Day 10

Again, I am sitting by the window watching the Ocean (or is it a Sea, what's the difference anyways?) across the street. My grandmother is asleep and it is very quiet in here. It must be close to midnight. There are a few people sitting by the boardwalk watching the sea. A car passes by every so often, but otherwise it's very quiet. I like writing when it's quiet, or rather, I should say, when it is quiet I like writing.

Yesterday morning I took a cab to my uncle's house. He and my aunt were working, but my cousin was there. She wasn't expecting me, and so was surprised to see me when she answered the door. She didn't look like she had just woken up, but her clothes suggested it had been recently. She was wearing light pyjama pants and a white t-shirt. Her tall, slim body looked beautiful in the morning light. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail as usual. She offered me a glass of lemonade and we went out to the patio. It's a nice patio, longer than it is wide, with a mango tree at the back. We sat together side by side and didn't talk for a while. I had always wished I had a sister, and though I don't feel the “family” connection yet, I really wish it could feel like it.

“Did you like coming out the other night?” she asked breaking the silence

“Yes I did. Great place. I liked the roof”

“We usually like going up there, you can relax and the music is not so loud up there.”

“Yeah, and the view is not so bad.” - I said

“I guess. Though I don't think I pay attention to that. We just go there to escape”

“Escape from what?”

“Everything.”

I nodded and we grew quiet again for a moment.

“I have an escape place too.”

“Yeah? What is it like?”

“It's a junk yard.”

She looked at me and burst out laughing. My cheeks started to turn red and I could feel them burn up.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh like that. A junk yard really? Why?”

“I don't know, it's usually quiet there. Plus I like the possibilities of finding something amazing amongst the junk and scrap material.” I said.

“And what do you do when you are there?”

“I don't know. Browse through the junk, sit and think about school, or just relax and look at the clouds.”

“Why what do you do at your hideout?”

“Like I said. Just escape. Listen to music, have a little drink. Sometimes we even smoke a bit of the whacky green.”

“What? Pot?” - the last word I almost whispered

“Yeah, why you've never tried?” she asked smiling

“I have, but I am not big on it. But wait, isn't that super illegal here. Wouldn't you go away for a long time if you get caught?”

“I'd rather not think about that. I just like the experience. And I'm no junky, I do it maybe once a month.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don't know. I thought you'd be different. Like more uptight or just less cool in general. But you are pretty cool.” I said without being sure if I had said it because I really thought she was cool, or because she had just mentioned that she smoked pot. I hope it was the former.

“Does anyone know?”

“Does any one know what?”

"That you smoke pot?"

"Anybody like who, friends?"

“I don't know like anybody in the family”

“No! Are you insane!?” - she jumped up in shock

We grew quiet again for a while just sitting by side on the patio bench enjoying the midday breeze.

“Do you have any pictures of Raul?” - I asked breaking the silence

“You mean grandpa?” she asked twisting her face in confusion

“Yeah”

“Then why didn't you just say that?”

“I never met him. Didn't feel right.” I replied.

She went inside the house and came back with a few albums of pictures. I saw my grandfather when he was young, and then later when he was old. I had seen some pictures back home, but we didn't have these many. I saw pictures of when he still owned the small family farm. He looked very young and strong then. I wish I had met him. Unfortunately he past away before I was born. In one picture, which my cousin kept browsing the albums until she found it, he is operating a tractor. According to my cousin the tractor still exists. Apparently it was kept for years where the mango tree now stands. It was rusting and broken down so my aunt made my uncle get rid of it. My cousin says he gave it to one of her friends to keep until he could put it back together. That's apparently a project my uncle  has had for a few years now but it hasn't gotten very far. She promised to take me to see it.

We spent all afternoon going through pictures and talking about family members I didn't know. I find it strange that I feel like an outsider with most of my family, having had almost no contact with them. But with my cousin I just feel close. I can't wait to go see the tractor with her and hear of all the stories about my grandpa Raul, still it doesn't feel right, and the tractor.

By the by, I began reading To have and have not. Really good book.

Day 8

My cousin finally came to pick me up two nights ago. I was just finishing my dinner when she arrived. Her hair was tied in a ponytail and she was wearing cargo pants. She looked cute in a tom-boyish way.

“Hurry up” - she said, as she sat at the table across from me.

“So, are you finally going to tell me where we are going?”

“I want you to meet a couple of friends, that's all.”

