The coolest thing ever!

I’m just going to completely ignore the fact that I haven’t written in weeks, and put up some posts about what I’ve been doing. Now that I’ve written all of my papers (YAY!!), I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

A few weekends ago Michael and I went to the Tropicana. The Tropicana is this really lavish cabaret show that was huge before the revolution. Nat King Cole played there, and it was a hangout for the Mafia when they were in Havana. Nowadays the club only has planned shows rather than new acts every week, but the decadence is still there, and although it was a little pricey (our seats, which were in the best section, were 90 euros a pop), it was one of the things I had planned to do before I even got to Cuba, so it wasn’t something I was going to miss.

After a very nice dinner at the best seafood restaurant in the city (it’s owned and operated by the Ministry of Fish in Cuba, so if you can’t get good seafood there, where can you, right?), we took a cab to the secluded estate of the club. In addition to the theater building itself, the grounds included a park with heavy tropical vegetation and various fountains and statues celebrating dance. We walked around for a bit, then entered the outdoor theater and took our seats.

The show itself was AMAZING. Mind-blowing, seriously. Our seats were the best I could have asked for, and the complementary bottle of aged rum made our experience that much better. Words honestly cannot do this justice, so I’ll just put up some pictures here so you can hopefully get a feel for the production.

What I'm grateful for.

Happy Thanksgiving!! Our ‘Día de Acción de Gracias’ (literally Day of the Action of Thanks… terrible translation) was surprisingly delicious here. Debra (Jake’s dad’s lawyer friend) cooked a fantastic meal, complete with turkey, gravy, stuffing (I had forgotten about stuffing… mmm), excellent salad (again, with vegetables and flavors that didn’t know you could find here), sautéed greens, amazing candied boniato (a root vegetable that is common here) rather than yams, and Jake’s sister came to visit from the states and brought some canned cranberry sauce with her. So we were pretty well taken care of. Oh! And in the dessert department (as I write this it’s making my mouth water, and I’m a little jealous of myself for being able to eat this) we had boniato pie (rather than sweet potato pie), carrot bread (Debra’s own recipe; sooo gooood), and homemade brownies.

Although our group was kind of a mish-mosh (six American students and 3 Cubans, one of which was fairly uncertain about the origins of Thanksgiving and thought it had origins in Judaism until we corrected her), the whole affair was definitely something to be grateful for. I find that I like Havana a lot more on a full stomach, and after such a great meal I started to reflect on my experiences thus far. I won’t expound on them too much here (otherwise, my final post would be rather anti-climactic), but as hokey as it sounds, I realized how lucky I am to be from a country like the United States. I’m thankful to live in a society where my ability to express my personal opinions is valued (and legal), and to know that my country was founded on principles such as self-realization. More than anything this year, though, I’m grateful that my life has afforded me the opportunity to go abroad so that I can realize exactly how fortunate I am. Many Americans take their fortune for granted, considering such liberties to be givens because they’ve never known anything else. However, after having had this experience I believe more strongly than ever that we owe it to ourselves, and to other citizens of the world who aren’t so blessed, to exercise our rights and take full advantage of our freedom so that we appreciate them to their fullest extent.

So now I’m off of my soapbox. Hope everyone else’s Thanksgiving was restful and delicious!!

Amazing Blogger (Bloggress?)

In my constant quest to learn more about the true Cuban experience, I have stumbled upon an amazing Cuban blogger named Yoani Sánchez. Her blogs are mainly about daily Cuban life, but she speaks her mind freely about these instances, which is an unbelievably brave thing to do here. I think there was an NPR segment on her a few months ago, and Time magazine listed her as one of the 100 most influential people of 2008. Her site has been blocked in English and in Spanish by the Cuban government, so I have to use some fancy maneuvering to be able to read it, but you in the States can go directly to her site by clicking here. I hope it sheds further light on what it is like to be a citizen in this country; it certainly has for me.

What is this ‘blog’ you speak of?

Out of nowhere, this carefree, laid-back Cuban lifestyle has turned into one full of deadlines and, dare I say it, activity? This past weekend was pretty fun:

On Friday, Michael and I went to the Bellas Artes, an art museum in Old Havana. The museum takes up two buildings, one of which is dedicated to older international art, the other to specifically Cuban artists, typically from a more modern era. But I was in a sentimental mood on Friday, so we went to the international one. The art was mostly from the “schools” of famous painters of the time, but the architecture of the actual museum was absolutely stunning: winding staircases, marble floors, and a beautiful stained glass window on the ceiling of the palace. There were also some ridiculously well-preserved artifacts from over 4000 years ago in the empires of Ancient Egypt and Greece. Nothing too fancy; just a nice day at the museum. Hopefully we’ll go to the Cuban one soon.

Friday night a group of us went for dinner at the apartment of Jake’s dad’s friend, who we knew was a laywer of some kind. Deborah, an American, has lived in Havana for 20 years doing various research and litigation for Cuba. On our way there, we all expected her to be some sort of human rights’ lawyer; kind of a logical conclusion when you realize that suing any business here would in effect be suing the government, which I can’t imagine going over very well. And as for suing each other over personanl property, quite frankly there isn´t much to argue over. But the truth was actually more interesting. Deborah is currently representing Cuba in an American case against Bacardi, the rum company (The family, once a part of Cuba’s high society, fled after the Revolution). Apparently Bacardi is afraid of the embargo ending, and having other, more authentic, Cuban brands enter in the American market. In particular, there’s another rum company, called Havana Club, that they’re worried about, as well as Cohibe, the brand of cigar that Fidel smokes, which is highly coveted in the U.S. by cigar afficionados. The case has been in litigation for about 12 years, each time being appealed by the Cuban government. The main problem in the court rulings is that the legal definition of property rights in the United States doesn’t really apply to Cuba. In the United States a person or company can have rights to a brand, but in the case of Cuba it’s a whole country claiming ownership, since the government in effect owns every company. Also, I suppose it would be a politically-charged situation, to say the least, if they recognized Cuba’s right to own a brand that was previously owned by an individual and then taken by appropriation.
Deborah invited two of her friends to dinner with us (I guess the idea of entertaining four 20-somethings on her own didn’t really appeal to her). The woman, Patricia, is a social psychologist who works with Cuban companies in various industries to improve worker morale and participation. Unbelievably fortunately for me, this is exactly the topic I chose a few weeks ago for my Sociology of Work final paper, so you can imagine I will be contacting her very soon. Deborah’s other friend, Jesús, is a stage and set designer for Cuban theater. After talking to him for a while we found out that he had actually designed the set-up for a Cuban production of Cabaret happening that weekend. At the end of the night, he invited us to attend the Sunday showing, and we parted ways.
The food, by the way, was absolutely stellar. I was beginning to forget what curry tasted like (how she found it here, I’ll never know). We’re currently in talks to see if we can have some sort of mish-mosh Thanksgiving dinner… fingers crossed!

