Missive #4
Matanzas, Cuba
September 13, 2011
I dedicate this to Andrea Trexler, of Richmond, Calif., whose birthday it is today.
We were sitting on the front porch of my house in Haverford on a really hot day this past summer, as I made my usual excuses about being incapable of understanding or doing a single thing in this oppressive heat and humidity, and Ron said, “Elisa, how are you going to manage when you get to Cuba?” I forget now how I answered him, but it was a good question.
It is amazing to me, and yet it makes utter sense, to what degree the everyday life of an entire nation is affected by extreme heat and humidity. The heat dictates everyone’s every moment of the day. Mostly, it means that everyone simply admits that the human body has limitations, and then they go about their lives, taking those limitations into account.
I must have thought that Cubans just kept on going like they do in Florida: stay inside and turn up the AC. But, of course, they can’t, and they don’t, because they don’t all have air-conditioning. And even if they do, since the majority of people in their immediate world have already readjusted their lives to deal with the intense heat, they would too.
Anyone and everyone who has any serious work to do, and has no AC, does it early in the morning, and then their day's work is done. But even the most important of government offices or tourist-related offices and businesses, with all the air-conditioning needed at their disposal, cannot function in a void, so they take frequent long breaks and quit early as well.
I must have thought that Cubans just kept on going like they do in Florida: stay inside and turn up the AC. But, of course, they can’t, and they don’t, because they don’t all have air-conditioning. And even if they do, since the majority of people in their immediate world have already readjusted their lives to deal with the intense heat, they would too.
Anyone and everyone who has any serious work to do, and has no AC, does it early in the morning, and then their day's work is done. But even the most important of government offices or tourist-related offices and businesses, with all the air-conditioning needed at their disposal, cannot function in a void, so they take frequent long breaks and quit early as well.
I also mistakenly assumed that after living in a temperate climate for 50 years, I’d lost some kind of Cuban immunity to the heat. But Ron would be surprised to hear how all Cubans complain even more than I do about the heat and the humidity. (Oh, how nice it is to be surrounded by people just like me! And we also adore the snow and the cold!)
In addition to frequent breaks and a very short "work" day (unemployment is at 80% in Cuba, I was told in Havana this past weekend, because it's easier to not work and get paid the same), a lot of Cubans seek the shade, a breeze, or the dark, and they take a nap or a long break after the midday meal.
In Pennsylvania, I run the water for a few minutes before it gets hot, and since I hate to waste any water, I usually collect it in large plastic watering cans to use for the plants or the aquariums. In Cuba, it’s the opposite. The water in the shower is only cool for about 45 seconds before it turns warm. I take a lot of 45-second showers. I also change my sweat-soaked clothes about five times a day.
If you must go outside into the sun for even a few minutes, there should be a very good reason for it. And you cross over to the side of the street that has even the most minimal amount of shade, you wear a hat, and people carry umbrellas rain and shine.
If you must go outside into the sun for even a few minutes, there should be a very good reason for it. And you cross over to the side of the street that has even the most minimal amount of shade, you wear a hat, and people carry umbrellas rain and shine.
Enough about the heat in the air! Let me tell you about the heat in the music and the culture and the hearts of this incredible island where I had the great fortune to be born. This past weekend in Havana, just between Thursday and Monday, I attended one free outdoor live concert, one incredible Shakespeare a la cubana theatrical performance, and the most beautiful ballet skits of my life--all within walking distance of my aunt’s house.
My cousin Virginia, along with her daughter Claudia and her boyfriend Antonio, arranged the tickets to the play and to the Ballet National de Cuba. I asked them about the cost and found out that they were practically free. We arrived at the play a bit late, and it was crowded. Virginia found a single seat, while Claudia, Tony, and I sat down on the floor in front of the stage. People just filled in all around us, grabbing extra chairs and sitting down in the aisles as well. Nobody seemed particularly concerned about having an emergency exit, in case of a fire. The entire theater was on fire from the get-go.
