(a bird shit on my head this morning). i looked around to see if anyone was giggling, staring at me sympathetically or maybe even coming over to offer me something to wipe it off with. look to the left….nothing. look to the right….nobody. there was a group of cops across the street staring at my tits. that’s about it.
(last week, i was thrown to the ground when a fight broke out on a public bus). i gazed up at an outstretched hand and when i went to grab it, some giant cuban woman pushed me back down on the floor (ewwwww, so dirty) and grabbed it herself. hmmmm.
(at a party recently, i didn’t utter a single word for 7 ½ hours). i waited and waited to see if maybe ONE person at the party spoke english, but alas, that was not the case. so, i sat on the floor (in my very tight cuban jeans no less) watching a bunch of people play charades in spanish (i particularly loved them acting out the song ‘beat it’ (it’s not only movies when they play here) by “mikal janson”). hee. but that said, my mouth didn’t open for hours upon hours.
(every day, i wander in and out of fancy hotel bathrooms pretending i’m a guest). and every day, someone swings the giant door open for me and enthusiastically welcomes with me a “buenos tardes senorita” completely forgetting that they have already opened the door for me 6 other times that week. surely they will catch on that this sweaty girl with a bladder problem couldn’t possibly be a guest for 6 months at $185 bucks a night? nope.
(tomorrow, i am going to pick my nose in public). and you know what? who’s going to care? (ps: it’s actually not a gross thing to do here so if you dig it, you can get your fill next time you visit this idyllic little island).
can you see what i’m getting at here? i came to the realization today (not sure why it’s taken me six months for this grand epiphany) that i am completely anonymous here. and now, with only a month left, i feel the need to do all the disgusting things in public i normally wouldn’t get a chance to do. like talk about people when they are standing beside me because they don’t understand a word of english. or dress completely inappropriately for my age and size (not like that’s such a stretch) and do so proudly. let my belly hang out, not wash my hair, throw my garbage on the ground (just once, for the experience – i am actually horrified at the garbage situation here), make out with someone on the sidewalk, sneeze without covering my mouth…..fart in the movie theatre. who cares, right? do i know anyone? my point being, although anonymity, at times, can cause terminal loneliness, it also allows you complete freedom. to do what you want. to feel what you want. to be without hang ups, insecurity and most importantly, to make no apologies.
just between you and me, at times when i am in the more touristic areas of the city, i fantasize about running into someone i know. “heeeeeey, jamie!!” and throwing my arms around them. or more importantly, them throwing their arms around me. i am always watching cubans greet each other on the street so enthusiastically and when i am with friends, i am always the creepy foreign girl waiting on the corner for the 900th time that they have to stop for yet another encounter with a friend on the street. it’s so odd for me – i am actually quite popular at home (if i do say so myself) and often walk down the street and run into people i know. i have lots of friends, i can get myself around easily (speaking the language helps) and can confidently hold my own at a party. me, not speak for 7 hours in a room of people? never. me, a wallflower? ahem, i think not. but you know, i kinda like it. working in the entertainment biz, you do a lot of talking. a lot of “heeeeeey jamie’s”. being completely faceless here is a bit of a nice break. however, in the spirit of honesty, i must admit that when i think i might know someone on the street here - as i approach and realize that my friend would never wear stretchpant version of jeans or a banana clip and the cuban woman who i have accosted looks like she might scratch my eyes out with her 9 inch long acrylic nails, i have to bite my lower lip and choke back a tear or two.
but, you can save your violin playing because most of the time i feel super cool that i am now the timid gal. especially at parties. “hey, who’s your foreign friend? she’s so shy”. ha! that’s me. and even better, i now walk the streets without an iota of consciousness about who’s looking at me. if my shirt is too tight, i no longer pull at it. i am without makeup, without hair products, without a rabid preoccupation with how i look. although they terrify me, i am taking a page from the book of most cuban women – if someone makes a comment about how you look or how you behave that you don’t like, you just tell them to fuck off (or “jodete”). here, people struggle, like, a lot. they don’t have time to be self conscious, they need to eat. they need to figure out how to afford to buy dish soap. they need to scrounge for a peso to buy a razor so they can shave their legs that they need to rub up against rich foreigners. there is simply no time in the day to worry about all the mundane (and if we’re honest, most of the time quite meaningless) things we worry about at home all the time. and that my friends, i have learned from 6 months of anonymity. from months of sitting quietly (something that doesn’t come easily for me) and watching. and listening. and processing. and learning. and so now, i don’t cry from loneliness when i realize how alone i am here, i celebrate it. because i know in a month from now, when i am walking up yonge street and running into people i know, i will yearn for the days of quiet reflection on street corners.