Sam’s parents were in town last weekend, and Saturday night they invited us all to dinner. Also in attendance was our advisor at the University of Havana, Carmita. All in all it was a great night, full of interesting conversations about Cuba, funny quirks in both English and Spanish… a very international experience. The food was delicious for the most part (I was extremely pleased with my 8 CUC lobster dish, though others were not so pleased with the maggot-inhabited hot sauce they ordered for their French fries… *sigh* such is Cuba). It was nice to get everyone together for something; we’re usually off doing our own things exploring the city, and occasionally napping heavily.

Sunday I finally gave in and began doing research for my final papers. In total it’s going to be around 30 pages of academic writing, in Spanish, so… don’t be surprised if my blogging languishes severely. Later that day Mike, Sandra, and I went to Jesús’ Cabaret production. The set was fantastic, and the stage went straight through the middle of the audience—apparently the first stage of its kind in Cuba. As it was all in Spanish, the songs were a little hard to understand (even though I knew most of them in English), but the dialogue was very clear and, surprisingly, I understood it all! It struck me as a little odd, however, that the show was so popular even though it makes such a blatant mockery of the totalitarian, puppet-on-a-string mentality of Nazism; to me there is little difference between the two systems in that respect. But, as Michael so accurately put it after the show, I guess “There’s nothing a Socialist hates more than another type of Socialist.”

After the show Mike and I rushed back to the residence to eat dinner, and then we were off to the movies! Last weekend the movie theater right next to our residence had a festival of films based on Cuban literature. Ever since we arrived in Cuba, we’ve been hearing non-stop about this one movie, Fresa y Chocolate (Strawberry and Chocolate), and how it’s probably the best Cuban film ever made. So when we saw that it was showing Sunday night, we knew we had to go. To our great pleasure, the movie was subtitled in English, as the version played in the theater was off of a DVD compilation of films endorsed by Robert Redford’s independent film organization.
I loved the movie. Basically it was about a young Cuban student who is a diehard member of the Communist Party. He gets assigned to investigate this supposedly counter-revolutionary gay man, who actually knows more about Cuban art and culture (and is thus arguably more “Cuban”) than he. Of course along the way each realizes that the other isn’t just a stereotype, and they both learn to put a human face on what before they each considered to be “the enemy”. Beyond the plot, the movie did a really fantastic job of throwing in small comments and scenes that depicted exactly what life in Havana is like. While I was watching the movie, I kept thinking that once I get back home, I’ll be able to show the movie to my family so they can get an even deeper understanding of my experiences this semester.
In a complete contrast from classic Cuban film, on Monday I went to see Speed Racer with Michael, which was good because if I was ever going to see that movie, it would be in a situation where I´d only have to pay 5 cents.

Along with the harsh reality of final papers, the realization that the “real world” is rapidly approaching us has also begun to set in. Classes have been registered for, and people are once again talking about modifying their resumes for recruitment in January. I usually have a hard time readjusting to classes after breaks as it is; I can’t imagine how jarring this transition will be.

Election Night in Havana

Experiencing the American election abroad has been really interesting, especially in a country with such a unique perspective as Cuba. In general, Cubans are very supportive of Obama, since he has spoken openly about reinstating diplomatic relations with the Castro regime. Below the surface of this initial enthusiasm, however, many of them still see him as just one of many presidents before him, and are aware that little beyond Cuban-American relations (if even that) may change. Being a black non-Obama supporter has added another level to the whole experience, since people automatically assume that I voted for him (even more so than in the United States!); I have been personally congratulated several times on his victory since Tuesday, by students and professors alike.

The actual night of the election was absolutely amazing. A few weeks ago, some of the American students went to the American Interests Section (which basically does everything an embassy would do, it’s just not called that, for obvious reasons) to cast their absentee ballots. They met the American Citizen Services Officer, who invited us to an election night party at the house of the head of the U.S. mission (a.k.a ambassador). So Tuesday night we got pseudo-dressed up and caught a bus to Miramar, more or less the suburbs of Havana. The wealthiest Cubans used to live there during the 50’s, but they all fled during the Revolution, so the government appropriated all of their mansions, and now most of them are embassies. Once we got to Miramar we had to show some form of American identification in order to get on a shuttle to take us to Cubanacan, another neighborhood with basically the same story as Miramar, but with even wealthier people. The head of the mission lives in Cubanacan, in the house that was originally built with the intention of housing the U.S. President on his visits to Cuba… oops.

The house and its grounds were absolutely beautiful… I’ve honestly never been in such a lavish place without taking a tour of some sort. The gardens in the back were beautifully maintained, with a tennis court, swimming pool, and vegetable garden all on the property. The event was catered by the house’s staffed kitchen, to the delight of all American stomachs that had been starved for anything legitimately resembling American cuisine (I was beginning to forget the taste of pesto…). The open bar stocked with beer, wine, and various cocktails was also a lovely addition…

By far though, the most refreshing part of the evening was the overwhelming presence of academic and political figures (both Cuban and American), who were not afraid to speak their minds about the current situation in both countries. One of the most frustrating parts of the semester so far has been spending time in a country, all the while forming opinions about my experience with no one willing to validate or correct them, or share any of their own. Since we got here, Cubans and visiting Americans alike have been trying to walk the policy line—some more convincingly than others. Many of them seem hesitant to disagree outright with the current Cuban government, while at the same time they struggle to say something that doesn’t sound as though it came straight from a Communist Party pamphlet. We got to speak to economists and diplomats, one of whom set the record straight on a lot of Cuban “news” we’ve been hearing since we’ve got here. By far, though, the most valuable (and probably the most obvious) thing he told us was that we shouldn’t take his word for it that the American side of the story was any more accurate than the Cuban version, and that we should do our own research once we get back to the states (and out from the watchful eyes of the Cuban government’s information censoring departments). It really hammered home the fact that by no means will this experience end once we touch foot on American soil again, and that only as we learn even more after the semester’s end will we realize the true value of the time we spent here.

