the internet is being weird and my pics won’t format correctly.

Hmmm…so I’m back. I had a bit of a numb spell, but after some reconciliations and realizations of the spiritual, emotional, and political sort—I felt ready to try the blog thing. Also, I believe the constant complaining of family and friends about my lack of blogging also helped in the decision to get back in the rhythm of blogging. Lots has happened since my last blog. Some of my fellow comrades from Brown have already posted their own thoughts and views. *insert sarcasm here* But since I’m blogging from the “female perspective” (according to Steve…whose blog is que bola—http://quebola.tumblr.com) I’ll still elaborate.

.Decadence at Its Best.

On Semptember 19th we all piled onto a bus headed to a farm located Pinar del Rio. By we I mean us nine Brown students, Adrian (program director/prof), his parents (his mom is fiesty to say the least and never fails to make you laugh), his cousin and young daughter, an artist couple/friends of Adrian ( I have a total girl crush on the wife), and another couple and their daughter that I didn’t really have a chance to talk to. Oh and before leaving our residency to pick up the Adrian’s crew we were chillin in the bus when the driver started blasting the popular pop/hip hop song “Gozando la Habana”(“Enjoying Havana) through the bus speakers. Other than it being a very fun and dancable song…it essentially became our anthem for the day and perhaps for this whole trip. In a few sentences or less the song basically talks about how Havana is where it’s at. In other words Miami isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In Havana one finds happiness, flavor, gossip…sugar and spice and everything nice (ok the last part is obviously not in the song, but you get the point). One of the catchiest parts of the song is:

cuentame , como te ha ido si has conocido la felicidad

cuentame , como te va, yo por aqui my bien y tu por alla que bola !

this roughly translates to—

tell me. how are things with you, tell me if you’ve known real happiness

tell me, how are you, i’m great here (ie Havana)

and you there (Miami), what’s up (with that)

The song pokes fun at Miami and all the silly Cuban Americans who think that Cuba is this horrible place where the government sacrifices babies to the great god of Communism. Instead, it’s like yeah we’re hustling and struggling as people, but it’s good in the hood.

So back to the trip.

Along the way we picked up cheese, guava goop stuff, and two roasted chickens from vendors on the side of the road.Once we finally arrived on the farm and settled in a bit. We all went down to the river. The fresh water river was amazing! It was cold and refreshing. There were these natural hot tub type shaped formations in the rock, just perfect for the group to sit in. The only down side was that a couple of the girls got bit by some random bugs. After the rushing river time we all went back to the house and had the most delicious meal ever. Oh did I mention that it was a pig roast. So they began roasting a pig on the fire beginning earlier that morning. It was a little creepy having a pig roast feast within viewing distance of the pig pen. Now, I don’t really eat meat, except for fish when available, but I did eat the roasted chicken and pig that day. I figured it was farm raised ie no steroids and no animal maltreatment. It’s kinda like the time I ate roast beef at an Amish restaurant for my one year anniversary of not eating meat. When the pig was taken off the fire everyone gathered around the carcass with their eyes glazed over. Well except for Yahellah, who doesn’t eat pork for religious reasons. Adrian’s dad went for the brains, Jon was way too happy to eat the pig tail, and Michelle was steady munching on the skin that still had hair, but was still delicious nonetheless. It was a gruesome sight. We all smelled like pork grease after that. The actual sit down meal consisted off pork, chicken, fresh avocados, beans and rice, garlic yuca, and fresh star fruit juice. (There was an actual star fruit tree in the back! I was super excited. I always made my mom buy those from the store when I was a kid in Ohio. They were super expensive. I definitely picked and ate three of them straight from the tree earlier in the day). So there was the Ipod streaming Marley, Fugees, and Janis in the background, people were eating and drinking, sunshine, dancing, chickens running around, people chasing chickens, kids laughing, sweating, pork grease…it was afternoon was fun, indulgence, and pure bliss.

