This semester, 10 AU students packed their bags for a land forbidden to most American travelers: Cuba. Ex-patriots? Not quite. They are the first-ever participants in AU Abroad's Cuba enclave program, just initiated this spring.
"This is a very unusual and significant opportunity because the U.S. government has restricted almost all Americans from traveling to Cuba," said AU Abroad Director Sara Dumont. "[The U.S. Treasury Department] revised the regulations about academic programs to make it impossible for most universities. You can only do [abroad programs] under these very rigid circumstances."
According to Dumont, AU is one of only four universities who currently run study abroad programs in Cuba.
"Our students are more than a third of the students in Cuba right now. They're a terrific group of students and we're so proud of them," Dumont said. "They are the face of the U.S. in Havana, the real face of the U.S., and they're proving to be a very positive face."
The following essays are all impressions of Cuba written by AU's flagship band of Cuba enclave students, telling the story of AU students boldly going where their peers have yet to explore.
Taking a Bite Out of Cuba
I awake from my pre-dinner nap to a delicious aroma. What is that glorious smell? Of course, it is the wind blowing a hint of what awaits us in the kitchen. Pollo frito or cerdo - fried chicken or pork? The sweet perfume fills my nostrils, and I feel my stomach growl with desire. I could use a snack.
"No candy before dinner," I can hear my mother warn. Before I can remind myself that my mother is not in Cuba, I am skipping merrily down Calle C to the three-peso ice cream man. On my greedier days, you can find me at Pain de Paris, where pastries line the walls and one is quickly intoxicated by the rich fragrance lingering within.
After purchasing my two cones of coco ice cream, my mind muses over all of today's treats. In our residence, we receive a full breakfast of eggs, fruits, bread, coffee and juice. I grin as I recall lunch. Up the street lays the fruit and meat market; inside, the cajitas are prepared daily. A cajita is a small box that they shovel rice, salad and meat into for a mere 20 pesos. I can still taste its remarkable flavors.
At times Molly, a fellow traveler, salivates outright at the mention of the market. Guayaba, oranges, tamarindos, papayas, pineapple - you name it and you can buy it there. A playground full of nature's candy!
Shamefully I have failed to tell of our wonderful pizza lady on Calle C! Every day a beautiful elderly woman prepares pizzas in her home. The cost? Six pesos. The neighborhood lines up in front of the pizza lady's house and satisfies its palate with the salty ecstasy she cooks up.
That's right. Pizza, pastries, ice cream - this is what plays in our heads late at night while dreaming. Cuba; it is the land of food, food so scrumptious words cannot properly do it justice.
I already dread the day when I return home and can no longer purchase pizza for a few cents and ice cream for even less. Ladies and gentlemen, forget the dollar menu. You can keep your Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers, my friends.
-DANIELLE ABELE
Junior in the School of International Service
The Bus Back in Time
A wristwatch dead on a wrist - she sat next to me, asleep, chin bouncing against her chest as the bus raced smears of smoke across the countryside. All the seats slouched against one another, peeled vellum sagging against threadbare upholstery. She was very old. Her skin showed the buttery soft result of a lifelong romance with the Cuban sun. My arm rubbed against hers the entire trip, the friction of our flesh whispering the secrets of our disparate lives. The young American and the old Cuban fleeing due east from Havana, headed for provincial Cienfuegos.
I found the five-hour, fifty-cent ride more comfortable than the rigid, sharply angled recliners of American airlines and charter buses. There weren't any trussed roosters or machete wielders. They dominated the landscape outside the window. They are the countryside's most notable features besides horses with apparent ribs, sugar cane, palm trees and communist installations. As a bus-worth of bodies jiggled together, I couldn't stop looking at the still watch suspended in time.
I have no idea what the people of Cienfuegos did before TV. The streets are edged with cement colonial constructions and wooden houses lined up in a wall. It feels like the wild west or a set for a zombie movie. Everyone rides bikes. By nine o'clock most families are shuttered up watching the same Brazilian telenovela. The roads were silent, broken only by the occasional slash of light from a house. Dogs barked at us from rooftops, the square top story acting as a yard, since the public cobblestone licked right up to the front doors.
While deciding which of us would die first in a Cienfuegos horror movie, I screamed and stumbled backwards. There was a kitten. Black and small, it ran from me into a gutter. The place is that eerie.
After briefly touring the cocktail offerings of the fancier, French colonial mansions and a 1950s modern hotel ... we found the young people. They were gathered along the small Malecon. A speaker by a takeout place kept 50 bodies conservatively bumping into each other. We were told the youth of Cienfuegos have a huge drug problem. All the fun that could be had with Moneda Nacional has been closed for its lack of profit. The go-carts, discotecas, pizza and booze joints were all shuttered, or only accepting Pesos Convertibles.
The ride back went faster even though the bus stopped more, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, to let people off. This time, the bus was Chinese-built and brand new. The passengers were rougher, mahogany men dressed up for the trip. This time air conditioning hissed from vents and a radio played Latin pop music. Children sang along even after the song had moved on to the next. Some Uruguayan medical students listened to iPods. Back to Havana - a city frozen in time, but melting at the edges.
-MOLLY NORRIS
Junior in the School of Communication and former Eagle columnist
Dealing with Barriers
One of the recurring themes in Cuba that has surprised me the most has been the barriers created by the government, the dual economy and Cuban society. Some are better defined and more tangible than others. For example, the general Cuban public is not allowed in tourist hotels unless they are working there. Most, if not all, of the best beaches once frequented by Cubans are now owned by resorts. Old Havana and other tourist-oriented spots are kept relatively clear of panhandlers, hustlers or any other nuisances to vacationers. Canadians or Spaniards on holiday can visit the country without ever having to see or deal with actual Cuba beyond mojitos, cigars and tours of old Spanish fortresses - almost as if they're merely visiting a Cuban section of Epcot center in Disneyland.
This seems completely contradictory to the Communist ideals of equality. The Cuban people are forced to give up parts of their culture and freedom to pander to tourists. At the universities, English is the most popular language to study because a job in the tourism industry is so desirable. It appears that the principles put forth by the revolution years ago are being pushed aside slightly. With the weak nature of the sugarcane and tobacco industries, some concessions, although unfortunate and unjust, may be inevitable for the economy to improve.
As temporary students here, we're almost stuck between the two worlds. We don't like to think of ourselves as tourists - in fact, as students we probably can't even afford the fancy hotels in Havana and Varadero. After almost a month here, Havana is starting to feel very comfortable and homey to us, but we're far from infiltrating Cuban life. We take classes at the University [of Havana] and go to the same places to eat as Cuban students, but once a week we walk to a ritzy Spanish hotel to use the wireless Internet. We don't completely fit in either place, and while it is frustrating sometimes, we're discovering that being as detached as we are puts us in a good place to observe and learn about both worlds.
-ALEX PLATKIN
Junior in the School of Public Affairs