Back in Havana

Hello! This weekend was fantastic, albeit full of tedious traveling. Friday morning we went to the airport and took a propeller plane to Santiago, on the eastern end of the island. We took a cab through the infamous heat and beautiful greenery of eastern Cuba to our hotel, the Hotel de Las Americas (we each had our own rooms with two queen beds each, which was absolutely GLORIOUS). We didn’t spend too much time in Santiago since we had to go explore other parts of eastern Cuba, but we did get a chance to walk around at night and get a feel for the city. The architecture is completely different from Havana; the city had the vibe of a small Hispanic port city… which I guess is exactly what Santiago is. Things are definitely slower-paced, but sadly there were more beggars and “street performers” than in Havana, which I attributed to the lack of any real industry in the town, the vast majority of which is devoted to tourism. Saturday we took a bus to nearby Baconao to see and climb a giant rock called, of all things, La Gran Piedra, and then go to a small local beach.

On Sunday we said goodbye to the wonderful continental breakfast of our hotel (oh eggs, how I’d missed you so), and took a 4 hour bus ride to Baracoa. Baracoa is your average mountain town, except that the mountains are covered in dense rainforests. The city itself was quiet but beautiful, but down by the harbor (also called the Malecon there) even buildings 50 meters from the wall’s edge had been completely demolished by the waves caused by Hanna and Ike. The scenery leading up to the city was absolutely gorgeous, and along the way to the town there were small, seemingly self-sustained communities with their own pigs, chickens, etc. Many of them had jerry-rigged a pipe system to bring water from higher up on the mountain, which was really neat to see. I think it would be enlightening to live that way for a year or so; it would definitely give me a better appreciation for the people behind the scenes of my daily subsistence, and for the advancements that have been made in technology since the times when all humans lived that way. As we drove past these communities, I noticed a more concentrated collection of revolutionary and Communist Party murals than in Cuba or Santiago (which is saying a lot). It’s pretty ironic that the most agrarian communities of Cuba (and the world, when you think about it, i.e. the farmers and serfs of Cuba and Russia, respectively) are the most enthusiastic about Communism, when they are without a doubt the farthest thing imaginable from the ideal proletariat that Marx had in mind. Once we got to our hotel, we mostly just relaxed and walked around the town, knowing that we would need our energy for Monday…

We woke up around 6 on Monday to go hiking up El Yunque. In Spanish, El Yunque means “anvil,” and that’s a pretty accurate description for this plateau covered in dense greenery. The hike was unbelievably intense, and at one point we even had to ford a river. So needless to say, about halfway through the 2.5 hour uphill half, Sandra and I decided to listen to our overworked bodies and let the testosterone-driven guys continue the journey without us. A few hours later, they met us coming down the hill, and we went back to the hotel to get our belongings and begin the ride back to Santiago. On the ride back I saw a side of Cuba that I’d never seen before: its grain fields. The sun set beautifully on wide fields of crops marked by electricity poles, but the effects of the hurricanes could still be seen in missing rooms from the top levels of houses, and barren fields that once held the country’s crops. It is truly a testament to the human spirit that these farmers can persevere to provide the nation with the little food they can, despite the constant reminder that there will be a food shortage for the next six months at the least; despite the threat of another hurricane; despite the fact that they barely have enough food to feed themselves and their families; and despite the fact that the fixed prices imposed by the Cuban government in the midst of this crisis prevent them from making enough money on their goods to recoup their immense losses.

After such a relaxing vacation (and after getting back to the residencia around 1:30 in the morning), most of us didn’t feel like waking up for 8 AM class on Tuesday. So we skipped our classes and were just lounging around, when I saw an e-mail that Carmita, our “Inge away from home” sent us about a great opportunity for us. Doctor Julia Sweig, the Director of Latin American Relations for the Council on Foreign Relations in the U.S., was coming to give a speech that day about the political climate in the United States and what it would mean for relationships with Latin America and Cuba in particular. In true Cuba fashion the meeting was open to anyone who wanted to attend (in the United States Michael, Jake, and I would have needed press passes or some such nonsense).

Carmita was really excited that some of us decided to come, and as Dr. Sweig proceeded to give her speech in heavily American-accented Spanglish, I thought that nothing would make Carmita happier than if one of us asked a question during the Q&A session that was to follow. After the speech was over, five or six older Cuban men approached the microphone and asked their questions, many of which seemed to be designed to try and “trap” Dr. Sweig in some manner. (I’m not sure if this was due more to her position in such a questionably moral organization, or to the huge blow to their machismo-conditioned egos that a woman was sent as their ambassador from the United States; maybe a mix of both). Unlike Q&A sessions that I’d seen before, this one’s format was for every person to ask their questions, then have Dr. Sweig respond to them all at once… meaning I had less time than I thought I would to draft a question. After a few of the men had asked their long-winded questions preceded by paragraphs of historical context and the room sat in the momentary silence of shuffling, the moderator asked, “¿Alguién más?” and I awkwardly dashed up to the mic. In English, I thanked Dr. Sweig for coming to speak, and told her my name and what school I was from when she asked. I proceeded to ask my question in Spanish. I won’t put it all here since it was about a paragraph, but I basically asked her how she thought the removal of the embargo would influence the exchange of ideas between the two countries, rather than the exchange of goods. It’s a good thing I just went up there and did it, because had I realized beforehand that I was about to speak to, without a doubt, the most powerful person I’d ever talked to, I might have just stayed put.

Her answer to my question was nothing terribly revealing (she essentially said “yes, it will influence the exchange of ideas”), but the question of another attendee definitely opened my eyes. Though a few of the men who asked questions after me chided my question for not staying on the topic of economic development, the coordinator of the conference later asked Dr. Sweig when the lack of academic exchange would begin to subside, because, as she said “Lo sentimos. (We feel it.)” That really took me by surprise; I guess I sort of viewed myself as an unwanted intruder here, not so much as an inadequate reminder of the vibrant and healthy exchange student system that used to exist between our two countries. I agree with that woman that the free travel of academic persons should be one of the very first steps in removing the embargo; both countries have so much to learn from each other, and as long as that free exchange is stunted, all American students will “learn” about Cuba are the prejudices and distorted myths that have existed for decades.

