Ice Cream, Boxing and Ochre Cloisters

We were told it would be very worthwhile visiting a huge model of Havana to get an overview of the city’s layout. It is located a painful 8km from our casa which in the noonday sun takes about 4 weeks of sweaty steps. This surely must have been a conscious decision, a sneaky deal with taxi drivers. Why so far out of town? It was worth it though. When built (after 18 years in construction) it was the largest scale model in the world, measuring 22m-10m. At a scale of 1:1000 it encompasses most of the city of Havana and is ridiculously detailed – from every balcony on a tower block, to tiny cars, to a real light in the lighthouse, accurate topography and pinpoint locations. Amazing to walk around but I certainly would not dedicate 18 years of my life to making tiny houses and trees. To be honest, I think they were quite lazy. If held at gunpoint I reckon I could do it in 10. Obviously not with the gun to my head the whole time. We read in a local newspaper that one of the films playing during next months film festival is London To Brighton. We are going to go and see that and a film in Spanish, and then cross the street to the famous Coppelia Ice Cream parlour. It is one of the revolutions great luxuries, available for all the people. Taking up a fairly hefty chunk of land it is a fantastic structure hidden away amongst tropical foliage. It has 5 entrances each with a separate menu and queue and you are seated en mass, 20 at a time. To my eyes it is like a James Bond house-of-the-future, mixed with Centre Parks and Universal Studios Jurassic Park ride. In fact that is just what the huge queues look like – people waiting to go on a fantastic theme park ride.

After another day at another beach we hit the town, as our last nocturnal excursion before we become worker bees. We went to La Cabaret Nationale, which for any Brightonians was like Komedia downstairs. After 15 minutes the crazy skirt-waving dancing stopped to be replaced by same same club music. For some reason we agreed to pay 30 CUC for a bottle of rum, when you can buy it in a shop for 5. After about an hour of stiff dancing the music was cut and female eyes zoomed stage-wards. Out came a snazzy duo that it soon became clear are local pop-stars – we’ve heard their catchy tunes all over the place. Decked out in the usual R&B bling and whiter than white rags they got the Cuban pulses going all right. I thought they looked and sounded like a couple of twats myself so I buggered off. The back streets were deserted at 2am and so peaceful. At 5-7pm they are throbbing with life. Everyone hangs out, often literally, by their houses – playing baseball, dominos, passing the rum, kicking a ball or dog.

Yesterday after another exhausting walk in the hottest sun yet we went to watch some boxing opposite the Capitolia. When we get our ID cards entrance fees to boxing, ballet, baseball, anything beginning with a B costs about 5p. For now it was 60p. It was pretty short and sharp and we watched about 8 matches, some boring and some very exciting, tiers and tiers of shouting and clapping. Some little boys were up in the shadows of the highest tiers where no one was sitting, pretending to be little boxing heroes. I wish there had been some strong slices of light spilling through the windows because their little silhouettes jostling and jabbing would have made excellent photos.

I would like to right extensively on the art of photographing Havana, using the camera as a tool to edit what I see and show others but for now I don’t have the mental capacity. I will though, as I’m thinking constantly about the power/misuse of photography at the moment. You could take hundreds and hundreds of good photos every day, photos that people expect to see documenting CUBA - an old woman with skin like melting liquorice, wearing a scarlet dress, leaning on the rusty doorframe of her emerald painted home. Colours colours are everywhere, shining under the sun. Its all too easy. And so it’s the turn of the master of the arts-architecture.


It was our first day ‘at work’ today. 45 minutes brisk walking, arriving sticky and out of breath. We are working in the heart of Habana Veija – OLD Habana – in an old nunnery. One of the only remaining buildings of its type in Cuba it is a tranquil set of ochre cloisters and cool corridors. We sat down and were given a brief history of nearly everything. Entirely in Spanish with intermittent translation by the ever useful Larissa. Our main boss who I will call Flavio spoke to us about the history of Cuban architecture since the 15th Century. For four hours. Without a break. For 4 hours. Fascinating stuff by my god was it strenuous going. The project is quite complicated but in brief there are 5 UNESCO funded projects in Cuba that our office is working with, in 5 separate towns that have so far been neglected and overlooked. Our work is aimed to be contemporary with no intention of restoring architecture to ‘retain history’, but instead to save what is salvageable whilst inserting a modern answer that responds to the needs of 21st Century living. There is no point restoring an old sugar factory to be a kitch 5 star hotel for minted tourists when so many millions of Cuban’s need better homes. This is such an exciting project that I frustratingly can’t seem to describe well. These are good, smart, proud Cubans we are working with who’s intentions are honest and boundary-pushing. Cuba is on the cusp of some huge changes so its very very exciting indeed to be involved with this project at this time. Also by the end of it we will have a certificate from UNESCO recognising our work. Cool beans!