Aside from the meal. I had a few moments with some of the little girls that were there. I met up with them while they were playing in the bus. After hearing them talk and ask me about Hannah Montana for like 10 minutes. I asked them what they want to be when they grow up. Pretty generic question to ask a kid, but there answers where interesting. Two girls wanted to be singers like you probably guessed Hannah Montana, one never answered me, another wanted to be a pediatrician, and another wanted to be a bus driver. The two answers that interested me the most were the little girls that said they wanted to be a bus driver and a pediatrician. The bus drive intrigued me because in the US you never really hear kids say they want to be a bus driver…usually it’s a basketball player, actress fireman, doctor, veterinarian—something with star appeal or nobility. You never hear a bus driver. Don’t get me wrong—I’m down with the cause of the working class (I’m from the working class and at one time my mom was a city bus driver), but many times a bus driver is thought to be perhaps remedial job. What does this say about imagination and possibilities of Cuban children? American children? A bus driver in the foreign tourist industry in Cuba would definitely make more than any pediatrician in the country. As I mentioned in a previous blog those workers connected with the tourism industry make a significantly more than those who aren’t whether it’s through tips, cheating tourists, or taking a little off the top here and there. Did this little girl say she wants to be a bus driver because someone in her family or her family is a bus driver,  does she know she could make more money as a driver, or is it just because she was sitting in the driver’s of a bus? This whole conversation brought up again in my mind the problems and inequalities that are further perpetuated by the foreign tourist industry and Cuba’s double currency of the peso and the CUC   roughly 25 pesos= ONE c.u.c. Everyone wants the CUC, because it’s worth more, most if not all Cubans get their pay in pesos and buy their basic foods in pesos. But other things like new clothes and shoes and other items that are considered more commodities are in CUC. The other little girl said she wanted to be a pediatrician. Cuba has free health care for everyone. This has been one of the prized resolutions of the 1959 revolution. Although, there is free health care, the conditions of hospitals are pretty bad and there is a lack of materials and resources. Aside from this Cuba has been able to quickly and effectively train doctors and specialists, but after going to school and going through years of training there is no incentive to stay in the country. What is one to do after investing one’s life in a profession or career and then there is no incentive to actually perform your career. Doctors here make next to nothing. They are employees of the state and can make less than a waitress at a hotel. That’s a baffling reality when you consider the hundred of thousands of dollars and the respect that comes with being a doctor in the US.

Our trip to Pinar del Rio came full CIRCLE (see the movie “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” to get the joke) when we began the trip back to the city with:

cuentame , como te ha ido si has conocido la felicidad

cuentame , como te va, yo por aqui my bien y tu por alla que bola !

.World Peace.

On the next day (September 20th) a big group of us went to the Paz Sin Fronteras (“the visionary” of the event and a favorite from many US high school Spanish classes), Orishas (a popular Cuban hip hop group), Yerba Buena (a funk, salsa, hip hopish, jazzy fusion group w. members from Cuba and Venezuela)…there were others some where ok and a number where just boring. Oh and there was X Alfanso that didn’t really impress me during the concert, but grew on me after going to his concert this past weekend. It was estimated that there were over a million people. http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/americas/09/20/cuban.peace.concert/index.html  I don’t know if there were actual a million people, but it felt like it. There were tons of sweaty slightly annoyed and sunburnt people from morning til sunset. Everyone was supposed to wear white in honor of peace (why white is considered to be the color of peace is a little problematic to me, but whatever I rolled with it for the day). After leaving my white shirt was definitely slightly dingy and is in desperate need of bleach. Overall the concert was not bad and it was definitely chaotic (on the ground level at least). There was a lot of down time. Witnessing random cat fights, guys trying to game women, trying not to be trampled by crazy people, frantic mothers carrying their kids (why they brought them in the first place I’ll never know) helped pass the time. The musical highlights definitely included Orishas, Yerba Buena, Juanes, and the song “25 mil mentiras sobre la verdad” by Carlos Varela. The message was the usual ambiguous let’s have peace type thing. It was a little superficial and somewhat disappointing, but expected. I’m curious to know how much censorship the government had over Juanes and the rest. Whatever the case, I was happy to be a part of the mass communist gathering in la plaza de la revolucion. (Peace without Borders) concert in La Plaza de la Revolucion (Revolution plaza) here in Havana. It was a huge day long concert of musicians and singers from all over including JuanesMy inner commie was excited. :)

.Reminders of Home and Mistaken Identities.

