Monday, September 5, 2011
Matanzas, Cuba
I sit in front of an air conditioner in my ‘apartamentito’ at the seminary as I write this, feeling nevertheless guilty and humbled by the honor of being granted such a luxury. Now all I need is a shot of Havana Club rum on ice to further relax me, but as it turns out, today is a national day of mourning due to the death of the minister of the armed forces, so the stores were not selling any alcohol.
There are two young Germans, Julia and Julian, who also just arrived at the seminary, for Spanish classes before they embark on a full year of volunteer work all over the island. The three of us wandered the streets of Matanzas for several hours this afternoon, an odd assortment of nontourists speaking an odd assortment of languages, in search of a new pair of sandals for Julia, a bank to change dollars to CUCs, a post office to buy stamps, and a store to buy rum.
Julia’s sandals were bartered and bought, but the other places were all closed by the time we found them. Julian and I stopped every couple of blocks for directions to any one of these places, and we all remarked how emphatically Cubans tend to give the wrong directions.
There are two young Germans, Julia and Julian, who also just arrived at the seminary, for Spanish classes before they embark on a full year of volunteer work all over the island. The three of us wandered the streets of Matanzas for several hours this afternoon, an odd assortment of nontourists speaking an odd assortment of languages, in search of a new pair of sandals for Julia, a bank to change dollars to CUCs, a post office to buy stamps, and a store to buy rum.
Julia’s sandals were bartered and bought, but the other places were all closed by the time we found them. Julian and I stopped every couple of blocks for directions to any one of these places, and we all remarked how emphatically Cubans tend to give the wrong directions.
Tomorrow, I begin to teach Inglés Teológico II to my four students, two of whom are married to one another. Today, I was shown the austere and architecturally stunning classroom where I shall be spending four hours a week with these four seminary students. I requested and already received a small table or bookcase or something where I can store all of the teaching paraphernalia that I brought with me and much of which I plan to leave: color transparencies now outdated and replaced by online resources; old road maps from San Francisco to the Main Line; train schedules, brochures to amusement parks, pencils, pens, markers, rulers, paper clips, chalk, a children’s book of well-known nursery tales donated by my granddaughter Riley Rose Ostroff; and the two photo album baby books her parents made of her and the twins’ first years.
Foreign-language students love anything with more color and pictures than words, especially photos of family with cutesy captions under them. I know that I’m supposed to be teaching them to read English theological texts but…oh, darn, a nicely illustrated children’s Bible would have been nice to bring, too, but I forgot what happened to the one we had long ago, and I forgot to buy a new one.
Foreign-language students love anything with more color and pictures than words, especially photos of family with cutesy captions under them. I know that I’m supposed to be teaching them to read English theological texts but…oh, darn, a nicely illustrated children’s Bible would have been nice to bring, too, but I forgot what happened to the one we had long ago, and I forgot to buy a new one.
I was held up at the (newly refurbished and very nice) Terminal 2 of the Havana airport by nearly every single customs official they had. They kept passing me and my bags back and forth between one another, and arguing that either I was being charged too much or too little for all the teaching-related stuff I brought, all of which they made me take out one article at a time and explain.
They also kept switching back and forth between which passport they needed to see--the U.S. one or the Cuban one--and which visa or which document from which government. They couldn’t figure out who the heck I was or where I came from or what I was doing there, or why I seemed to be doing everything backwards from most other Cubans, i.e. wanting to come live here rather than wanting to leave to go live in Miami.
They also kept switching back and forth between which passport they needed to see--the U.S. one or the Cuban one--and which visa or which document from which government. They couldn’t figure out who the heck I was or where I came from or what I was doing there, or why I seemed to be doing everything backwards from most other Cubans, i.e. wanting to come live here rather than wanting to leave to go live in Miami.
In the end, they probably let me off easy, charging me for only 8 extra kilos of weight, but that was nearly $100 in duties taxes.
More to come in a few days. I have to take this to the computer room in the library and e-mail it as an attachment.
Love,
Elisa
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