Pig's Head Stew

Barracoa, Cuba

All right, so they looked like potatoes. I ate the bananas. I ate the yuca. I didn't eat what was obviously meaty and I ate the potatoes. It was only after I had passed off the rest to one of my new friends that I realized that I had watched them make the stew and the stew didn't contain any potatoes. I walked up to another one of my friends who was still greedily consuming the stew, pointed to what I thought were potatoes and asked "What's that?". He smiled with pigs head stew dripping down his chin, "Brain. Es good, no?" I nodded gingerly, "Uh, si. Pass me the rum."

We were in Barracoa on the far East coast of Cuba, a couple of hours northeast of Guantanomo. I had met a bunch of kids, when I was out walking, who were celebrating one of their 21st birthdays. I was took a picture of them and they invited me up to their apartment to hang out with them. They were a boisterous group, saturated in their home made rum, but really cool kids, who weren't trying to hustle me for anything. They invited me to a party the next day that they were having for the birthday boy. They were having it at a place out by the river outside of town. They promised mucho rum and comida creole. Hmmm. Creole food, I thought. To me creole food is jambalaya, crayfish pie and gumbo. So I thought sure, this will be a cultural experience. Sometimes experiences can almost too cultural.

I, along with an American and a Swiss guy that my brother met along the way, met the kids at their apartment. Before we left, they told me to look into a pot. It contained onions, bananas, yuca and other assorted vegetables all sorted neatly around a fresh pig's head. They, of course, laughed at our naive shock and we laughed with them, mainly because I don't think that it really sunk in that at some point we were going to be expected to eat this.

So off we went. We caught a horse-drawn cart. One of the kids drove, while we passed around the rum and the driver sang and played guitar. When we finally got to the river we crossed the most rickety-assed, Indiana Jones bridge that I've ever seen (and I've seen a few) and came to a clearing that had a make-shift firepit. An older couple (friends or family of the birthday kid, I guess. I never really found out who they were) showed up and started to prepare the stew. The woman washed and peeled the vegetables, while the man chopped the pigs head to bits with a machete (seriously, I have pictures). He offered me the machete, but I passed. Anyway, we were having a good time, drinking more rum, dancing with a couple of the girls that had showed up and trying to sing along to Cuban songs that we didn't know the words to. Eventually, however, the stew was finished and the woman started passing out bowls. Of course, as guests, we were the first to be served. Suddenly, though I didn't eat breakfast, I wasn't very hungry, but really we didn't have much choice. It would have been rude to decline. It really wasn't that bad. As long as I ate around the meat, and just ate the bananas, the yuca and the potatoes.

I'll be home tomorrow night. If you haven't received a personal email from me since I've been here, don't worry, the emails been expensive and slow, so I've been neglecting you all equally. Oh yeah, I lost my cell phone, so if you would like to talk to me please call or email me your number. Ciao, Moe

Fren, you wan buy a seegar?

Trinidad, Cuba

What's up, kids? So, yes, I have been totally slacking, once again, on my group emails. However, to my defense, email isn't quite as readily available here in Cuba, as it was in Ecuador. Also all the email places are state run and 6 dollars an hour. Luckily, though it's expensive, at least it's excrutiatingly slow. Oh, how wistful I am for the days of gringolandia in Quito with it's pleathera of internet opportunities. Still, the blissful ignorance of the outside world has been nice, these past couple of weeks.

So let's see, last I left you, I was still in Havana waiting for my brother, Wil to arrive. He did, and after a day of misadventures, we found each other. We spent a few more days in Havana, walking the streets, taking day trips out to the beach (my skin finally looks almost healthy again), and listening to music. Our stay was highlighted by going to the Hotel Nacional and watching the Buena Vista Social Club. We had seen numerous bands trying to replicate their music, but nothing was like seeing the real thing. By the time Sunday rolled around, I was pretty sick of old Havana. Yes it's beautiful, but it chaulk full of hustlers, prostitutes, and German sex tourists, and that can get pretty old after awhile.

Also, one other thing about Cuba. Everyone who lives here, either works for, has a family member working for, or is somehow affiliated with the cigar industry. As a result, everyone has the exclusive hook-up with a cigar factory. During the hundred yards from the place I'm staying to the internet place, I was asked six hundred times if I wanted to buy a cigar. Eventually you hardly even notice it.

