The Door To Tomorrow

What is that old saying?  I can just hear Julia Andrews in The Sound of Music - when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.  So often I find myself stumped, considering the future, laying out all of the possibilities before me.  It is always so hard to decide when there is so much unknown, so much at risk.  So often I find myself pleading internally for the door to just open that I don't think, or can't bring myself, to knock.  Knock and maybe someone will tell you the answer, solve all your problems.

I guess that would be the ideal situation... but in my experience they tend to just open more windows, adding to the array of possibilities already spread out before me, none of them markedly any better from those already there.  And at this point in time, having just finished my studies (for a while), I already have so many options before me... along with an apparent lack of decisiveness...  All I need is one door to open.  Maybe I should just relax, take a break from life, right?

Taking these photos, of course, I was not thinking so philosophically.  In the street in Trinidad, Cuba, I was more worried about standing on the road, in full blast of the sun's rays, and looking like a fool while I waited.  This fear of standing out, of drawing attention to myself, is deeply tied to my desperate want to avoid attracting the jineteros for which Cuba is also sadly famous.  I had already attracted them in Trinidad, being pounced on as soon as I arrived and followed around town for a while.  I waited slightly ill at ease, and after a moment the door to open for the lady, allowing her to enter with her groceries.  A door opened for her, why wouldn't one open for me too?

Patria o Muerte

Defending Socialism

I have been thinking lately, about what it is that makes Cuba seem so jarring.  It is a very mysterious place, with a lot of seemingly inherent social contradictions.  You see some things that really make you stop and think: that is what I was waiting for!  Like when you see a 1950s car. And then other things that just seem really out of place or contradictory.

I think previously I had always focussed on the things themselves.  Like the prevalence of smoking in a country that is meant to have one of the best medical systems in the world.  But I think the main one, or what it all boils down to is politics - or social structure.  The image that I had in my mind before going to Cuba was playing chess or dominoes in the street, 1950s cars, street music, cigars, rum, mojitos on the beach and Che, obviously.  And Cuba is all those things, undoubtedly.  There life runs to a different beat to in the West, an unhurried one.  It is almost like an exotic, time-warped version of reality.  Education, music and sports seem to take more prominence, especially the latter two, than in Western cultures.  But bearing down over this more relaxed lifestyle, is the ominous presence of socialism.

We want you all to be like Che - Fidel.

Travelling around some of the most common and, for me, the most shocking hints at its presence were signs painted here and there bearing messages such as: patria o muerte (father-land or death), or socialismo o muerte (socialism or death).  What I found the most confronting about these were that they were so common place, so everyday, and passed by locals without even a blink.  So it seems that the idealised relaxed Cuban lifestyle is peppered with social and political propaganda.  I don't intend to debate the benefits of socialism versus capitalism, but rather to note the oppressive political vibes that are constantly being sent out.  Maybe that is rather an indication of the perceived threat of other ways of life encroaching on their established system.

Cambios...

I have talked about Cuba before, in other entries.  But today I want to talk about feelings (oooooooh).  Cuba is, above all else, confusing.  In a lot of ways you feel like you've gone back in time: 1950s cars, horse and carts being legitimately used as taxis and in towing, the casual attitude, kids playing with tops in the street...  But then sometimes you come across something and it is completely disorientating.  For instance, you can find Internet access in Cuba (although it can be difficult/impossible at times), once I saw a new-looking Audi (excuse my lack of knowledge about car models... but it was shiny if that helps) or the fact that they are meant to have an amazing medical system.  Added to these temporal confusions are social ones, and in particular, economic ones.

In some ways, the confusion I'm feeling now is the same that I experienced in Cuba.  In some ways I feel like I've gone back in time - I'm back in the same city, attending the same university and I have the same friends (who have not at all changed from when I last saw them).  But then I get disorientated: I'm doing Honours now, my schedule is different, I live in a different neighbourhood.  There are also added social and economic confusions.  But really, in the end, it all boils down to the fact that I am different.  I wasn't sure that I was completely compatible before, but now I know I am not.  I have come to the conclusion that I really need new friends, to make my current ones become old friends.  I am not compatible with them, and I feel that being around them makes me into a worse person.  I need my freedom back.

Campanas, Torres y Vistas

I've always had a thing for towers, and especially bell towers.  There's just something so cool and kind of creepy about them; romantic ideas about princesses, Quasimodo and haunted castles.