and hey, if you run into me on the street when i return and i am lucky enough to maintain my state of bohemian-ness (read: not giving a shit about the stupid things anymore) and haven’t washed my hair….don’t dare ask me what new product i’m using to make my hair look so ‘natural’. cuz if you do, i am gonna go all cuban on your ass and tell you to “jodete!”. (after clutching you for 10 minutes out of relief that someone finally said hello to me).
so to all of you out there who are not lucky enough to live and wander the steets of a foreign country every day, here is my advice: go out for a walk today in a hat & sunglasses and embrace your anonymity. and for the love of god, pick your nose on the street. and enjoy it.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
(it’s rainin’ patos….halleluiah it’s rainin’ patos!)
“man, you can bounce a quarter off her ass! her legs are long and lean, her titties round and robust…..i’d do her, for sure”, exclaimed my very enthusiastic cuban compadre about the blonde strutting in front of us. “heeee heeeee”, i giggled to myself. “shit, really, i would so do her. i would bend her over my kitchen table….” i had to stop him. i knew this conversation would end in him taking a shower a-la-the crying game. “sorry chico, but that’s a dude”. silence. disappointment. utter horror. “QUE!?” he chokes. “yeah, sorry buddy but those long, lean legs lead all the way up to something you very much don’t want banging against your kitchen table”, i explained quasi-sympathetically. he spits in disgust. he shakes a little. and then….he makes a clucking sound. huh? what is this familiar clucking sound i have heard so many times?
this may come as a bit of a shock, but most latin american guys are a little on the machismo side. i know of a certain someone who was genuinely quite distraught that he might have AIDS because his gay barber accidentally knicked him with the razor while cutting his hair. i have come to learn that my very queer positive world that i once lived in no longer exists. at least while i live in this country. don’t get me wrong, there is an organization that works very hard to support gay rights (and run by none other than raul castro’s daughter no less) but the average jose, well, he don’t dig the gays. and don’t even get them started on the transgendered folk. not only do they call them names (maricas, playeros, locas, gueichas, pajaros, descarados, disfrazados), to name a few, they will happily dodge oncoming traffic to avoid walking by them. it’s bad enough that when i am with some of my new pals (who really are quite liberal by latin american standards) they literally cluck like chickens when two cute gay boys walk by holding hands. and the trans guys and gals? well, they get extra enthusiastic clucks.
i live in central havana, probably one of the poorest of the poor, hard core hoods in this city. most of the time i see families pouring out on to the street to escape the heat of their 2 bedroom apartment housing 17 people, dogs with one eye and no fur scratching themselves against the pavement, garbage dumpsters overflowing with things i shall not describe nor shall i divulge the odor that emanates from them…..and on every other corner on a saturday night, a gal with shockingly real tits (how can she afford them here?), a face full of make up and shorts so short they lead me to believe you can get your hands on some seriously strong duct tape here. and although they are getting clucked at, spit on, looked at with utter horror and disgust, they are strutting those long lean legs up and down the main drag lookin’ for some action. and in this city, i have come to learn, anyone with an ass in a pair of short shorts, regardless of what’s inside of them, can rustle up some action. i am told that cuba is actually one of the most liberal, tolerant countries in latin america when it comes to acceptance of the queer lifestyle. that being said, there still isn’t a legal gay or lezzie bar to be found. and if you want to hook up, the only place to go is hang out on the malecon (the sea wall) or the ‘gay’ movie theatre (it’s hard to really tell the difference between where the boys hang and where the ‘regular folk’ hang, they all have suspiciously sticky floors) on the weekend and see where the house party is for that evening. it’s super old school but we are in a communist country after all, where everything is indeed, super old school.
(as i write this, i am drinking a (delicious!) pineapple juice, juiced in none other than a 1952 russian blender. and that’s young for some appliances here. not to stray from my rant on the queers but as an aside, i have to say, things here are crazy old. and the cuban people, resourceful as they are, make these things work. like new. a bit of string and a glue stick and there you have it, a car muffler. or a rock in a sock and you have a baseball (watch your head on the street). or cut up pieces of condoms disguised as cheese on pizza during the ‘special period’ (i am told that latex can get quite stringy when heated – yuck) when there was no food. how about one bar of fluorescent green soap that is used to wash your dishes, , wash your clothes and wash your ass? yeah…resourceful. granted, you always have greasy dishes, crunchy underwear and an itchy bum. )
all this to say, if the cubans want to make it happen, they will find a way to make it happen. and that goes for all the carpet munching, fudge packing fun they can possibly have on a saturday night. and if you want fake tits, well 500 bucks can get you a pair and i can tell you this, there ain’t a canadian/italian/german perv around that doesn’t want to spend a few bucks on these very well endowed latinas that will give the gals on church street a serious run for their money.