So finally we headed Cienfuegos, a nice little town, a bit more relaxed, with easy access to the beach. Here, we pretty much just lolled around the plazas, sipping rum and talking drunken European sailers and pretty cuban girls. From Cienfuegos, we headed east to Trinidad. Trinidad is a beautiful historical town, with old buildings with colonial architecture and red tiled roofs, and absolutely treacherous cobble stone streets.

We spent a few days taking hot bike rides to the beach, wandering around through market-places and sipping rum, while talking to pretty Cuban girls (this seems to be a national pastime). I would have to say, though, the highlight was a nightclub we went to one night called La Cueva. The club was in the countryside above the town and when you go in you descend about fifty feet or so, walk through a tunnel, and then come out into this huge cavern that they have converted into a discotech. It had to be the most ascthetically interesting nightclub I have ever been to. The thing is though, they charge ten dollars and then it's all you can drink. This keeps all of the cuban people out, which makes it a functionally boring club. Oh well.

I almost got y'all caught up. It'll have to wait for another time. Be good. Moe

Cuba Libre

Havana, Cuba

What's up everybody? So, it's been about five months since I've
written you all last. During that time I've mostly been working on the boat,
the details of which I'll not bore you with, since you all either are working on
the boat, have worked on the boat at some point, or have heard me talk about it
so much that it feels like you've worked on the boat. Anyway, I finished with
that for now, having earned enough money (I hope) to make it through the last
two quarters of my schooling. I have now a free three weeks before I need to be
home for Christmas (My mother's made it very clear that since I'll be in the
hemisphere this year, that I should at least be home for that) and three weeks,
I decided, is plenty of time for an ill advised adventure to Cuba. So without
any real preparation or thought about my trip, besides buying plane tickets, a
real pain in the ass since you I had to fly through the Bahamas, I find myself
in the middle of Havana writing you all this email.

As hostels don't really seem to be an option in Cuba, at least not so far, and
since the Cuba book that I bought is probably languishing amongst Bob Marley
cd's and Doritos bags in the dregs of my friend's car in Olympia, I guess I
really wouldn't know. So, I'm staying with a family. It's difficult to move
50ft in Havana viejo, the old touristy part of Havana, without some guy asking
you if you need any number of the plethora of services he can provide, ie. rooms,
drugs, women, tours, etc. After finding that all the hotels were at least 50
bucks a night, I let one of the hustlers take me to a family who rents a room
for 25 bucks a night. I'm sure that I can find one for less, but I like the old
lady who runs it, it feels fairly secure, and it's only a couple of blocks off
the main drag of old Havana. The guy, in return for finding me this place,
asked only that I buy him a thing of powdered milk for his son. Sure, why not,
I thought. At least it's for a good cause, and it can't be that expensive, so
when his Uncle, who had been tagging along asked for one as well, I said no
problem. I strode up to the counter in the store and confidently asked for two cans of their finest powdered milk. The cashier said, that'll be $11.50. Uh, make that
one.

Old Havana is beautiful. Narrow streets run between buildings with old colonial
arches, tall dark wood store fronts, and second floor balconies with iron work
reminiscent of the French quarter in New Orleans. Since this part of town is
UNESCO protected, they've done an admirable job restoring the buildings here,
but as soon as you leave this part of town, they fade quickly into crumbled
glory, and the wide streets become a playground of cars from my father's
childhood. How the people here have managed to keep these cars running for all
these years is beyond me, but the streets of Havana look like an old gangster
movie, with a few nondescript eastern European cars thrown in for good measure.
Night in Old Havana is exactly how I pictured it. Cuban salsa, flamenco, and
meringue wafts through the wooden lattice work out of every restaurant and bar.
Mojitos and Cuba Libres flowing, while people enjoy the food and atmosphere (all
right, I'm starting to sound like a restaurant guide). Anyway, last night
happened upon a flamenco show. A five piece band played and sang while a man
and a women first alternately danced and then together to the rythems of the
music. They flung their heels about with reckless abandon while their hands delicately floated through the air, smiling all the while. I've never been so impressed with a man in heels.

Anyway, I think that this is enough for now. My brother, Wil, will be joining
me later today, assuming everything goes as planned, and we will be wandering about
Cuba for three weeks. So, you will, as usual, be able to look forward to a few
more of my emails. I hope that this message finds everyone well. Ciao, Moe.