On this past Sunday I was able to finally meet up with a friend I met during an internship this summer in California. She is also studying here for the semester through the University of Pittsburgh. It was to see and chat with her. Her presence reminded me of home and just things familiar. I had a good time listening to her experiences here. She told me which is both simultaneously funny and sad; when she goes out with the other people from her school (they’re all white) people think she’s a jinetera (prostitute). My friend is African American. It’s totally messed I know. Sometimes when going back to their hotel the attendants ask her for her ID to make sure she isn’t a Cuban who is attempting to sneak in the hotel. Cubans aren’t allowed past the hotel lobby. She asked me do people think you’re Cuban. There have been a good number of people who think I’m Brazilian. I was on the bus the other day and this Cuban lady and I started up a conversation and she asked me if I was Brazilian. It’s interesting how people perceive me. I’m thought to be Brazilian or mulata here. But in the US I’m just black. Although I’m Honduran and black…one drop makes me black. It’s easier that way?

.Encounters of the Intellectual Sort.

This actually brings to mind a crazy dialogue/lecture from today’s class. I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this before, but instead of studying at the University of Havana like all the other college students from the US we’re taking classes at Casa de las Américas. It’s a Latin American/Caribbean cultural research institute. Although, it’s run by the government it isn’t completely subject to the government in that the institute occupies a space in which people are able to be somewhat critical of the government and/or it’s policies. There is an obvious humanities focus. Anywho…here’s a link for all you cholos who speak spanish. http://www.casadelasamericas.com/ So back to today’s class. On Monday we began our first class with Professor Sacha. Today we had a guest speaker to talk about transculturation in Cuba. Ok I’m obviously not a scholar, but in a nutshell transculturation describes the process of interactions between a dominant and domianted culture. Of course these interactions are plagued with violence, pain, oppression, complications, and complexities—that I won’t even attempt to explain. The guest speaker was apparently an old academic friend of Sacha. His lecture was kinda blah blah. I wasn’t really impressed by his examples and explanations of transculturation in Cuba. It was a rhetoric filled with the expected…Cuban culture is a mixed culture…a culture of co-existence…blah blah. I felt like many times he was defending the actual presence of African culture in Cuban culture, but in support of his antique academic resolutions. I say this because when he explained the African influences it was definitely on a superficial level. For me it was an example of the way in which white scholars who have given themselves over to the fact that yes black people exist and are here to stay, but they give(notice the verb give) black and/or non-white cultures and ways of exist a certain allotted space, a superficial space. He talked about how one can note the influence of Africa in Cuban music, dance, and the santeria religion. I’ve heard these before. I wouldn’t mind the repetition, but nothing was added to my previous interpretations. He sprinkled his speech with examples how transculturation has played out in sex and Cuban (colonial) living spaces. More specifically, in these examples the black and mulata body and physicality became the location of his (when I use him I don’t necessarily mean him as a person, but instead his thinking and what his thinking represents) romaticized theory mixing of cultures. He talked about the black criada (maid) cradled in her breast the white and black babies—one which would eventually dominate and rule over the other. He also mentioned that blacks have a natural ear for music and told a random account about a black music who could play the flute by ear. This guy also talked about the mulata and the beauty of her light brown skin and body. He even went as far as to say that my “mulata” skin was beautiful, but his was unfortunately white like paper—but apparently we’re the same on the inside. When I asked him about why he used such problematic sexualized and racialized examples and terms to address and what seemed like to embrace the concept of transculturation he definitely evaded the question. Michelle also asked a valid question about the limiting effects of sexualizing the mulata—on her humanity and existance. He went off on some random examples that didn’t really get at the heart of her actual inquiry. It was crazy. It was took a big part of me to not walk out on the conversation. I stayed because I decided that I actually wanted to know his rational. I know he isn’t the only one. At one point in his speech he used the age old defensive attitude when it comes to race relations in Latin America—we aren’t as bad as the US in handing our black problem (my words not his). By not directly answering our questions and reverting to the explicit manifestations of racism in the US he just perpetuated the silence that arises in the discourse on race. Although, an encounter with bad thinking, it was a valuable encounter and has me thinking.

.Random tidbits.

I went to about four Cuban style thrift stores yesterday. Twas a fail at finding used clothing at cheap prices. The clothes were either from the 1980s, meant to only be worn during the fall in New England, or super dingy and gross. Michelle described the clothes best when she said that it was like the clothes were donated from the US to the Soviet Union, then the Soviet Union shipped them to China, and then they finally made their way to Cuba. Maybe this example isn’t the greatest since the US was kinda involved in this little thing called the cold war, so maybe substitute the USSR for let’s say the Philippines and China for Costa Rica.