But then after the conference the really exciting thing happened! Dr. Sweig’s research assistant on this trip, a young guy maybe 5 years older than us, came over to us and told us he’d love to grab a beer with us before they left on Saturday. We exchanged contact information, and if all goes well, hopefully we’ll get to meet with him this week. I’m really excited to talk with him about all things Cuban and American, and what the CFR thinks about it all. Strange that within a couple of months I’ve not only been able to get more involved in Cuban political happenings than I’d ever imagined, but that it’s also been easier to learn about American foreign policy straight from the horse’s mouth than it ever would be in my own country.

Various Updates

Not too much to write about since I posted those photos; I think we’re realizing that you don’t have to travel all over the province to learn while we’re here, since one conversation with any Cuban on the street is enough to give us plenty to think about.

On Monday I went with Michael to a meeting of the University Professors’ Union where they were discussing the various merits and shortcomings of Cuba’s imminent new Social Security plan. Surprisingly enough, Cuba is having an almost identical problem with their Social Security to what is happening in the U.S. The population is aging, and soon there won’t be enough young people to pay for their elders’ benefits. So the main point of the new plan is to push back the age of retirement by five years, starting next year and increasing in 6 month increments until they reach the desired age (60 for men, 55 for women). They’ve also thrown some other changes in, which suit some better than others; hence, the need to discuss potential revisions.
The process of revision goes like this: The ministry in charge of the social benefits distributes a draft of the plan to the public, through the government newspaper (the only newspaper) The Granma. People have a chance to read it, and then the various unions around the country assemble for a few months to discuss and debate about what works and doesn’t for their particular demographic. At the same time as this is going on, the same ministry that wrote the plan in the first place goes door to door in areas to take a census about what Cubans do and don’t like about the plan. Once the unions and citizens have pleaded their cases, their suggestions are sent back to the original ministry, who compiles everything and tries to accommodate as many people as possible.
Before the meeting began, the president of the Union made a sort of inspirational speech about what everyone in the room was about to do. He mentioned that in any other country in the world, even developed countries, their process would be performed by a Congress; thus, their responsibility was even greater since they were true representations of the people. I guess the people in the room had heard something to this effect before, because they didn’t seem particularly moved. To me, however, it was a true epiphany. For all of the liberties that Cuba takes away from its people, this was definitely a more legitimate manifestation of democracy than anything I have ever seen in the States. I’m sure it would be much harder to implement in the U.S., due to pure scale issues; still I’ve always thought it ridiculous that so few people, though they may be elected, have the power to control so much of our lives. I suppose it’s a result of having taken so much power away from the legislative branches of each individual state; with state congresses given their original Constitutional duties back, we would have a law-passing system very similar to the process that Cuba is currently experiencing.

There has also been progress this week with making friends with the Cuban students in our classes. It’s been a little tough until now because we float around various years and academic fields of study every day, whereas they stay in their same year and field all day, so we’re not really around them long enough to make an impression. But yesterday I talked with some students for a while, and then today when one of our professors didn’t show up, we spent the period (and some of the next) playing what is essentially charades with some of our classmates. It was a lot of fun, although the rules are a little different (there are different rules for every round, for example). The strange thing was that when the 20 or so of us returned fifteen minutes late for our next class, the professor simply let us come in without a word and began the class. Not continued. Began. For fifteen minutes she had heard us playing directly below the window of the classroom, and just passed the time until the final round was done. I’m not complaining, since I was kind of worried as the game continued that we would all be reprimanded. It was just kind of silly; I suppose she had sort of a “let kids be kids,” mentality about it.

Like I said earlier, life in Habana has become slightly less driven by the initial “Let’s go everywhere we possibly can and explore!” mentality, and the routine has gotten a bit monotonous this past week… Which is why I can’t wait for this weekend! Tomorrow morning we’re flying to Santiago, a city on the eastern side of the island. It’s a much slower way of life than in Habana, and the city seems to be frozen in the late 1800s as far as the architecture goes. Our hotel is apparently gorgeous, with a pool, gardens, and we each get our own bedroom! I have absolutely no work to do for the whole weekend, and I am more than ready to enjoy 4 days of vacation—which is funny because Cuba was supposed to be a vacation in itself. I guess I’m just really lucky; but then if there’s one thing this experience has taught me so far, that’s definitely it.

I won’t have internet at all this weekend, so until Tuesday!

Fotos!

Here are some pictures of dolphins, Callejón de Hammel, and random sights around Havana:

Roncos and Refrigerators

I apologize to anyone who has been waiting to hear about my dinner on Sunday. I still don’t have all of my thoughts put together about it, but I thought I’d post anyway so that nobody thinks I was mugged or raped by some random Cuban fisherman.

Michael and I met Hector at the Malecon around 5:30 on Sunday night. As he led us to our destination, Hector explained that, sadly, the fish we had caught on Thursday could not be eaten for dinner. Thursday night he had taken it home and put it in his freezer, but when he woke up on Friday the power had gone out (as he said it often does in his neighborhood), and the fish had spoiled. So he had some smaller fish for us, which he assured us were still quite tasty. Also, because of the frequent power outages in his neighborhood, we were not going to eat at his house, but at the home of his cousin Berto. We met Berto along the way, and rounded the corner of a large, dilapidated colonial mansion (due to the housing shortage in Cuba, several families usually share one of these houses, with one extended family taking over maybe 2 or 3 rooms). To get to Berto’s room we had to pass through the overgrown central courtyard of the house, criss-crossed with ropes for hanging drying laundry. The coolest thing about the courtyard was that, standing in the center, I was surrounded by the smells of 3 or 4 families cooking dinner, as well as the sounds of each family’s television or radio emanating from respective corners of the house’s interior.

Berto opened the door to his living space, and I was in shock. His home consisted of one oblong room, no bigger in square feet than my bedroom and bathroom at home. The room was so small that at one point Hector wanted to find a radio to play some music, and there was literally only one place to look. On the left of the room was his “bedroom,” which just consisted of a small bed in the apartment’s corner. To the right was a mangled rack upon which he kept his shoes, as well as the “bathroom” (a toilet, a bucket of cold water with some soap, and a towel on a rope for drying one’s hands). In the center of the apartment was Berto’s kitchen, in which stood a fold-away table only slightly bigger than a school desk, a stove, a sink with a few cooking tools such as a tin measuring cup, and in the center, the jarring contrast of a sparkling white refrigerator (more about this later).