The sky was overcast and the night was dark as we walked out of the building and crossed the street to the boardwalk. Below, the rocks gargled as minute waves spilled through the ancient holes and crevasses of the coastline. The sea was calm, and in the darkness of the night, it seemed endless. We walked along the boardwalk in the direction of old Havana. It was close to midnight and the streets were semi-deserted save for a few tourists here and there, and a few locals.

“So, how old are you anyways?” - I asked, since I still wasn't sure of her age.

“Eighteen. And you?”

“Seventeen.”

“I am glad you came to visit.” she said, smiling.

“How come?”

“My brothers are young, so we have little in common. And you don't look like a dork. So, I am glad we can hang out.”

“Thanks.”

When we got to old Havana we crossed the street and left the boardwalk behind us. We walked fast and made confusing turns through main streets and alleyways. I remembered a few days before when I had walked through old Havana with my uncle. This wasn't the same area. I couldn't see any tourists or shops anymore.

“So, tell me. What do you do for fun over there? You got a girl?”

“Ha, yeah I am seeing a girl but it's nothing serious. And you, you have boyfriend?”

“We are here.” She said.

We had stopped in front of a building with an enormous wooden door. The street was dark and narrow, and rows of dark balconies squeezed the sky overhead. There was not a lot going on in this side of town. She reached up and touched a loose wire to a small metal box nailed to the door frame, and somewhere in the building a bell rang. The stairway was dark and negotiating the half broken steps was a feat. A bare and tired yellow lightbulb hung from the top floor. I was starting to doubt whether coming out tonight was such a good idea . Going up, I could hear music playing very faintly. When we reached the top my cousin rang another doorbell (this one did not have loose wires), and we were quickly ushered into a very strange room.

Here we were in the middle of really old Havana, in a rundown building with broken stairs, and I found myself in a clandestine (I later found out) club. At the far wall two columns of coloured lights flashed at the beat of the music. The DJ was blasting cuban rock out of two large Harman Kardon speakers mounted on the wall. The room was filled with hazy smoke and people jumping and screaming.

“It's great isn't it!” - my cousin screamed into my ear.

“Come on I want to introduce you to people”

We went around the floor, and I shook hands with a few of her friends.

“Common lets go up, it's really loud in here!”

“Up where!” - I screamed back.

I followed her and three of her friends out of the “club” into a balcony. To my horror I realized what “up” meant. An old wooden ladder connected the balcony to the roof. Thankfully the ladder held our weight, and up we went. From the roof we could see the city stretch for miles with puddles of light scattered between mostly dark areas. In front of us, and not too far to our right the bay was visible. The light house and great spanish cannons of El Morro and La Cabaña, on the opposite shore, squeezed the great sea into the narrow mouth of the bay. The long and narrow channel extended a few hundred meters before spilling into the great belly, where a few ships bobbed up and down like the heads of Jazz musicians, to the rhythm of the sea. In the darkness of the night it was easy to forget the degeneration and destruction so noticeable during day. It was easy to see the bay as it must have been two hundred years ago when the cannons protected the entrance from pirates and corsairs, or, when commerce thrived and ships loaded and offloaded on the busy ports fueling the market. Nothing screams of energy and prosperity as well as the machinery of the markets. Without the buzz and hassles of merchants during the night preparing the shops and merchandise for the next day, the nights are quiet, but so are the days.

“Hey, are you ok?” asked my cousin, waking me up from a daze.

“Yeah, I was just looking at the bay”

“Grab a seat and come sit with us.”

We sat in the roof top and talked for awhile. Her friends were mostly curious about life in the US.

“Have you been to New York?” asked Carlos, one of her friends.

“Yup.”

“How is it? I love reading about it”

“It's my favourite city.” - I said.

“Many people like it because of the high rise buildings and the expensive stores. But I like it because it's a live city. It's hard to explain. Usually those people who love the highrises hate the dirty subways and suburbs. But I think that in order to love New York City you have to love both. If everything was clean and pretty it wouldn't be real. You need a little of the dark side if you want to have culture.”

“I like that” said Miguel.

“It's like, without witches, even fairy tales are dull. I love walking on Queens at night when shop owners are organizing their merchandize in the shop basements. These are the basements that open on the sidewalk as you see on the movies. The same as it used to be 60 years ago. Some areas are dangerous and some areas are not, but it's that thrill of the night together with the glamour and buzz of the day that makes New York city the greatest city in the world.”