Sometimes people are kooler than you think, once you get to know them more and more.

I eat eggs at least once a day, everyday. On day boiled, the next day scrambled, one day boiled, the next day scrambled…

In Cuba people don’t called Juanes Juanes. They call him Juane…anyone know why that is?

(So I guess I lied…all of my entries are going to be mad long I guess. But it might be ok since I’ve only been able to post once a week.)

Hmmm…so I’ve been dreading this moment for a number of reasons. First, I’m lazy. Second, I feel like there are so many thoughts and questions that are swirling in and clogging up my head about Cuba, the US, and selfishly myself and my own existence and identify. The following entry might seem a little rantish (hmm…is that even a word?) or fragmented, but that’s kind of my current mental and emotional state right now. There WILL be many questions, most of which I don’t have the energy to actual include in this blog.

-One thing that has me consumed me. The idea of agency and the relationship (or maybe encounter is better) between the oppressed and the oppressor or the colonized and the colonizer. Adrian (our current and only prof at the moment….we have a total of four classes this semester but we’re taking one like every four weeks) keeps emphasizing the idea that Cuba wasn’t just colonized/exploited by Spain, the US and perhaps now Venezuela. He isn’t fond of the victim’s account of history. Instead, he proposes the idea of a relationship in which the colonized use the same tools as the colonizer to use and take advantage of the colonizer or the foreign powers that enter the country. For example, say a dashing young financially well off white male from some random “white country” were to arrive in Cuba. He’d come to the island and stay at a hotel, buy food and drinks, go to popular attractions perhaps, and so on. In general he would use up the island’s resources. And workers  whether a waitress or a hustler of some sort (everyone here is a hustler) would figure out a way to take advantage of or make the most of this walking dashing ATM. In broader terms when looking at the colonial machine over the centuries the powerful come to the island and used up the island’s resources whether it’s cheap labor, and cheap crops/products. But according to my prof. the exploited aren’t without agency in a way because they have found ways to use the system and maneuver in the system through a series the embracing and resistance of the system. I think I get that Adrian doesn’t want us to only think of Cuba as this poor and underdeveloped nation. The colonized shouldn’t be completely victimized in a way that overlooks their ability and forms of living and surviving in a system built to use them up. But for me outsiders and the privileged coming into a country and using the colonial and neocolonial machine to exploit a people cannot be equated with the way in which the exploited are forced to manipulate and use the machine just to survive. It isn’t like poor people, non-white people, or whatever oppressed people chose to be a part of the machine. Do the oppressed use the same tools as the oppressor? I think it’s difficult for me to not take it personal. I mean he says this as a white Cuban male and I hear this as a woman of Honduran and African descent. Maybe I’m too caught up identities or loyalties? Maybe that isn’t even the issue?

-Is there a difference between a person’s identity/identities and a person’s loyalties? Are they interchangeable or one in the same?

-Am I exploiting Cuba? Is there a such thing as “good” exploitation?

ON A LIGHTER NOTE…

Current music playlist for jogging on the Malecón.

1. Krylong Teardrops   RedCloud

2. Blooming Sounds     Poems

3. Yes Today               The Remnant

4. (there’s gotta be) More to Life-remix   Stacie Orrico

5. Goodbye                 MuteMath

6. Not Anymore         Zane One

7. Good Times Roll (part 2)  RJD2

8. On Nature               Matisyahu

9. Jamboree                John Reuben

10. Escape                 Matisyahu

11. Pink Limousine    Rootbeer(Pigeon John and Flynn Adams)

12. Man In A 3k Suit      Jonezetta

13. Resurrect Me          Jon Foreman

Radom tidbits:

Friday I waited for ice cream at Coppelia for an hour. While we were waiting a worker came to the line and told us they ran out of ice cream.

This is in no way a value statement, but Cuba as a country has the WORST restaurant service ever. :) In retrospect I’m sure it will be hilarious…but why does it take so long to actually have a waiter/waitress take an order, then actually bring what you ordered, and then bring the check. The only upside to the long process of eating in restaurants is that people don’t tip in Cuba. I only eat in restaurants because we’re on our own for lunch and we don’t have access to the kitchen (apparently Americans don’t know how to use the kitchen in our apartment).