Sheila has bought some tinsel and festive hanging options. We have already been eating off of a santa themed tablecloth and its not even December.

I would like to end with a quote from a book that I just finished called Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins:

“Don’t let yourself be victimised by the age you live in. Its not the times that will bring us down, any more than its society. When you put the blame on society then you just end up turning to society for the solution. There’s a tendency today to absolve individuals of moral responsibility and treat them as victims of social circumstance. You buy that, you pay with your soul. Its not men who limit women, its not straights who limit gays, its not whites who limit blacks. What limits people is lack of character. What limits people is that they don’t have the fucking nerve or imagination to star in their own movie, let alone direct it.”

PHOTO

Southern wall of one of works Cloisters

Sheila´s Meals

Ola, buenos dias!
In the last few days the topic of conversation has moved away from excretion towards money and the general resentment of being ripped off. Some things are considerably cheaper when moving around as a group, and others are not. For example, it is very hard to remain conspicuous when there are 6 of your semi-pasty European faces meandering down side streets. Luckily I am tanning quickly and when alone can slip into the background quite comfortably. For anyone who has read Phillip Pullmans ‘Dark Materials’, maybe about to be murdered on the big screen, one of my aims in life is to do what the character Will does. He is a normal boy with the tremendous ability to appear so normal and unassuming as to almost disappear. People just do not notice him, and he uses this much to his advantage. This is a superpower I would gladly purchase (assuming all-out invisibility is already taken). I think we are all looking forward to the routine of work, knowing we don’t have to worry about finding food and can then let our follicles relax on the weekend.

Food, mm damn good deal. For £9 a night we get breakfast and dinner included. Sheila, the lady of the house has a maid who comes in every day and cleans our rooms and cooks our food and we are quite the spoilt little kids. Sheila and her sister acquired this house when their parents fled to Miami some years ago. I think this is correct. We have paid for a month upfront and it was a painful handover. The government taxes families who rent rooms an extortionate amount of dollars for renting – which is the only way I can hand over this cash with a smile. Suspiciously the day after payment a washing machine arrives and a carpenter to fix our (balcony) door. Breakfast is a happy combo of bread/butter/jam, coffee and freshly squeezed guava/orange juice. Dinner is altogether more exciting and like a fine female flirting with a flabby security guard, it butters us up and makes the rent pill easier to swallow. Last night we had a treat. Hefty hunks of fleshy mackerel, rice, and tasty salad. Some of the best fish my mouth has had the pleasure of greeting. Fish is one of the foodstuffs that comes under the ration label so a good piece, like a politician with integrity, doesn’t come along often. We gave our thanks to Maid Marion (as she will henceforth be named) accordingly.

