Yumas

 

Buenos mis amigos!

This weekend brings to a close our 2^nd week here in Cuba. We have made the trek to a hotel, where we purchased 30 minutes of wifi for 5 CUC (about $5.65 USD). Last Sunday I was able to use internet for $4.50 CUC for an hour at the hotel Palco, where my Professor was staying while she transitioned Rachel and I to life down here. I only used about 15 minutes of the time to tell my family I was alive and well, and when we returned a few days later to use some more of the time I purchased, we found out their internet was down, and wouldn’t be back until next Saturday at the latest—Saturday has come and gone, and they are still without internet connection. Have no fear, we found a hotel a few miles down the road. Cuba is the land of unpredictability—if you are someone who needs an itinerary to follow, and a schedule to adhere to, this probably isn’t.

Everyone is American here—meaning of the Americas, whether North, Central, or South. If you’re from the United States of America, you are a Yuma. And if you’re part of Humberto’s pack of American students studying here, you are his Yumitas. I know it originates from an old western film, and if I had access to internet here I’d probably look up the details. The beauty of Cuba though, is the inability to just Google things. There are so many things I would like to just Google—take Rachel and I trying (and failing miserably) to prepare beans to soak the other night. But here there is no looking up instructions or recipes, no Facebook telling you when your friends birthdays are, no looking down at your phone, ever. And while it sucks to have to face the embarrassment of failing at the simple task of cleaning and soaking beans, we learned that you absolutely do not need Google in Cuba—you just need to ask. In fact, not having the internet at your fingertips (or even within at least 2 miles of our neighborhood) has slowly chiseled away this concept of ‘awkward’ that we think exists in the United States.

My time here has been jam-packed with adventures, new experiences, and new people—so I have had very little time to blog, lo siento! We are living in a casa particulare, a top floor flat with a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The house owner, Angie, lives downstairs with her husband, daughter Natalie, and her daughter’s boyfriend. They rent out the other half of our upstairs flat as well, and there is a couple staying there from San Francisco—which is really convenient, because aside from Natalie, nobody in the house speaks a lick of English. They will be here for a month, hopefully our Spanish improves by the time they leave.

When you look out the north windows of our apartment, you can see the ocean waves beating against a sea wall—we are two houses away. Our street is perpendicular to the road, so when we step out of the apartment and turn right, we are less than a 10 second walk away from the water. We have had a few cloudy and windy days where the surf is too rough for swimming, but it has mostly been beautiful—we are able to jump right into the ocean, off the sea wall, to cool off after class. The water is salty and barely colder than the air—which is usually between 75 and 85 degrees. We never know the weather forecast or the exact temperature, because there is no internet or TV, but I don’t mind at all (yet).

Right now Rachel and I are taking classes separately from the 9 other students from Charleston. When you make that 10 second walk to the water then cut left, 1 block down is the apartment the Charleston kids are staying at. Grace, Garrett, Nicole, Nikki, Aiden, Jay Jay, Meredith, Sophie, and Sessalie. Attached to the building they live in is an art studio, where Rachel and I have our classes while the Charleston kids have their classes in their dining room. The lectures have been fantastic so far—for two classes the professor speaks Spanish (Gilberto), but there is a fantastic translator repeating every sentence in English, and it is also helping us learn how to speak. Next week we will begin our formal Spanish classes.

The professor in charge of this whole experience, Humberto, took Rachel and I to the market Last week, where we loaded up on Malanga, Plantains, Tomatoes, Limes, Onions, Garlic, and acid oranges. We got chicken, pork, and hamburger as well. Then, he came back to the apartment with us to show us how to cook a fantastic meal of fried pork (marinated in garlic, onion, orange juice, and spices), rice, and boiled Malanga (a root), sautéed with fried onions and garlic, sprinkled with the magical orange they use for cooking here (acid orange, I’ll get back to you with the actual name some day). This week we learned how to cook a chicken dish—boiled in the pressure cooker with tomato sauce, garlic, unions, curry, oregano, pumpkin-squash, and peppers. Always served with rice, aside a lovely tomato salad. We have had tons of other dishes in Cuba here too—fufu and tostones are quickly becoming my favorite, and you can never go wrong with the way Cubans prepare their beans.

I wish I had time to write more, but I will leave it here. I have many stories about the amazing people I am meeting, and the historic sites that I pass by every day, and the culture, history, and politics that permeates every aspect of life here. Sorry for the tease, but I’ll find more time to write this week, and adventure back to wifi next weekend.