Someone working in the tourist industry makes can more than a brain surgeon.

Things Cuba has that I’m quite fond of:

1. the Malecón- No where in the US is there a 8km wall bordering the ocean that brings strangers and families at night. This past Saturday night there were tons of people, at least a thousand easily. It was stacked! Everyone just chills, chats, drinks, makes out (by no means am I condoning PDA), plays impromptu jam sessions…As my prof. described it…it’s essentially Havana’s living room. Though, spending night after night there can get repetitive. Unfortunately, for those who live in Havana there aren’t many affordable options.

2. fresh fruit juice…watermelon, mango, lime, lemon, orange…

3. I feel pretty safe, though I’m always paranoid about being scammed.

4. The way in which everyone disobeys the law- the law is relative. Cubans are super creative. It’s amazing how everyone seems to be breaking the law. It’s inevitably really…when you look at how much people actual make and what things cost it’s virtually impossible to meet the need of monthly living expenses. Everyone does something on the side to make up for what they can’t earn with even decent or professional job. People aren’t selling drugs, well maybe some people, but people are doing different odd jobs or repairs on the side, translating texts for other countries, selling peanuts or flowers on the malecón, etc. The weird thing is is that it isn’t a secret to the government. It’s just become accepted. Before my roommate started playing Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” I just happened to be listening to the song “Forced to Sin” by Emmanuel Jal. It definitely reminds me of this situation. If you have a free moment I encourage you all to check out the song on the web, youtube maybe? Here’s his wikipedia page http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emmanuel_Jal

Things I miss about the US:

*never thought I’d be saying that. :)

1. vegetables!

2. cheese

3. plain yogurt and my mom’s granola

4. so since my first three things were food I also miss accessible café and other random kool hangout and homework spots

5. democracy! jk.

6. talking to my mom on a daily basis.—I’m realizing more and more how isolated yet connected Cuba is from the US. Communication is difficult. Calling the US is out of the question, and calling from the US is super expensive as well. Our skype phone doesn’t work and gchat video and voice are cracked out at the moment. How do Cuban Americans communicate with family on the island?

* Amaneció is one of my favorite songs by a popular Cuban pop/alternative named David Blanco. I saw him in concert at la Univesidad de Habana.

First Encounters Are Always Awkward:

So this is my first blog entry since arriving in Cuba. Eight other students, our professor/program director, and myself arrived Monday, August 31st. I regret waiting until now to actually start this blog because I feel like so much has happened in just this first week of being here. But I suppose beginning now is better than not at all. Of course, I’ll try my best to explain my experiences in Cuba from my own perspectives as an American woman of color. I apologize if this seems a little chaotic and all over the place. Although, I’m of the generation of bloggers, this is my first…in other words bare with me as a figure out the most effective way to post stuff. Also, I promise my other entries won’t be this LONG.

First things first.

Cuba is beautiful and soo hot. Walk down the street…I sweat. Lie on my bed…I sweat. Eat dinner…I sweat. Read a book…I sweat. The only relief is that we get great breezes since we live right on the ocean oh and the air conditioning in our bedrooms. The city architecture is crazy beautiful. There are tons of awesome colonial style buildings with huge pillars and columns. Many of the buildings are in need of major restoration, but nonetheless have this old nostalgic crumbly vibe and peeling pastel paints.

The Crib:

So our house is essentially like Real World Cuba. I know it doesn’t exist, but maybe one day it will? In all we’re nine third and fourth year Brown students (5 girls and 4 guys) living on the top two floors of a 14 story apartment building in a part of the city called Vedado. The apartment is pretty nice. Although, the elevators are somewhat sketchy. There are two in the building, but half the time only one of them is funcing. And the one that works goes really really slow and can only hold like five people. I find myself walking up the fourteen flights at least twice a day. On the bright side the building is one street over from the Malecón* (the Malecón is a 8 km roadway/promenade/seawall that stretches along the coast of city). I’m in love with my room. Half of my room is windows that directly face the ocean and we have a balcony that is great for chilling or as Zach says tranquilando (one day we’ll get that word into the Spanish dictionary) and drying clothes. My only complaint…with all the windows we have to be aware an audience. There are some major creepers with binoculars in the apartment building diagonal from us.