The dinner was delicious. Berto cooked us an excellent meal of rice, malanga (a root similar to potato), and fried ronco (in English we call them striped croakers, and I found out yesterday that they’re a step away from being on the U.S.’ endangered species list. Oops.). As we ate and drank the wine that Mike and I brought to the dinner, the conversation spanned over a million completely unrelated topics. Among my favorites was our transition from talking about famous American actors like Henry Fonda to a spirited discussion about Rafiki from the Lion King. At one point Hector and Berto asked us where we had traveled to in the world. I didn’t have too much to offer (Hector wasn’t interested in hearing about England, since he’d heard it rains too much there), but when Mike started talking about Germany and Sweden, the two of them started asking very detailed questions about what each country was like. They were very interested and excited to learn more, but it made me very sad to know that they only way they would ever experience such travels was through the tales of others (I don’t know how many Americans know this, but as if the crippling financial barriers weren’t enough, Cubans are legally forbidden from ever leaving the country. A few of the well-connected Cubans overcome this for small trips, but there is a lot of red tape involved). Hector said that if he could only visit three countries, he would visit the United States, Canada, and Brazil (for the beautiful mulattas they have there, haha). After 4 hours of eating, drinking, and conversing, Mike and I said goodbye and gave Hector our residence’s number so that he could contact us with any future plans.

Even after we got home, the image of the sparkling white fridge plagued me. A few weeks ago, I had noticed large trucks driving through the city loaded with brand new refrigerators. They would stop in certain areas and give them to the residents, at the same time collecting the old retro-looking ones from the Havanans’ houses. After piecing the story together with help from Hector and another Penn student here, who has talked with younger Cubans, I can explain a little bit of the refrigerator situation:

Seventy years ago, most Cubans had American-made refrigerators, many of which have lasted up until today (*sigh* they don’t make ‘em like they used to, huh?). The Cuban government thought it was time for an upgrade, though, and purchased new Japanese refrigerators for its citizens. Since it’s impossible to imagine any Cuban today purchasing such a large appliance on an annual salary of a little over $100, the government didn’t really have a choice if they wanted to keep their citizens happy (and the façade of a successful economy alive). Though heavily subsidized by the Cuban government, the fridges aren’t completely free. Here’s the kicker though: should you decide that you don’t have the money to buy a new refrigerator, and choose to keep your old one that has lasted 70 years and is still going strong, the government slaps you with a fine. On top of this, you’re branded as “anti-revolutionary”.

(Side note, since I don’t think I’ve explained this yet, either: Cubans have to attend monthly meetings of the Communist Party to prove how “revolutionary” they are. There are other activities, like buying the fridge, which they must also perform to prove their devotion to the party. Failure to do these things gets you reported to the government, and then you miss out on the next government handout (the current example is refrigerators, but this was also a big deal when Cubans got televisions in the 90’s).)

So with the refrigerator, the government is giving you a gift that you essentially have no choice but to accept. The image of the brand new refrigerator in the midst of the squalor of Berto’s apartment will stay with me for a long time, and I think it is an excellent metonymy for the Cuban government’s opinion of what is best for the country. By putting as many bandages as possible on the metaphorical broken arm of Cuba’s economy, the government stops revolutions within the Cuban population, as well as outside intervention from outside parties who can take advantage of its citizens’ dissatisfaction. But I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before Cuba’s people act on the fact that new refrigerators mean nothing if you have neither the electricity to run them, nor a scrap of food to put inside.

¡Hector Otra Vez!

Thursday night was a little bit dull, so Michael and I decided to go to the Malecon again. It was storming off in the distance, so we were just sitting on the wall and watching the lightning. Then, all of a sudden, a Cuban fisherman approached us and extended his hand so Mike could shake it… and it was Hector!! My initial reaction was that it was an incredibly serendipitous reunion, but then I realized that he probably fishes every night, so it wasn’t too unlikely that we’d see him there. Still, he was excited to see us, as were we him. We began talking about what we’d been up to since the last time we saw him, and at some point there was a lull in the conversation. I was looking around at all of the fisherman on the Malecon, and I offhandedly mentioned that one night I’d like to learn how to fish. “Pues, !vengan!,” (“Well, come on then!”) said Hector, and began walking to his fishing post, which consisted of a few pieces of bait and a spool of fishing line that he used as his reel.

He had already cast his line, so there was nothing to do but wait while we talked about various aspects of fishing. Hector explained to us that the fisherman use 3 or 4 condoms as floats to be able to locate their hooks in the darkness of the night (and here I thought that the condom wrappers littering the sidewalk of the Malecon had come from frisky young Cubans!). After a while Hector took Mike to go in search of something to drink, and I was left in charge of the line. I looked around at all of the fisherman, trying to decide who looked the most helpful should I feel a tug on the line and need some assistance. But nothing happened. A few minutes later Hector and Mike returned with a bottle of rum, and I confessed that, sadly, I had not had any success. Hector said that, on their walk, he and Mike had talked about when the two of us would come to his house for dinner (this invitation had been extended to us since the first night we met him). Like I had previously, I tried very hard to politely decline Hector’s request, since I didn’t feel that I could take what little food he and his family had to eat (especially with the looming food crisis here; maybe more on that later). He kept insisting, and then I realized that by trying to be polite I was actually being very rude to Hector. By essentially preventing him from sharing his food with me, I was suggesting that I knew his situation and his desires better than he. When in reality, who was I to insult him by telling him that he didn’t have enough food to share with others? In my opinion that is one of the most degrading things one human can do to another: refuse a gift because they feel the giver “can’t afford to lose” what is being given. So in the end we agreed that Mike and I would go to his house on Sunday for dinner.