During a morning stroll into town, me y Ruth, although distantly aware, were surprised to find ourselves walking through China town. 1% of Cubans are Chinese and have set up a modest little quarter here in Habana. It was shit and quite depressing but I will no doubt get cravings for MSG ‘meat’ at some point. Around the corner is the Capitolio, ohhhhh what a monster, albeit a welcome monster to anyone lost, as its white dome can be seen from afar. Constructed in 1929 under order of US-backed dictator Gerado Mechado, it was the seat of the Cuban Congress till the key year of 59. Because the audacious base is mostly obscured by surrounding buildings it is not nearly as monolithic and offensive as Washington DC’s Capitol Hill. Despite being so out of place and externally insulting, it is a reference point, a popular meeting area and home to speedy internet access. It was here, lounging on the enormous flight of steps that we met a guy called Luiz. Luiz is from Chile and just popped along to indicate how small the world is. Luiz is in Habana studying music at the university, specialising in Saxophone. Upon hearing this and his country of origin, Larissa’s Belgian ears twitched. (Larissa has spent over 6 months in Chile and apparently studied the art of Saxamophoning there) Would you believe it, you know whats coming? They only had the same bloody Saxophone teacher in Santiago! Mental oriental. Ice broken with a veritable sledgehammer of disbelief we all went for a beer. Luiz is also a keen skateboarder and can play guitar. (This one’s for Rachel – He looks like happy marriage of Patrick, Vishell and Jake. With tats and clothes to match). He borrowed a guitar from a slightly displeased man and played Cranberries, Greenday, Tracy Chapman, Bob Marley, but almost burst the bubble with a terrible Jeff Buckley attempt and a swiftly cut-short Wonderwall. He invited us all to a musical event in the evening which sounded much fun. However he did not thank us for the beers we unconsciously bought him and we were increasingly puzzled by his willingness to walk all the way back to our Casa with us and wait out on the sea wall whilst we ate dinner and got ready.

This is secondary. We all squeezed into a taxi and paid a small fortune for the privilege of arriving at the club night too late to even contemplate joining the one-in, one-out queue. So we grabbed a bottle of rum and 2 Tukola’s and made our own shindig opposite the entrance to the cemetery Relaxed we made our way through polite introductions. His only friend of reading interest was a Mexican dude with nice dreads and a groovy tie die shirt. He came 6th in last years Latin X-games. Which at the time was near sporting celebrity for our rum-soaked ears, but now writing this the effect has somewhat dwindled. We once again paid for all the drinks and down the road for beers. We walked quite a distance back to the sea front and bought more rum and coke from a petrol station. These guys were cool and were good people but its was taking the piss a bit because the only pennies they spent were over the side into the sea. James drunkenly confronted them with a line similar too “ Hey, you’ve had mucho rum, si? Want more, uno peso por favour”. This didn’t go down well. Luiz said he didn’t comprehend, pah! As if. Swaying with blood at 40% alcohol ratio we resentfully said our hostile goodbyes whilst trying to remain amigos. I was saddened because it felt like these guys, who were also foreign students took advantage of us like we were temporary means of funds. 3 days on, I don’t really care anymore.

PHOTOS
1. Sunset
2. Freaky bin man´s bin attatchment

Pollo fitto y banos emergencias (Fried Chicken and Toilet Emergencies)

ahhh I hate it. I feel like such a fanny. You think you are partially grasping the language then someone approaches you and asks you a question and you completely freeze and blabber some incomprehensible words that are neither Spanish nor English, so no one is the wiser.

Four of us (Larissa, Ruth, John and I) have moved into a new casa particular (renting a room with a family) right on the sea front closer to Old Havana and where we will be working. The house is lovely albeit decorated with the same tacky porcelain horse figures and cheap landscape paintings that seem to adorn all houses here. We have a huge veranda that opens right out onto a sea view, easterly so morning is a joy. Included in the price is breakfast and dinner. And its very nice not to have to worry about these as previously we had been doing a round trip of an hour to collect bread butter jam and water. We are starting work a week later than expected. It seems that administration of any sort is a right fucking pain here. We discovered that our previous host only has a license to rent to 2 people. As he was renting to 6, 4 of us had to walk to some other casas and pay them some rent and have our visas photocopied so that officially we are staying with them. It’s all very strange but many families rent illegally and there are regular police checks.

Me and Bonzo took a trip to the main cemetery in Havana – Necropolis Cristobal Colon. Over 1.2 million people are buried here and now it is so full that you are only given a 2 year burial after which I think you are cremated and moved elsewhere. The Catholics must love this. We visited some stunning tombs but after a while it was quite nauseating being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of bright white marble surfaces in a vast grid that stretches as far as you can see.

