Massacre at Matanzas

To what do I refer with this powerful word "massacre", you might ask. To which I would respond: the hearts, souls, and spirits of twelve American students who had the mishap of being yoked for a three day tour with a tour guide who had never been to said areas and a professor who had never thought about logistics. Though I will write a greater explanation, you should know that this picture says it all:Our first morning in Matanzas dawned grey and cloudy: an omen. We boarded the tour bus and set off for our first destination, a famous old theater. My first inkling of the issues to come was that the theater was not yet open. I guess if you thought your tour guide should know such things or have planned out a schedule, you'd be wrong. The next planned destination, a seminary, was not yet open either, so we had to kill time (we hadn't done anything and we were already trying to kill time...) by stopping at a pharmacy which opened in 1882 and has been preserved ever since. Cuba thinks its such an important place that it charges visitors a whopping 3 CUC to enter. We students did not feel it was so important to see this place, and were prepared on such an "opportunity". After much negotiation, we were made to enter the pharmacy, and told to pay "what we felt appropriate" as we were leaving. I realize right now that this makes us sound like a bunch of ungrateful SOBs. I promise you, that really wasn't the case. Everyone started off excited about the Matanzas trip and we really wanted to get to know another part of the country. At this point, so many things were working against our enjoyment: the early morning, the last dregs of confusion and horror from the previous night's sex show, the fact that our tour guide was an imbecile...etc.to wait outside while our professor went it. He, rather than taking responsibility for the fact that A) the trip was poorly planned, and B) we weren't supposed to have to pay for anything besides meals on this trip, instead seemed to think that we were crazy and a little cheap for not immediately opening our wallets.

Anyway, the most interesting thing from the entire pharmacy debacle was (as another student pointed out) that most modern Cuban pharmacies don't even have a fourth of the products available that they had in other times.

Onward and upward to the seminary, which was indeed situated a bit outside of Matanzas on a hill. Mostly we checked out the view and spent time talking with an older theologian who talked to us about the different religious theories developed since the Revolution. The most interesting to me was the "Theory of the Absurd", which, while I still don't quite understand the name, was created during the Special Period in Cuba. The Special Period was during the nineties, right after the dissolution of the Soviet block. Because that was Cuba's major trading partner, the country suffered severe economic hardships during those years, and it was a very frustrating time, especially for the youth of the country. This theory more or less centered around trying to instill in these youth a sense of hope for the future. It seems to me that this theory should still be in practice right now, only I haven't sensed any hope in the youth we know, just the frustration.

The seminary was followed by lunch in a hillside restaurant. To cut to the chase, we waited about two hours for undercooked, bloody chicken. At some point during the wait, Honorio and I decided a bottle of wine was a good idea. An even better idea was getting a second bottle to go when lunch was finally done. We made one more stop at a little workshop that makes handmade books, and I passed the afternoon and most of the evening in a pleasant state.

Anticlimactic as this day was, it was nothing compared to what was to come. We found out Saturday morning that we were driving two hours away from Matanzas to see some rural villages. Interesting concept, executed because Profe wanted to, despite the fact that our tour guide had never been to these towns...It went about as well as you can imagine. We arrived in the first town, whose name will be forever lost in the annals of my history (in there?). We were told to disembark and walk around for 15 minutes before returning to the van. Imagine this, please. A rural town, in Cuba, which means dusty and poorly (if at all) paved roads. Many of the buildings are in a sad state. It was not a work day, so most people were out and about in town. Some cars could be seen, but it was apparent that biking or hoofin' it were the main modes of transportation. We roll up in a nice, AC-blasting tour bus and walk down the steps into this other world. I experienced some discomfort because everyone was staring at us, which was only natural, given the circumstances. But even more discomfort came from the realization that we were there more or less just to state at them as well. Oh, hai, we're a bunch of Americans and we're going to tour your town like it's something really strange. It's not that I didn't want to see a rural Cuban village, but I don't like making others feel like their life is under the microscope.

So we departed from this town and headed to another, called Jaguey Grande. En route, we passed miles and miles of orange orchards, the big industry in this part of the country. There are also a good deal of schools out in the countryside, and the students attend class in the morning and work picking oranges in the afternoon.

Jaguey Grande was...well, refer to the first picture in this post. This trip was full of half-assed (brief and inaccurate) and unnecessary translations, a random man that we picked up on the street to tell us about the town, and unsatisfying food despite the fact that a fantastic burger joint was just down the street. My favorite experience, however, was walking into an old, dusty building. A few chairs and some dilapidated boxes were in evidence, but not much else. We continued through into an inner patio. Where were we, we wondered? That's right. We were in a run-down building that contained nothing. There are plans in the works for it to eventually become the Municipal Museum of Jaguey Grande, but in the meantime, zilch. Actually, that's not true. They had one artifact, an ancient gasoline-powered iron. Good times.

I can't even write much more about this trip, except that for a short time it took away my will to live, because I also got sick in Matanzas, and suffered a sore throat since then until yesterday. Sunday we did spend on the beach, but I needed about a week's worth of beach days after that weekend.