However, I still felt bad that Hector hadn’t caught anything. Admittedly, I began to evaluate the 40-some year old man and started to think that maybe he wasn’t such a great fisherman. Then, the line under my fingers began to twitch. In my shock, I could only stutter, “Hector, pienso que hay algo aquí. (Hector, I think there is something here.)” He felt the line, and immediately jumped up onto the wall of the Malecon (the other side of which is a 30 foot plummet onto the rocky shore of Cuba’s coast), straining and pulling the fishing line with his bare hands. After what seemed to be a terrible struggle, he finally pulled the fish onto the sidewalk. About 15 inches in length, the fish was later determined to weigh about 5 pounds. As it flopped around on the sidewalk, gasping for air, Hector explained to us that it was a bajonao (I later Googled and discovered that in English we call it a porgy), and that it had a great deal of meat on it. Word quickly spread along the Malecon that Hector had caught such a big fish, and as various fishermen came to inspect the health of the catch (e.g. whether its gills were red; whether it had all its teeth), Hector’s tale of vanquish became more and more elaborate (I guess they don’t call them fisherman’s tales for nothing!). Despite being a little grossed out as Hector let the fish suffocate on the ground, I looked into the dead fish’s empty eyes and realized that the pang of guilt I usually feel when I am sport fishing in the United States was nowhere to be found; when one truly kills for subsistence, there is no reason to feel remorse. Hector said I had brought him luck that night, smiled at us and said “¡Para el domingo! (For Sunday!),” and then I was nothing but excited for the meal we would share. We’re going to meet Hector at the Malecon in a few hours; I’m sure it’s going to be delicious!

How Old Are We?

This is a shorter, considerably less substantial post, but I need to vent. Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve had a silent battle with the Cuban university students over, of all things, assigned seats. The professors do not assign seats, but the students have all chosen their spots close to their friends, and if you sit in their spot they will tell you to get up. Sagar tried to argue the irrationality of this stance to them after class one day, and actually convinced a handful of them that “first come, first serve” is a fairer policy. Too bad that next time the class met, he got up during the midpoint break and the girl whose seat he was supposedly sitting in instantly came and moved his notebook onto the floor, and “reclaimed” her seat.

Then today in class I was sitting next to a girl who was drawing on her desk. With markers. And stencils. I mean, I know a few college students who are guilty of the occasional notebook doodle, but ON the desk? I haven’t seen that since grade school. And how many 20-somethings actually own stencils for such an occasion? Unbelievable.

Case in Point

Hello! I apologize for not having updated in a while. Since my last post I’ve:

- Finalized my courses (I bet you all thought that had happened already, huh?). I decided to go with the Society and Religion class, since the Cuban revolution class is for fifth year students, and way over my head.

- Gone to this really cool place called Hammel’s alley. It’s basically a street in Central Havana covered entirely in Santería art and quotations from famous Cuban writers. The colors in the art and somewhat eery nature of the sculptures were beautiful. I really wish the speed of the internet connection was fast enough for me to share some of the pictures I took. Maybe I’ll try later.

- Gotten my clothes washed. It’s a pretty covert operation here. The easiest way to do it is to ask one of the women who work in the residence to handwash your laundry. But this is considered private enterprise, so it’s all done under the table. I had to leave my clothes on my bed. Three days later they reappeared, clean. Then the next day I left the woman’s payment. My friend Sam had to meet his cleaning woman in the kitchen after hours to do the exchange. Very hush hush.

- Found a place where I can get my hair done for the equivalent of $4 (for those of you not familiar with American salon price, it usually costs about $55, so that’s pretty fantastic.

- Gone to the national aquarium to see their amazing dolphin show!

- Visited the Museum of the Revolution, which is located inside of what used to be Batista’s Presidential Palace. How’s that for poetic justice? It certainly didn’t paint a pretty picture of the United States’ involvement in Cuban affairs (beginning with our manipulation of affairs during the Spanish-American war), but nothing beyond what I learned in AP U.S. History. After we left the museum, one of the museum guards approached us and asked us where we were from. We told him we were Americans, and he sort of smirked and asked us if we liked the museum. I thought that was kind of funny, because he seemed to think that the Cuban side of things would provide a completely different perspective from the American “propaganda” we are taught in school. It made me realize that, for all of the bias we present through the media about current events, the U.S. does a pretty good job of staying objective in regards to history (of course, the further back in history you go, the easier it seems to be for America to stay objective). I don’t think a Cuban course on even the earliest history of the nation would be taught without at least a hint of bias (which they, of course, would call nationalism).

- Taken a vow with Michael to only speak Spanish until Thanksgiving. Wish us luck!

But here’s a funny story, and the main point of this post:

So last week in my Sociology of Work course, we were discussing the fact that in Cuba (and really in every country), there is a surface economy of “formal” jobs, and an underground “informal” economy that develops under the surface. One girl raised her hand and made a pretty insightful comment, that in her opinion the informal (free-market) economy in Cuba arises in instances where it can fill the gaps left by the formal economy, which is entirely government owned. For example, every shop that has prices in convertible pesos (more or less a US dollar), gives all of its profits to the government, who then apportions salaries for the employees of that shop (which are the same as the salaries for the employees of every other shop, and every other Cuban, actually). But there are still little booths on the side of the street where people sell little snacks and homemade juices, and their prices are in Cuban pesos (25 to a convertible peso, so about 4 cents each). Technically these people are part of the informal economy, since they keep all of their profits without paying taxes to the government. But most of them also have other jobs, the profits of which do go to the government, so they still have a right to the monthly salary that the government gives all Cubans.

Anyway, I digress.

So two days after we have this discussion in class, Michael and I decide to go out on a date. There is this restaurant, El Conejito (the Little Rabbit), that is famous because it makes most of its dishes out of, you guessed it, rabbit. So we go to this restaurant, sit down, and order our food. Forty minutes pass, and although we have gotten our drinks, our food is nowhere in sight. The waiter tells us that our food will be out any second, but fifteen minutes later, still no food. He comes back and tells us that there is a problem with the gas (this is a fairly common problem in restaurants in Cuba, and even our residence has had to delay meals because there was not enough gas to cook the food), but that in less than five minutes, our dinner will be ready. Then, five minutes later, he tells us that our food isn’t coming. Thus, after an hour of waiting for a meal that will never come, we leave the restaurant and begin to search for another place to have dinner. We try another restaurant, but the hostess tells us that we can’t be seated because Michael doesn’t have on long pants (that’s another thing here, Cubans are very big on dressing well for meals, and lots of restaurants and bars have strict dress codes). So we’re starving at this point (we were starving before we got to El Conejito), and Mike takes a risk and asks a random doorman at a hotel that we pass if there’s anywhere we can get a cheap dinner. The doorman tells us to stay where we are runs inside and asks the woman behind the receptionist desk to go get something. She comes back with two bottles of soda and two ham and cheese subs wrapped in saran wrap. He takes them from her, gives them to us, takes the money we give him (a dollar each), and pockets it all.