Our previous host, Raoul, soon came out of his shell and quite unashamedly declared himself an alcoholic extraordinaire. The sort of mildly amusing drunkard who slowly gets worse and worse until paranoia sets in and he asks you the same question 5 times and doesn’t believe you when you say you are ‘muy bien’ (very well). He put on some jazz and didn’t believe us when we said we liked it so he changed it to Led Zeppelin which seemed to trigger a higher level of intoxication. I suppose the neat glasses of rum didn’t help. He then went a bit cold and asked us why we were leaving and said that he had a 2 week booking cancelled and we could stay longer if we wanted. Obviously the lack of funds was causing him to drink, but damn I hate guilt trips. I left and went to bed, quite content in my ear-plugged silence. (thankyou Jen)

The next day we got up bright and early to be escorted by Jorge (the main organiser of this trip, a professor and dean of architecture) to CUJAE university 45 mins bus journey out of town. You pay for public transport in Cuban pesos – 24 in every standard peso. There are 2 interchangeable currencies which is quite confusing. Anywho, the bus journey cost the equivalent to 5p. Going the same journey in a taxi you have to pay the other currency and it will cost probably £5. The university buildings themselves were fantastic. A bit dilapidated but architecturally, really stunning. A really amazing atmosphere to study in. It was interesting to see how different these students looked to the average Juan or Julietta in Centro Habana – longer hair on the males and less…..street corner chic on the ladies. The woman in the administration office turned out to be a real whore and was making the whole signing up process really hard for us. We are getting temporary Cuban ID’s which both registers us as students, allows our visas to be automatically lengthened and grants us discounts. We were kindly asked to leave the office while bitch face and Jorge argued it out. Kafuffle after kafuffle led to a 1 hour wait during which we wandered around and bought some food at the market. I drank a strange fruit shake (batido) that tasted like meat, and a ‘peso pizza’ basically the Cuban snack version of a packet of crisps. It tasted like nothing and everything. Everything manky that is. Jorge took us to the architecture department, which was refreshing and peculiar. It was strange to see the same styles of wall displays and mini-exhibitions/pin ups that we’ve been used to for the last 3 years. There’s obviously a way of thinking and style of presentation that transcends borders and oceans. We were given a short laptop presentation on what our work will constitute which was both exciting and daunting. During this something unexpected happened. I was all of a sudden gripped by a severe wave of lower bowel spasms. Highly distressed but not in a position to gasp or express my discomfort I sat there tightly gripping the chair and moving my legs, aiming to appear fascinated by slide after slide of topographical maps and transport diagrams. It was all I could do not to shit my pants right there in the meeting. Meanwhile across from me Ruth was being pummelled by stomach cramps that she sad felt like someone was ‘ grabbing her stomach and twisted it around in their fist’.

Second to the weather and food our main conversation this week has been poo. Not one of us has had it easy and there have been several embarrassing moments verging on traumatic. Spasms over, we journeyed back to bitch face and had to fill out several forms and leave our passports with them for 2 weeks whilst we waited for our Id’s. Four and a half near prolapse fuelled hours later we boarded the bus back. I ran in desperation back to our house like a crazy loon from a cheap Hollywood comedy, flailing and slipping on the wet tarmac. Made it just in time. Several boring events occurred between this and our next excursion, which was to visit some houses in town to find new rooms. It was late and we were all tired but we agreed to a temporary stay at two casas owned by ladies whose breasts dwarf every set of breasts you have ever seen. Just insane.

The chicken/rice combo has become dull quickly so ruth and I were overjoyed to find a vegetarian restaurant that has cheap peso prices – dishes for 50p. However we were grief-stricken to find it closed and a sign in the window declaring pork to be the dish of the day. Hmmm. Vegetarianism is misunderstood here. Now my Cuban history is shaky but I understand (with skilful paraphrasing) that after the fall of the Berlin wall and the collapse of the Eastern bloc, almost $5 billion vanished overnight from the Cuban balance sheet. Castro declared a 5-year periodo espacio that was aimed to repair malfunctioning bureaucracy and initiate local-level decision making. The US dollar was banned and living standards plummeted with a system of ration that “ would make the sacrifices of war-time Europe almost pale in comparison”. And so despite this period being over 10 years ago it has left scars. With the hardships of this period still fresh in most people’s memory, the Cubans will take any protein they can get, and so the mere concept of vegetarianism is almost incomprehensible. You will be looked upon with a degree of bewilderment when declaring yourself a veggie. This also leads to, I think, unnecessary inclusions of meat where you wouldn’t expect or want it. Thus, my speculation of meaty fruit shakes and chewy bits in rice are heightened.