This one I came across in Trinidad, Cuba.  Once a church, the lower stories now serving as a museum; bearing trucks, flags, guns and maps detailing the revolution.  If you pass upstairs, you can get into the tower, which was all I had really been interested in in going there. 

At the bottom of the tower sat a lady, knitting.  She let me pass and I climbed up to the first level, which lead out onto the red terrace.  Continuing up the creaky, wooden, spiral staircase I came upon these large, circular holes that were cut into the towers walls, giving a snapshot view of two opposing sides.  Turning to continue up the stairs, the steps giving slightly underfoot, I saw a chair deliberately lain across the stairs.  I knew what that meant, I think there was a sign too, written in red capitals, making it more imposing: No se puede pasar.  But to me, the sign, the chair... what they seemed to be saying was something more like: Only the faint of heart shall turn back.  It seemed more like an invitation to adventure ; a challenge.  I couldn't stop before getting to the bells, even if I couldn't make it to the top.  I knew that the chubby lady was still knitting at the bottom, and she couldn't see up there.  So I climbed over the chair and continued, thinking that I could always say that I hadn't understood the sign. 

Around a couple more corners I came across the bells, what I'd been waiting for.  Like the circular holes, there were two bells, facing opposite sides.  Apparently once you had been allowed to climb up to the bells and maybe beyond, as there was a retro-looking sign asking you not to sound the bells. 

Finishing looking out and taking photos, I looked around the next corner.  This time there were two folding chairs laid across the stairs along with a couple of planks, which seemed to be saying something more like:  No seriously, dude, you should stop now.  I don't really know why you couldn't keep climbing, it didn't seem that rickety.  Turning on my heel, I started heading down the stairs, when I heard the lady from the bottom calling up to me: No se puede.  Guiltily I hurried back, she was leaning passed the - No se puede pasar - sign, watching me return, embarrassed yet so pleased with myself.  She muttered disapprovingly under her breath as I threw her a quick - Lo siento - and rushed down the stairs and then out of the building.

Casa De Los Lagartos

I was staying in the rural town of Remedios, Cuba, on my way to los cayos - the small islands with paradise-like beaches.  In Remedios it really did feel like maybe you had just stepped back in time... the place has a dusty feel to it.  There was no internet in the town, it was only accessible by taxi, colectivo or the local overfull 'buses', which were more commonly old trucks, and people just seemed to hang around or go casually about their business.

In Cuba there are no hostels: there are hotels and then there are casas particulares - family homes in which (normally one or two) rooms are rented.  They are cheaper, and much cooler than hotels, and you never know exactly what you are going to find in one.  This one in Remedios was probably my favourite, having little distinction between the inside and the outside.

The lounge room/dining room, while completely enclosed at the front and sides, at the back opened to a courtyard (filled with a garden, palm trees and a fountain) that lead down to the owners rooms, the kitchen and the guest rooms.  This photo was taken through my bedroom's window - no glass, just bars, the lizard climbing in.  In the background, on the back wall you can see the brightly coloured male.  The courtyard had a number of these fellas wandering around, but they were normally too quick to catch.

Doors To Trinidad

Recently I was travelling through Cuba and had heard many recommendations for the small city of Trinidad.  Trinidad is a historic city that has recently been given a new life after becoming a UNESCO site.  It has the old, huge doors and buildings with high roofs like the rest of Cuba, although here they are all brightly, cheerily coloured.

Despite the prettiness of the city, it did not meet my tastes as the jinteros there are tireless, constantly offering some service.  This is because of the levels of tourism it receives.  When I arrived I was followed for several hundred metres by a woman offering me accomodation, who completely ignored me when I was telling her that I would like to look around by myself and that I wasn't interested.  After doing a lap of the town I accidently ran into her again, and she again began to tell me about how cheap her place was and how good a value it was.  Only after I told her flatly and emphatically, stopping in the street, that I wasn't interested did she leave me alone.  The jintero nature really contradicted the quietness that the small city's old buildings seemed to exude.

I loved the tall doors and how you could open segments of them, rarely the whole door.  I particularly like this picture not just because of the doors, but for the woman, barefoot and dressed with the typical head scarf, writing in the doorway.  It hints at how, sometimes in Cuba, it feels like maybe you have gone back a few decades, with horses and carts, 1950s cars and the trusting and casual attitude that the people foster. As one old man told me - Aquí, nadie se mete con nadie.