Although it wasn’t at all the night we had planned, I loved it because it was such a perfect manifestation of the girl in class’s argument. The state-run establishment couldn’t provide its goods due to a utility shortage (the likes of which happen all the time here, and I can’t help but think it’s because the government has so many other things to worry about, e.g. operating a brewery so that Cubans can have beer), so an under-the-counter arrangement popped up to satisfy the unmet demand for dinner. Cubans have actually developed a rather brilliant form of informal economy, in my opinion. Since the government takes all of your profits and then tells you what you can have in the form of salary, there’s no such thing as taxes. Since there’s no such thing as taxes, if you can find a way to earn a little extra on the side, you get to keep all of it, since no one is monitoring your income like the tax system in the U.S. In Cuba the government ignores you once it takes what it needs from your labor, because it assumes that there is no other way for you to make money than the state-run economy. How fortunate for the Cuban families that cannot survive on only 11 dollars a month that the government is wrong in that assumption.

¨Freedom¨ and ¨Rights¨

I’m beginning to realize that every anecdote I put on this blog will be full of some deeper meaning about the ideological differences between this country and my own. But honestly, that’s the mindset that I go into my experiences with every day here. Whenever I see something new or different, my mind instantly transforms what could be a purely sensory experience into a comparison of Cuban and American values and ideals. Here are two examples from the past few days:

Thursday night a few of us decided to walk down to the Malecon, which is essentially a boardwalk at the northern border of Havana where the city meets the ocean. It’s not uncommon for people to go there with the alcohol of their choice, find a spot, and just sit there and converse with whomever they happen to meet in the course of the night. So a group of us grabbed a bottle of rum and walked the 7 blocks or so down to the Malecon. About 5 minutes after we found a good spot, a middle-aged man without a shirt on approached us with his fishing gear (including a large gutting knife). When he realized we were Americans, he immediately became fascinated by us and began speaking with us animatedly, and as if he had known us for years. He was obviously incredibly drunk, so understandably a few of the members of our group decided to go home when he began waving the knife around, unaware of the dangerous nature of his actions. After a friend of his got tired of waiting for him and came to get the knife, the rest of us eased up and began to talk freely with him.

Due to a combination of alcohol and the uniquely Cuban ability to speak intimately about sexual matters with whatever audience without considering it inappropriate, most of our conversation is not fit for print in this medium. However, parts of it were considerably more wholesome, ranging from love advice, to life lessons, to the vast differences between American and Cuban culture. At some point in the conversation he explained to us that he came to the Malecon to fish every night because if he didn’t, his family would starve (some rationing program, huh?). Following this, I asked him what he did for a living, assuming that he would tell me he’d fallen on hard times at some point during his life. His answer shocked me: he was an architect for the city. The reality of his situation really struck me as unlike any story I would hear in the States. The fact that an architect for a major city would be reduced to fishing in the ocean for subsistence really puts into context not only the unfairness, in a sense, of socialism (that someone with such an amazing skill is forbidden from being paid accordingly for his gift), but also the warped perception of “poverty” that we have in the United States.

I also thought it was interesting that a country with such economic and legal rigidity would be so lenient towards our activities on the Malecon (in the United States if hundreds of people gathered with alcoholic beverages for the mere purpose of socializing, it would be considered loitering; here it’s a typical Thursday night). Maybe one day there will be a government somewhere that doesn’t try to control the social, political, or economic aspects of its citizens’ lives.

The second experience occurred today during my Sociology of Work class. The professor was talking about the job market in Cuba, and he was discussing the components of supply and demand of labor. Surprised to see terms that are so strongly connotative of capitalism, I listened very intently to this part of the lesson. Imagine my shock and also intrigue when I realized that he referred to the terms in the exact opposite way we use them in economics courses in the United States. That is, he taught that the “suppliers” of labor are the employers who will provide jobs, and the “demanders” are the Cubans looking for work. I’ve always thought that the Classical view of these terms was the more logical interpretation (workers supply their labor to companies who demand it, since without the labor the goods of the company cannot be produced), so I struggled to understand the thinking behind defining them the other way around. And then it struck me that there was a fundamental Socialist assumption underlying this reversal of roles: The belief that a job is a right, not a privilege. Socialist governments believe that every citizen has a right to a job, regardless of their ability, and so they supply artificially created jobs with the express purpose of having them filled by citizens. The citizens, in turn, know that there are enough jobs out there for them to have one, and so they go looking for it and demand that they be given one. The mindset here (I can’t really speak for other Socialist countries) also seems to be that a job is something you get because it is understood by your society that everyone needs one, not because your labor will go towards the production of a beneficial good or service. But I think that’s perfectly understandable when there’s no sense of task identity (i.e. “I’m turning this cog so that we can make steel so that my fellow Cuban can build a bridge.). Since the government controls all factors of production, the train of thought is more like “I’m turning this cog so that we can make steel so that the government can take it and do… something.” Without that knowledge that your actions are going towards a goal that you approve of, there is no reason to seek relevance in your occupation; just do the work and take the money home to your family. No wonder Cubans are so content in their familial and social lives when there are such strong limits on any attempts to dream bigger…

I have classes!!!

… I think. After running to the University in the heat of the afternoon many times, only to discover that the professor simply failed to show up, I think I’ve narrowed down my schedule for the semester, more or less:

‘Theory and History of Marxist/Leninist Philosophy’ – kind of a mouthful, I know, but the professor is amazing

‘Sociology of Work’ – basically the social aspects of work and the working class in Cuba

‘Contemporary Problems of the Caribbean’

And then I’m deciding between ‘Society and Religion’ and ‘Theory and Ideology of the Cuban Revolution’. The latter interests me for obvious reasons, and the religion class I find interesting because of Cuba’s sordid relationship with religion. On the one hand you have the Santeria religion, which arose because African slaves had to find Catholic saint equivalents for their own gods, and so the two faiths have been almost completely synthesized into something completely different. But on the other hand you have the fact that the Catholic Church was banned by the Cuban government following the revolution until very recently. So I think the love/hate relationship with religion and Cuban society would be fascinating to study. They’re offered at the same time, so hopefully I’ll be able to make up my mind by Tuesday, when we have to choose.

All of the teachers have been very sympathetic of foreigners (which is good for us because in addition to language difficulties, some of our classes are second and third year courses, and God knows I don’t have two years of philosophy under my belt). For the most part our finals will consist of papers written on a theme of our choice within the course material, and we don’t really have any homework, so… pretty easy semester. All the same, something tells me that in a way I’ll still be learning more here than I ever have in a semester at Penn (no offense to any of my former professors who may be reading this!).

