122 reasons to never take fashion advice from a Cuban.
I took a few photos, but have concealed their identities in order to protect the innocent. After all, this isn't their fault. They just haven't been educated. (I'm not sure if I blame the embargo or not...)
In Cuba, as a cold front moves in, temperatures plummet to frigid depths, reaching an unbearable 60 degrees fahrenheit. The sea-breeze is overwhelming, driving Havana natives to search for shelter out of the wind, huddling desperately in order to avoid frostbite. Instinct drives them to curious rituals, most notably excessive complaining about the cold, and the Canadian Tuxedo.
The Canadian Tuxedo is not meant as an affront to any of the lovely individuals residing in Canada. It is merely the term for outfits which feature both denim pants and a denim jacket. Considered the epitome of tacky fashion choices, (second to fannypacks and spandex, also both common here) the Canadian Tuxedo is generally avoided in the United States, and as such, this American writing has not had the opportunity to observe many of them in action. In Cuba, however, I have seen so many that a CTC (Canadian Tuxedo Count) accompanies many mornings' walks to class. The most I had seen was eight, and this was on one of the more frigid days.
Today was rather chilly, the highest temperature reaching approximately 65 degrees. The walk to class proved fruitful, and the CTC had already reached 11 before Siglo class. Already it was the best day ever.
We ended up going to the 'burbs to see some examples of individual gardens for permacultura movement in Cuba - this is meant to encourage the people to find a balance with their environment, feeding themselves from their crops, and helping to improve the environment by cutting down on the transportation required to bring produce to their local co-ops. This trip proved thrilling as it gave me more opportunities to seek out Canadian Tuxedos. From the humble Casa van, I saw many variations on the look: the classic medium wash denim jacket and matching pants, the tailored jean jacket with a jean skirt on the ladies, a light denim jacket with dark denim pants, and many others. Of course there are rules regarding the CTC, as established by the conductors of this count themselves. Though quite impressive, those sporting white denim cannot be counted as a true Canadian tuxedo. Acid wash is acceptable. Varying levels of darkness between articles of clothing is not only acceptable, but is encouraged. Creativity is revered. Blue hats are considered the ultimate accessory for the CT; like a formal tuxedo when accompanied by a top-hat, the CT has reached its potential with a blue head adornment.
By the end of the trip, the van pulled up in front of our building and I felt triumphant. My modest estimate that afternoon had hovered around 80 CTs, as the sun became more prominent, and the temperature was rising to the upper 60's. This increase in warmth was distressing, as I pictured Cubans all over the country shedding their denim jackets, leaving their jean pants woefully unaccompanied. Fortunately, I was wrong. As I removed my cardigan, the Cubans continued to wear their jackets proudly. Surpassing all previous estimates, the final count reached the illustrious number of 122.
122 reasons to love today. 122 reasons to smile. 122 reasons to never take fashion advice from a Cuban.
I took a few photos, but have concealed their identities in order to protect the innocent. After all, this isn't their fault. They just haven't been educated. (I'm not sure if I blame the embargo or not...)
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