Magic Dioxide: A Love Story.

Recently, among the ruins and desolation of this sad little island, I have found love. And I have found nutrition. Who is my love interest, you may ask? His name is Magic Dioxide.

On an ordinary evening stroll through the local grocery store (lovingly called the Galeria) I casually perused the cookie section, sadly unable to find the tea biscuits I was craving. My grief for said biscuits was much like Romeo's regarding his loss of Rosalind, and much like him, I was unaware of the great love which was soon to entire my life. Quite unexpectedly, I spied my Juliet: a purple and yellow box adorned with flying bumble bees in pointy hats, and the word GRATIS displayed in red across the top. Intrigued, I examined the box more closely. "Magic O's," I thought to myself, and was reminded of the good ol' days when we used to eat E.L. Fudge cookies after school. I snatched a box up, and paid some ungodly amount of CUCs to bring them home with me.
Once at the humble abode, I examined the box closer, noticing several important things:
1. These were not Magic O's. These were Magic O_2, as in two oxygen molecules, as in dioxide!
2. These chocolatey morsels contained vitaminas y minerales!

I was enchanted. And, after trying one, I was amazed to find that they did, indeed, taste like E.L. Fudge cookies. Visions of second-grade afternoons danced through my head, and vitamins and minerals were absorbed in my body. Score.

Since this special day, the Magic Dioxides and I have been inseparable. They come with me everywhere: class, walks, just relaxing at home. They are love.



In other news, I've attended a couple concerts that are part of the International Jazz Festival that's going on right now, so I'll have to share some photos from those. I've also redone the blog (as I'm sure you noticed) to something a little more funkay and personalz. You know how I do.

Putting the "Mata" in Matanzas: Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

I realized that in my haste to chronicle the many adventures of the weekend, I completely forgot to mention the handmade book-making place that we visited on Friday. It was beautiful, and the books were lovely. I ended up buying one that had an Emily Dickinson poem together with a Spanish translation for it. The old house that it was in was a work of art in itself, so I took a lot of photos.

I also forgot to mention that Professor Leonard Brown has joined us as of about a week ago. Our class with him starts next week. He is absolutely wonderful, and kind, and intelligent, and very level-headed. It's quite refreshing, and we're all so, so happy to have him here.
Dr. Brown with Tara & Chelsea:

Now back to the narration.

On Sunday we had breakfast and checked out and then headed for Varadero, the resort town in Matanzas. There are over 50 resorts there that have been built mostly since the fall of the Soviet Union. Before that, tourism was not allowed, but after the Soviets crumbled they were so desperate for money they started to allow foreigners in. (Sounds a bit like the Fulgencio Bautista days, no?) So we got dropped off at a random resort, straight in the middle of a very strange shopping mall that was blasting techno. After a brief dance session in the middle of the place with a couple of us and Dr. Brown, we were let loose for a few hours.

Sonya, Emma, Whitney, Courtney, and I went off in search of a place to camp out for the day that had food and drinks and other such lovely things. It was rather chilly at that point, so we just wanted a place to rest. Walking down the beach, we came across a resort with a couple pools and a bar. We got beverages, and upon asking how much they cost, the bartender woman told us that it was all included as guests at the resort. We didn't have bracelets, and she knew this, so she just let us have them for free. We tipped her, dance around to some reggaeton they had playing there, and made ourselves at home. Later we were given free lunch and french fries. So yes, we were given access to the pool, free drinks, and free food, all courtesy of the lovely bartenders that danced throughout their workday. It was a refreshing change of luck for us.

We then went swimming down at the beach when it got warmer, and then made our way back to the meeting spot. Getting some pizza to go (with REAL CHEESE) we jumped on the bus and headed back to the lovely abode in Havana.

And thus concludes the ordeal that was Matanzas. We were all exhausted and irritable when we got home, but still managed to laugh together at the dinner table about all that we went through this weekend. Maria told us this morning that we really should have had today off from classes because we all looked so tired and drained from our trip.

Oh, and I did laundry today! I officially know how to do the whole process by myself. Very exciting.

Putting the "Mata" in Matanzas: Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

On Friday evening I said to Steph, "Today was so bad, tomorrow can't possibly be worse." Oh, how wrong I was. Our Saturday began with no wake-up call, but Professor Brown knocked on our door around 8:30 to make sure we were up. I found out later from Sonya that the discussion around the breakfast table went as follows:

Sonya: None of us got wake-up calls, just letting you know. Looks like Steph and Meg aren't here yet.
Grapefruit Tour guide: Well, I got a wake-up call.
Cornelius: No, I saw Meg when I was walking here. She's outside.
Sonya: No, she's not. She is not outside.
Cornelius: No, I definitely saw her.
Professor Brown: Well, I'll just run over to their room and make sure that they're up so they can still have breakfast before we have to go.