Male-Female interactions:

If you’re a woman you will get hissing, whistles and kissing noises from random Cuban guys. No lie, no matter where you go or what you wear some guy will yell something random. Some Cubanos are more reasonable and yell the random “hi” or “god bless you” (this is when you don’t respond to their catcalls). Once while jogging down the Malecón some guy started videotaping me on his cell phone. God bless ipods, they block out all catcalls.  In the beginning, I was highly offended and frustrated. I wouldn’t say that I’m used to it now, but sadly it has become apart of the female experience of walking down the street, going to the store, or jogging down the Malecón. Someday in the near future I’d like to experiment and reverse the roles and objectify some random guys, but maybe that would just perpetuate the whole system of problematic gender dynamics here on the island? As of now I resort to ignoring and or saluting people when approached. Funny story: A fellow student Jon was “practicing” his hissing and whistles on our bus ride back to our apartment (he’s colombiano). While at a stop he randomly whistled at a woman who happened to have her hand up in the process of scolding her daughter. With the whistling the woman apparently stopped and looked up at him consequently “saving” the girl from a smack on the face. According to Jon the girl looked up in complete and utter relief. So from now on Jon swears that his hissing and whistling saves little children from abuse.

Commodities:

Toilet paper and soap. Who knew that girls would get so excited when a bathroom has toilet paper AND soap…or a flushing toilet for that matter.

Commie-talk and Mango ice cream:

Yesterday (September 8th) a few of us went more inland into the city on a quest to chill at the University of Havana. Well, we ended up at Copelia and la FEU. Copelia was this kool ice cream park. It was basically this park looking area with a huge futuristic building in the center surrounded by trees and huge shaded patios. There were entrances on either side of the park where people waited in lines to be let in by the 10s. Once inside the park people sat down to eat their ice cream and left. It was an interesting sight. The whole process functioned like an assembly line or machine. People wait in line. They go in the park in a line. They sit down. Order their ice cream. Eat. Leave. And the whole thing repeats over and over again the whole day. It’s pretty awesome. We were in the Cuban line which only included one flavor, mango (which was perfectly alright with me). One bowl was 5 pesos naciónal which is about .20 USD. The ice cream was fantastic. Ok so for the communists. Cuba is technically a socialist country, but after one day in Cuba, one realizes that capitalism is a very present and strong force (sorry to all you socialists out there). So after getting ice cream we go into the La Federacion de Estudiantil Universario (FEU). To our surprise it wasn’t a student union type deal with old couches, coffee, music, and U of Havana students. Instead we had this awkward conversation which wasn’t really a conversation with the direction of the FEU. The guy was obviously straight edge. He was all about Cuba being a democracy and that the Cuban people actually wanted Castro in for forty years. He was a little condescending when he started explaining what it means to have a democracy and was really giving us what seemed to be a television address. Despite this the conversation was informing. If anything it was informing of the different perspectives and viewpoints on the political and ideological spectrum of Cuba.

I got taken:

So we were at a museum in Habana vieja (Old Havana) and I totally got taken by the museum staff. The museum was converted from some government officials home/mansion into a museum. While looking at a display of antique furniture I was lagging behind to take a picture of some kool plates (these plates were mad kool, i promise). And these women who work there asked where I was from. I said the US. And then they asked me to exchange a gold dollar they had for $1 CUC (Cuba has two currencies, the CUC is worth more and what everyone wants). So I was like um ok. I still don’t know if it’s legit or not. And then they were like let us take some pictures of you in some of the kool rooms that were blocked off by ropes. And after taking the pics I realized that they prob wanted money so I gave one lady $1 CUC and then I gave the other $5 CUC and wanted change. And the lady ends up giving me back $2 CUC. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her to give me back $4CUC. The whole experience was confusing and quick. But they are definitely on their grind. In all they only got me for $5 CUC which is a little more than $5 USD, but I felt like a dumb American tourist (I guess I am unfortunately to some degree). The money wasn’t a big deal in the end because $5CUC is a lot for those women and I’m sure they’ll put it to good use, but my ego was definitely wounded. I don’t like being tricked! ugh! I so love Cuba.

Random tidbits.

When in China town we saw one Chinese guy.

Cubans love sugar…oh and rum.

oh the possibilities…