“I can't wait to see it.” - said Carlos

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I wish I could see it, that's all.”

“What do you think of La Havana?” I asked him

“Man, this whole thing is fucked. Look at it. It's falling apart. There is nothing to do. Everything is illegal. It's bullshit. Unless you are a tourist there is nothing here for you.”

“Why, what do you think?” - he asked me

“I think La Havana is like a raped virgin” - i said recalling what my uncle had told me. I still didn't quite get it, but I thought it sounded smart.

They all laughed and agreed although I am not sure they grasped it either.We talked and drank moonshine for a few hours until dawn began to break on the horizon. I liked my cousin's friends. They were curious people, and very relaxed. They seemed to like my company.

When I got home I saw two books on my bed: The old man and the sea and To have and have not, both by Ernest Hemingway. "Enjoy :)" read a note, on one of them.

Day 5

Day 5

I haven’t written for the past three days, mainly because I haven’t had much to write about. My cousin was supposed to pick me up  four nights ago and take me out, but she later called to apologize as something had come up and she couldn’t make it. I told her it was ok. She said that we would go out this week. She said I wasn’t going to be disappointed. I have to admit that I am intrigued and looking forward to it.  On Monday  I spent time with my grand mother. We went to the farmers’ market and bought some food for the week. The farmers’ market is different here. The fruits and vegetables look like they actually came from the farm. The potatoes are still caked with red clay,  and their sizes vary greatly,  although they are mostly very small. The mangoes are much bigger than the ones from back home though, oh, but they are actually much much sweeter. My grandma says the prices are very high, and she can barely afford anything. Especially when compared with what my uncle makes. I have to ask my mom about prices in LA. I wonder how expensive are these prices.

Yesterday my uncle took the day off from work and came to pick me up in his work-issued lada. It’s a very tiny car that looks like a box. I must confess that it’s actually nice to be able to say that I went out with my grandma, and that my uncle drove me around. Growing up I remember my friends going to see their grandparents, and their cousins and uncles, and I always wondered what that would be like.  It’s actually very nice. We drove along the boardwalk into old Havana. When we got to “El Casco Historico”--the historic heart of Havana--he parked the car, and we went for a walk. I saw old buildings and colonial castles and fortresses.  We walked through streets that were very narrow and crusted with worn cobblestones. We stopped at a small café on a side street facing “El palacio de los capitanes generales.”
“So what do you think of La Habana.” - he asked me as we sat eating.
“It’s beautiful” - I said.
“Yes it is. But you don’t think so, and you don’t have to lie.”
“I do like it” - I said, feeling my cheeks glowing red.
“You know, I am glad you came. A man should always know where he comes from. And you might have been born there, but you came from here.”
I kept eating, and we grew quite for a while. I sat eating and watching the people walking in the park across the street. Beyond the park I could see the masts of large ships floating idle on the bay.
“Do you like to read?”
“Yes I do. Very much” - I said.
“I’ll bring you a couple of books tomorrow. Hopefully it will help dim  the boredom.”
“Do you like Hemingway?”
“I have heard of him, but have never read any of his stuff.” I said.
“I have read all of his stuff. You may like it. I’ll bring you a book or two.”
We finished eating, and walked to the park. There, I saw the statue of Carlos Manuel de Cespedes “El padre de la patria.”
“In 1868 he freed his slaves in order to kickoff  the cuban war of Independence. He is called the Father of our Nation because he fought for our independence, and wouldn’t give up the struggle even when his son was captured.” - said my uncle admiring the monument.
“I hear that they are planning to put another statue in front of him next year.”
“Oh really?” I asked
“Yeah, a giant middle finger made of white limestone.” He said laughing as we walked off. I chuckled, and followed him. As we walked, my uncle pointed out historic buildings and statues. His love for the city was visible in his descriptions and even in gestures as he pointed here and there; he seemed to caress the silhouettes of the structures.
“Beneath the rubbles and chains, lies a beautiful city.” he said.
“La Habana is like a raped virgin.” He added, as we walked up towards “El Castillo de la Real Fuerza.”
I didn’t understand what he meant and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ask, so we just walked. He pointed our a few more building on our way back to the car.
Even though I can’t say that I see the beauty he sees, I must admit that his enthusiasm is admirable. I think he is a great guy to love so much something that isn’t beautiful.

That was yesterday, and in a very real way it was fun. I hope I get to hang out with my uncle more.