PHOTOS
1. Statue in tomb
2. View from our new home, looking East along the Malecon
3. Waiting

Mi llamo Jonathan (My Name Is Jonathan)

And so after only 1 weekend in Havana I have already done several of the clichés I joked about. Drinking mojitos and rum+coke ( cocacola happily doesn’t exist here. Instead we have Tukola), smoking a cigar, dancing salsa (with prostitutes), swimming on an idyllic beach and walking for hours through mesmerising backstreets where crumbling villas and clapped-out cars meet in a lazy visual unison that feels both oddly familiar and quite alien. Havana feels, in places, a lot like Gibraltar and its infrastructure much like SE Asia. The sunlight here is so strong that in the morning and afternoon hours it is a photographers dream. I must look quite strange walking along; head turned upwards scanning balconies, courtyard gardens, between flats, up precarious stairs and through windowless-windows. It seems unnecessary to add to the already vivid descriptions of such a place because after a while words like ‘time-warp’ and ‘relic’ seem to lose all meaning. As an example of the atmosphere of Havana I will try to explain a couple of events.

Last night we saw scores of young Cubans walking along the Malecon (the long, sweeping concrete wall that forms the sea front here. Like a classic promenade everyone comes here to meet and socialise, to ‘cruise’ or just have a cigarette, to debate the latest baseball scores and to deal). We followed them to an open-air stage set-up opposite the American embassy. And here is a very powerful image. Directly opposite the windows of the American embassy are over 50 huge black flags each with a single white star on them. They all flap atop tall steel poles and can be seen from quite a distance. It is a very peculiar site indeed and upon asking our host Rauol what it was all about, the meaning seems to justify the image. Being the glass panes of the highest floors of the near 15 story blocks those funny yanks have a huge set of LED sentences that scroll across its surface. In Spanish they announce such things as - “Isn’t it strange that your highest qualified citizens like doctors and civil engineers choose to drive taxi’s because they earn more money?”. And so on. In return it was decided to visually block these statements with a high wall of billowing black flags. In their entirety they conjure up a very ominous and sombre atmosphere. What feeling this must give any American working in this building I don’t know. You must just feel like an absolute cunt every time you go to work. This was then the backdrop of a very fun concert last night. With large bottles of rum and coke we joined hundreds of young Cubans in front of a large stage. We grasped that it was a sort-of student event, although there was no real indication of this. Just many many dolled up men and women. Once the alcohol made is speedy journey to our heads inhibitions were flung far and we danced like fools, I think as I can’t rightly remember. The contrast to ‘dancing’ in England is quite apparent. In England we have the phrase ‘living for the weekend’, or even the cringeworthy ‘having it large’. People ‘work’ all week then get fucked and fucked on a Friday and Saturday night. Here people work all week then also let their hair down. They drink, but not to vomiting excess, and everyone properly dances. None of this slut-fest all flesh and no soul, or indie all style and no grace. The dancing here is seems effortless - quite relaxed and casual but with so much passion and sensuality. There’s something about the dancing and the socialising on the Malecon that is very enviable. Of course there are the seedier clubs where if you bend particular features you could be anywhere. We met a very helpful man on our first night who took us into someone’s house, up the stairs and to a small ‘restaurant’. We call him Desmond but I’m not sure if this is correct. We bumped into him again the night after, and he was quite drunk and dressed smartly with a very short and sweet young lady friend. We went with them to a posh-ish hotel bar and had mojhitos and smoked dirty Lucky Strikes. We knew the score, we were paying for their drinks but it was fine. We all got quite tipsy and I suppose a tad rowdy. In 3 days I have already grasped some simple Spanish and key words. There was lots of shouting of “ Chica, ehhhhhhhhhh, for you, ehhh, ahahahaha”. Usual semi-sexual banter. It’s at moments of high testosterone and inebriation like this that I tense up and have to adopt the best impression of laddish behaviour I can. And so when Desmond (who by the way is a fairly intimidating black man with a firm handshake and aggressive undertones) smacks my shoulder and tries to enter me into the conversation I do the best I can to sound like I too would like a Chica (woman) for myself. You just basically laugh loudly, go “ehhhhhhh sie” and possibly do a mock salsa move whilst sitting down. It just puts you into an embarrassing situation that I usually try to avoid. I had no intention of going out at all but I decided to go along to a club that Des recommended. We were drunk so it became fun. I danced provocatively with 4 women who were very polite in the sense that they didn’t slap me for being such an awful dancer and not quickly removing my un-inspired hand from the small of their back. We have since learnt that in many a Cuban club, if a woman is on the dance floor she is basically selling herself. In retrospect this makes complete sense because these women were prostitutes and seemed very miffed when we decided to leave. Some male members of the party were ever so slightly hurt at being deceived in this way. We all thought that they were sweet women. Here a woman might not class herself as a prostitute but if she is dancing with you with the premise of sexual contact then she will expect to have everything paid for her and possibly a bonus. Come to think of it, that’s not too unusual even in England is it?hmm.