No, I was not outside. And no, the tour guide's wake-up call did not miraculously mean that the rest of us got them.

After breakfast, we all loaded into the bus with a renewed enthusiasm for the frigid day ahead of us. Driving down the highway, I saw some birds flying around an area. Upon looking closer I realized that there was a pack of vultures eating a dead dog which was laying on the side of the road. There are some things that I've tried to get used to in Cuba, and seeing dead dogs is one thing that I cannot. It is simply horrifying.

The first town we got to was a "typical Cuban town." I do not know the name of said town. They let us free for 15 minutes, during which time Chelsea and I found shampoo for 1.50, and I made friends with the bag-check woman by the store. "Where are you from?" she asked me (in Spanish, though once again I'm too lazy to translate).
"The United States."
"Oh, really? Americana!"
"Yep!"
"What do you think of Cuba?"
"It's nice! It's very different from home."
"Is it what you expected from reading about Cuba?"
"Well, I don't know. It's certainly an adventure, whatever it is."
It's true. The more I think about it, the less I understand about Cuba, never mind what my opinion is regarding it. Standing on the sidewalk, I was approached by an old man with vacant eyes who could barely whisper to me. Clutching a tube of toothpaste (invaluable to those who don't have it readily available) he asked me if I could spare a peso so that he could get something to eat. (One peso = 4 cents CUC, so about 6 cents USD.) I gave him three pesos, and he looked so grateful, it nearly broke my heart.

We then went to a different town, where we proceeded to stand around on the sidewalk for a very long time, and Sonya then began to use her pen as a microphone, acting as a tour guide for our surroundings. Adopting the same level of intellect that grapefruit had, she told us about the different color houses, how some are green, but some are different color green, and how we were in a town. She interviewed grapefruit in order to get the real info from him. Surprisingly, the only thing he knew was the name of the town. I have now forgotten this name. I'm not concerned enough to try to remember it.
"So what are we doing here?" Sonya asked.
"Well, before we were in the north of Matanzas, and now we're in the south."
"Oh, okay."

After concluding this all-important sidewalk-standing session, we walked into a "museum." The man who worked there informed us that it wasn't actually a museum, but is going to be a museum in the future after they get the funding to build it. So we stood in an empty area while the man told us what will be there some day. Fascinating.

For lunch, we were eyeing a hotdog stand that had cheap food that we could get quickly, hoping to avoid the 2-hour-bloody-chicken fiasco of the day before. When Courtney asked Cornelius Fudge if this were possible, he brushed it off, refusing to listen. Instead, we had another meal of the same quality as the day before. Yum.

One thing I've learned: if you let your guard down, Cuba will break your heart. Cuba has the ability to draw you in, make you want to do anything within your power to help someone, then completely frustrate you with the fact that you are completely and utterly powerless. This brings me to the next part of my Saturday.

While standing in the town square staring at yet another José Martí statue and waiting for Fudge to figure out our next disaster, a little stray puppy came up to us. She was dirty, had fleas, was skin-and-bones, and had the prettiest slate-blue eyes you've ever seen. She also was very friendly. Being the sucker I am, I picked her up, and she immediately snuggled into my chest. Her shivering stopped, and she began to calm down. For the next two hours, she slept soundly in my arms, curled up into my sweater. I wish I were exaggerating, but that was truly how lovely she was.

While I spent time with the lil Chiquita, we went to an Erotic Art Museum. I decided to stay outside on the sidewalk, unsure of the sophisticated establishment's rules regarding animals.

Then we went and toured a children's library which was funded by UNICEF. That was really neat, and I'm glad I got to see it. And Chiquita accompanied us. She also came with us as we walked to the local Catholic church, sat there for a couple minutes, then left. Yet another thrilling tour.

Then it was time to get on the bus, and time to make a decision regarding Chiquita. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her on the street to start shivering again, or get hit by a car, or get eaten by vultures. The other dogs running around that town were not in any better condition, and they had the advantage of being fully grown. Talking to Professor Brown, we weighed the options.
1. I keep her. I take her home with me to the hotel then to the residencia, where I will have a puppy to potty train on the 12th floor of a building that doesn't have a working elevator. I then have to abandon her because I can't bring her through customs with me.
2. I keep her, and find a home for her. This seemed to be the best scenario until I realized that no one in Cuba can afford to feed themselves, never mind a dog. This was why there were so many dogs on the streets.
3. I put her back on the street and try my darndest not to cry in front of everyone.

Option 3.

And I tried my darndest not to cry in front of everyone, though it was hard. And when I set her down on the ground she woke up and tried to follow me. See? Cuba can break your heart if you let it. And I'm not really sure why, but this time I let it.

We then went back to the hotel, then got dinner at a restaurant that we went to the night before that had decent pizza, though that night they were out of pizza so we had really gross spaghetti that I'm embarrassed to admit I ate all of.