I’ve seen dozens of Shakespeare adaptations all over the world, and it’s a good thing I’d seen this one traditionally performed at least twice in two other languages, or I may not have understood the plot. The plot, I don’t think, was the point. The director has a well-established and well-respected reputation for taking any well-known play, and “cubanizing” it to his heart’s content and to his audiences’ delight.
My cousin and her daughters spent many moments analyzing and discussing the director’s singularly peculiar style, which could be summed up as: sex, music, and literary allusions, in that order. Figuring that out was all I could do to keep up with all that was going on at once on that stage right in front of me.
What shocked most people the most, even though by now they should have come to expect it from this director (sorry, but since I didn’t grab the program, I don’t have his name), was the contrast between the total male nudity (uncircumcised penises flapping up and down and around like tassels on nipples) and total female coverings. Besides all the sexual allusions and male-genitalia displays, the sheer dynamic and physical energy behind every single pronounced or sung or even silent syllable in that play, by every single one of nearly three dozen actors on that stage, every single moment of the entire performance, was like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
My cousin Virginia, along with her daughter Claudia and her boyfriend Antonio, arranged the tickets to the play and to the Ballet National de Cuba. I asked them about the cost and found out that they were practically free. We arrived at the play a bit late, and it was crowded. Virginia found a single seat, while Claudia, Tony, and I sat down on the floor in front of the stage. People just filled in all around us, grabbing extra chairs and sitting down in the aisles as well. Nobody seemed particularly concerned about having an emergency exit, in case of a fire. The entire theater was on fire from the get-go.
I’ve seen dozens of Shakespeare adaptations all over the world, and it’s a good thing I’d seen this one traditionally performed at least twice in two other languages, or I may not have understood the plot. The plot, I don’t think, was the point. The director has a well-established and well-respected reputation for taking any well-known play, and “cubanizing” it to his heart’s content and to his audiences’ delight.
My cousin and her daughters spent many moments analyzing and discussing the director’s singularly peculiar style, which could be summed up as: sex, music, and literary allusions, in that order. Figuring that out was all I could do to keep up with all that was going on at once on that stage right in front of me.
What shocked most people the most, even though by now they should have come to expect it from this director (sorry, but since I didn’t grab the program, I don’t have his name), was the contrast between the total male nudity (uncircumcised penises flapping up and down and around like tassels on nipples) and total female coverings. Besides all the sexual allusions and male-genitalia displays, the sheer dynamic and physical energy behind every single pronounced or sung or even silent syllable in that play, by every single one of nearly three dozen actors on that stage, every single moment of the entire performance, was like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
The following evening’s five short ballets left me nearly paralyzed, so moved by each performance. I don’t understand exactly what happened to me, but I found it so beautiful that I was afraid that I would start to cry and that I’d then have to leave the theater. As we were exiting the theater to walk back to the house, I was told that the ballerinas that evening were only the third string, as the first and second strings of performers are on international tour. If you get a chance to see the Ballet Nacional de Cuba performing anywhere near you, go!
Just outside the theater, three identical boys, each dressed in white guayaberas, and their parents, obviously good friends of the family, greeted us, and each one of the boys kissed me. What sweethearts! They were triplets, just starting sixth grade. From the little I know about multiples, I figured that there had to be at least one fraternal among the three. But wouldn’t you know it: I just met the 1 in 15 million sets of triplets who all came from one egg and are truly identical! All three boys are studying ballet, which is why they were there late on a school night. I hope that I can see that family again, because those three boys and their mother and father were very sweet and very interesting people.
On the 10th anniversary of 9/11, Cuban television showed an American movie with Spanish subtitles. Again I neglected to note the title. Who’s the British actor who plays Remington Steele and 007? He played the father in the movie, whose estranged older and now newly reconciled son goes to his office in one of the two World Trade Towers on the morning of September 11, 2001, and is killed, while the father is saved because he is accompanying his equally estranged but now reconciled young daughter to her private school in the company limousine.
The dinner bell is about to ring at the seminary on the hot-and-humid hill, and I bid you all good night.
The dinner bell is about to ring at the seminary on the hot-and-humid hill, and I bid you all good night.
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