One thing I was warned about and was very worried about was food. And although all I have eaten so far is fried chicken with rice beans and salad, it is not bad food. Just nothing to write home about. Although I am of course. It’s also more expensive than I’d anticipated. 5-10 pesos for a plate of food. £3-6. Beer is 50p, our accommodation is £7 a night. It’s cheap but it’s not cheap cheap and it all adds up fast. One thing that I think I like although it is very frustrating for a visitor is the lack of signs. I am a person who needs signs, and visual indications – clocks, bold street names, business signs. Here the streets and buildings will be full of all the services you want and need but it’s not obvious what or where they are. You just need to dig a bit and get to know the streets. This will be rewarding in the long run. Also having been to bustling food markets in SE Asia it’s quite sad to see the state of the markets here. Maybe food is just not a huge priority. Maybe it’s all to do with sanctions and restrictions, taxes and stuff but the markets only seem to sell tomatoes, strange potatoes and meat as the main items. Smaller stalls selling bits and bobs are there too but there’s no exciting smells and sounds. We went in search of eggs for a couple of hours this morning. Eggs are rarely sold on Sunday we now know. Some items are in such short supply that once it is put out on show it will be gone quickly so you better not hang around. Particular types of bread, and street food too. But its fine, you just walk further and there will be another opportunity.
It’s the usual score with a country that is struggling. The people are very helpful but usually aren’t being nice for free. This does happen but the people are poor and you in contrast are minted. As long and you both know the score everything works out well. It only takes a stuffy tourist or a local who thinks you are stupid to usurp the happy balance.

Yesterday we hopped into a taxi and went to a beach 18km away. The driver took us to a ‘Cuban’ beach, not a tourist one because the police would likely stop him there because of the poor state his vehicle was in. One of my fellow honorary Cubans is Ruth. She was particularly excited because she hadn’t ever been to ‘postcard’ beach before. I remember when I arrived at my first beach in Thailand, 3 years ago. I was alone and had no one to share that experience with. You see these photos on TV and in magazines but until you experience them with all your senses you don’t really know if they exist. And so I really enjoyed experiencing this with my 5 friends. We all just ran into the water and it was heaven. None of us expected to be in paradise quite so soon. We ate langoustines and sipped beer and mango juice. We watched an albatross circling above and these enormous birds of prey that hang around in groups of 10 ish. Stunning wings they have. We had 5 hours here until our taxi returned. The beach was near deserted as it’s winter in Cuba and the locals don’t see the point. Obviously us sun-parched Britains lap up any rays we can find with all the zeal of a famished dog. It was a blissful day that felt a little like the film E Tu Mama Tambien. So relaxed and free of worries. In a few days time we have to disrupt ourselves, pack up and find our own casa’s in the centre of Havana. Once this is done we can relax properly and start budgeting more.

When you go to a new place and especially immerse yourself in a different culture it can be quite exhausting which is why ive found the time to sit down and write on the balcony. The kids below are playing a strange game with a ball. They throw it at each other and every now and again someone has to stand facing a wall whilst the ball is lightly hurled at them. It makes no sense but they seem to love it. There are LOADS of police here too. Mostly on foot, patrolling and watching. It makes you feel both safe and under close scrutiny. I’m looking forward to learning as much as a can about the ticking of this country and really want to become competent in the language. Not that many people speak English so you really have to make the effort. We are going to the University and then our offices tomorrow to find out what we will be doing. I almost forgot why I was here for a second, oh yeah something about architecture.