And thus concludes Saturday.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Putting the "Mata" in Matanzas: Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Friday morning greeted us with chilly weather and a day full of God-knows-what. Breakfast was at 8:30, which was complimentary (complementary?) with our stay at the (two-star) hotel. Each morning I ordered a cheese sandwich, and each morning I was given a ham and cheese sandwich. Each morning the waiter took it back, then returned a few minutes later with the ham removed.

We all piled onto the bus (after being scolded for being a couple minutes late) and headed to the first destination. It was a theatre in the middle of Matanzas, which we were presumably to tour. The theatre was closed, as no theatre is ever open that early in the morning. Cornelius did not feel the need to look this up beforehand, so we sat in the bus waiting for the information to be gathered. We then left.

Second on the "schedule" was the pharmacy museum. Standing in the entrance of the museum, the professor chatted with the woman in charge, asking her the basic information which could have easily been found out before dragging fourteen people there. Fudge then turned to us, saying (in front of the museum woman) "It costs 3 CUC to get in. I know I want to see this, but if you guys don't want to pay the entrance then let me know." We all stood there, rather shocked, because we had been told before that all expenses would be included in the trip. Concluding that this expense was a bit much to spring on us suddenly, we decided not to go in. This was when the museum woman consulted with one of the other museum workers, and eventually reached the deal that we would get a tour of the museum then afterward would pay what we were able. Okay.

The pharmacy was interesting. It was completely preserved to look like an original 19th-century pharmacy, and had all of the medicine ingredients there. Mostly it reminded me of potions class in Harry Potter, so I was pleased about that.


Whilst standing by a knee-high table displaying mortars and pestles, Cornelius Fudge wanted to take a picture. Apparently I was obstructing his view of the display, so he felt the need to merely mutter "Um, Megan," then shoved me out of the way. Then proceeding to take his photograph, he muttered, "Yeah." He then chuckled to himself as if to make this into a joke. Ha. Ha.

Next on the "schedule" was the seminary. We arrived there, looking around, and asked Cornelius what we were to be doing at a seminary school. "To be honest, I don't really know," he replied. Glorious. What we did end up doing was sitting around waiting for the seminary guy to show up, as he would not be ready for another 15 minutes. The grapefruit-face tour guide decided that this would be a good time to entertain us with his extensive repertoire of card magic tricks. Joy.

The seminary man was nice, and we learned a lot about the school. I felt like we were on a college tour, learning a lot about the institution, with dates and facts and all that jazz.

Next on the "schedule" was lunch. Our illustrious tour guide brought us to a rest-stop area with a restaurant sitting atop a high hill. The restaurant was outside. It was windy, and it was miserably cold. The meal ended up taking over two hours because the service was so slow, and I wasn't able to eat anything because the only food available all contained meat. After about 45 minutes waiting for the food to arrive, Courtney and I decided to sneak out to the restaurant that was next-door to see if we could find anything that I could eat. I ordered some spaghetti without the ham and cheese which usually is sprinkled on top. The conversation following was in Spanish, but I'm too lazy to write it out in both languages.

Courtney: Can we get this to go?
Girl at counter: What?
Courtney: Can we get this to go? Like in a box or something?
Girl at counter: What?
Courtney: Do you have any boxes we can put this in? We're with a group, and they're all eating at the other restaurant over there, and we wanted to bring this back there with us.
Girl: We have plastic bags.
Me: Uhhh.
Courtney: Uhhh
Me: Would I be able to eat this on the plate over there then bring the plate back?
Girl: No.
Me: Hm, okay.
Girl: We have plastic bags.
Me: Okay, let's do this.

My order was then dumped into a plastic grocery bag, which we grabbed quickly and ran to the other restaurant with, laughing so hard we could barely contain ourselves. The spaghetti was disgusting and, surprisingly, tasted like plastic.

We spent over another hour in the restaurant, miserably cold. The majority of my lunch comprised of saltines. The other students' lunches weren't much better: bloody, undercooked chicken. Yum.

The rest of the day was decent. We went back to the hotel, and Harry Potter was on HBO (with Spanish subtitles, so we could even listen in English) and we napped. Life was good. In retrospect, we decided that that was the best part of our weekend.

TO BE CONTINUED.

(Just making sure everyone knows that you can click on the pictures to see them bigger!)

Putting the "Mata" in Matanzas: Chapter 1

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.

Farewells & Photos

Dearest fans,

Today I am leaving for a trip to Matanzas. I will return to Havana on Sunday evening. Until then, I highly doubt that I will have the internet (but have no doubt that I will have adventures worthy of sharing).

Here are some photos from the past few days. Including some the national botanical garden, the beach on Sunday, and our field trip yesterday to the gardens in the 'burbs. Enjoy!

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...)