No classes tomorrow, so that means another three day weekend is upon us. Hopefully this one will be like the last one: full of fun, sun, and 2 dollar bottles of rum. ¡Hasta luego!

Learning more everyday

So much to update from the past few days! None of it is really related, so I guess I’ll just go in chronological order:

On Thursday we did our best to go to classes. The way it works at the University of Havana is that the students have a set track for their major, and everyone takes the exact same classes depending on their track and year. So the administrative people often have a very hard time understanding that we’re used to being able to pick our classes ourselves. For example, we’ve been given 2 weeks to sort of shop around and see which topics/professors we like best, but when we go to the scheduling people with problems, the first thing they ask us is what classes we’re taking because they don’t understand that we’re not in a set track… so then we make up a random selection of 4 classes so that they stop pestering us, haha. The classes themselves (or those that have met, at least… sometimes professors just don’t show up, which is also something new) are really interesting. Some (like one on the Theory and History of Marxism/Leninism, which we’re all taking because honestly, how could you not when you’re in Cuba?) are quite obviously about Socialist principles, but even the classes that should have sort of a wider range of material to cover (e.g. History of Cuban Culture) all come back to those ideals of socialism. So it’s fascinating to see how Marxism really permeates every aspect of their education. Tomorrow we’re going to go check out a class called Tendencies of Contemporary Capitalism which I’m really excited for. Even if it’s not the actual sentiment of the average Cuban on the street towards capitalism or the United States, it will still be mindblowing to hear the University’s (and the government’s, since the University is state-owned) official stance on the subject.

Friday we had a free day (three day weekends for the whole semester, yay!), so a few of us went down the street to this famous ice cream shop called Coppelia. The place (like a lot of things that Havana and Cuba were known for in their heyday) is frozen in the 50’s, with a really crazy mod design (I describe it as what people in the 50’s thought the future would be like, so think of a white concrete building that looks like the Jetsons live there or something, haha). We saw lines way outside of the compound (it’s on a huge plot of land), but they weren’t leading up to the ice cream place, so we tried to walk in and see what the deal was. We were stopped by a man in sort of intimidating army looking garb (but I think he was a police officer or something) who asked us if we were paying in CUC (convertible pesos, which the tourists use more than anyone else) or national pesos (the local currency used by Cubans, it’s about 25:1, so 4 cents USD). We told him we were paying in pesos, and he told us to go back outside to the wait in the lines on the sidewalk. I get the feeling that if we had said we were paying in CUC we would have been able to go right in, which I thought was really interesting. So we waited in line with the other Cubans until our line got called to go further inside and stand in line inside the building until stools opened up (it’s kind of like a bar, but for ice cream). One of the bars was almost completely empty, but when we tried to walk over there, the women working behind us told us to go back in line. Later as we were leaving, we saw them sitting behind the empty bar having an ice cream break, while dozens of Cubans waited in line for an open seat.

Little things like that have already become an integral part of our experience in Cuba; they really don’t strive for things like efficiency here. Actually, in our Leninist/Marxist class on Thursday our professor began to lay the groundwork for the bourgeoisie mindset by saying that they prided themselves on the rationality of efficiency, and since the proletariat is eventually going to conquer the bourgeoisie in our class, I’m assuming that the mentality of prizing efficiency was also deliberately overridden. But yeah little things like trying to push tables together for big groups, or not letting us pay in the cheaper national currency in some cases because our information hasn’t been processed yet (even though we’re obviously students here and have identification proving so)… you can’t help but feel the bureaucracy hiding under it all. We were warned in our first days here that it would be necessary to be flexible, but it’s hard to keep a cool head when you see the (often rather simple) solution to a problem that, frankly, nobody feels like fixing since they have no incentive to do so.

On a lighter note, yesterday we went to the beach! It was about a 2 hour car ride to Varadero, this gorgeous beach that, like a lot of things, was quite a hotspot back in the 50’s and 60’s. The hotels, like Coppelia, are stuck in time. They say it used to be one of Fidel’s favorite places to go, and I can definitely see why: The sand was amazing, the water was really warm… just a great beach. But sadly it was over too soon, and now we’re back to classes tomorrow. Hopefully enough of them will meet this week that I can pick my schedule by Friday!

Llegamos a Habana!

We made it! After a series of travel misadventures (by the way, for those of you I bothered with my luggage weight worries, the employees at the Nassau airport used their cutoff of 70 pounds, so my total weight of 66.5 was no problem!), we finally arrived in Cuba. Even in our 20 minute drive to the residencia, I could tell that the vibe in Cuba was very different from anything I’d ever seen in the United States. So many people outside on their porches, on the plazas and sidewalks, just sitting and conversing with each other. People here really take the time to foster personal relationships, which I guess is both a cause (in that some aspects of capitalism detract from that sort of personal relationship) and a byproduct (in that they only have so much free time to spend with each other because they’re unemployed) of their political beliefs. I think our whole group is really excited for the semester to come, and I don’t think we could have picked a better study abroad site; nothing could have possibly been more different and eye-opening than this.

Our residencia is fantastic: air conditioning, TV in English and Spanish (Entourage in español, anyone?), two meals a day… the list goes on. It’s still modest, but definitely enough of a haven to relish coming home after classes each day. Speaking of classes, they began the day before we got here (thanks, Ike!), so we’ve been thrown into everything full force… which luckily isn’t much here in Havana. We were told to just take our time deciding what to take, and that professors are extremely accommodating of foreign students (especially the Americans who understand maybe every third word of what they’re saying). So we’ll see how that goes. Most of us are interested in the same types of classes (i.e. anything having to do with Marxist thought), since there is no better place to learn such philosophies. So hopefully our foray goes well tomorrow, and we add an academic aspect to the learning process that we began the second we stepped off the plane.

Finally!

Phew! So after being delayed a week because of Hurricane Ike, I'm finally on my way to Cuba! I'll be landing in Nassau around noon, so we should be in Havana by 4 or so. Hopefully everything will go smoothly despite all of the luggage craziness (we deserve a little bit of accommodation after the anxiety of this past week, haha). I just want to say thank you all for making my summer so great, it really was a great 4 months and part of me is sad to see it go. As for those of you I didn't see this summer, most of you are off having your own abroad adventures, so keep having fun! I promise to take lots of pictures, update as often as I can, and do my best to bring lots of goodies back. See you in December!