and you know, in a country that is outrageously oppressive, repressed and utterly homophobic, i say “cluck, cluck, cluck!”
translation: “you go chicas!”
this may come as a bit of a shock, but most latin american guys are a little on the machismo side. i know of a certain someone who was genuinely quite distraught that he might have AIDS because his gay barber accidentally knicked him with the razor while cutting his hair. i have come to learn that my very queer positive world that i once lived in no longer exists. at least while i live in this country. don’t get me wrong, there is an organization that works very hard to support gay rights (and run by none other than raul castro’s daughter no less) but the average jose, well, he don’t dig the gays. and don’t even get them started on the transgendered folk. not only do they call them names (maricas, playeros, locas, gueichas, pajaros, descarados, disfrazados), to name a few, they will happily dodge oncoming traffic to avoid walking by them. it’s bad enough that when i am with some of my new pals (who really are quite liberal by latin american standards) they literally cluck like chickens when two cute gay boys walk by holding hands. and the trans guys and gals? well, they get extra enthusiastic clucks.
i live in central havana, probably one of the poorest of the poor, hard core hoods in this city. most of the time i see families pouring out on to the street to escape the heat of their 2 bedroom apartment housing 17 people, dogs with one eye and no fur scratching themselves against the pavement, garbage dumpsters overflowing with things i shall not describe nor shall i divulge the odor that emanates from them…..and on every other corner on a saturday night, a gal with shockingly real tits (how can she afford them here?), a face full of make up and shorts so short they lead me to believe you can get your hands on some seriously strong duct tape here. and although they are getting clucked at, spit on, looked at with utter horror and disgust, they are strutting those long lean legs up and down the main drag lookin’ for some action. and in this city, i have come to learn, anyone with an ass in a pair of short shorts, regardless of what’s inside of them, can rustle up some action. i am told that cuba is actually one of the most liberal, tolerant countries in latin america when it comes to acceptance of the queer lifestyle. that being said, there still isn’t a legal gay or lezzie bar to be found. and if you want to hook up, the only place to go is hang out on the malecon (the sea wall) or the ‘gay’ movie theatre (it’s hard to really tell the difference between where the boys hang and where the ‘regular folk’ hang, they all have suspiciously sticky floors) on the weekend and see where the house party is for that evening. it’s super old school but we are in a communist country after all, where everything is indeed, super old school.
(as i write this, i am drinking a (delicious!) pineapple juice, juiced in none other than a 1952 russian blender. and that’s young for some appliances here. not to stray from my rant on the queers but as an aside, i have to say, things here are crazy old. and the cuban people, resourceful as they are, make these things work. like new. a bit of string and a glue stick and there you have it, a car muffler. or a rock in a sock and you have a baseball (watch your head on the street). or cut up pieces of condoms disguised as cheese on pizza during the ‘special period’ (i am told that latex can get quite stringy when heated – yuck) when there was no food. how about one bar of fluorescent green soap that is used to wash your dishes, , wash your clothes and wash your ass? yeah…resourceful. granted, you always have greasy dishes, crunchy underwear and an itchy bum. )
all this to say, if the cubans want to make it happen, they will find a way to make it happen. and that goes for all the carpet munching, fudge packing fun they can possibly have on a saturday night. and if you want fake tits, well 500 bucks can get you a pair and i can tell you this, there ain’t a canadian/italian/german perv around that doesn’t want to spend a few bucks on these very well endowed latinas that will give the gals on church street a serious run for their money.
and you know, in a country that is outrageously oppressive, repressed and utterly homophobic, i say “cluck, cluck, cluck!”
translation: “you go chicas!”
Sunday, May 2, 2010
(un momentico)
my sincerest apologies to all my newfound fans, i have been a little busy and unable to update my blog. in all honesty, it is hard to muster energy when you are lying in your underwear (my new cuban underwear, i might add, from the brand ‘zexy muchacha’) trying not to panic at the fact that i might actually perish from the heat. sure, i don’t dig the heat in the best of times but i’m talkin’ 975 degrees BEFORE the 1000% humidity. i have certainly looked more attractive than i do in these days. so cut me some slack.
hilarity to resume in un momentico.
ps: have you been to a country where they only sell polyester thongs in the undergarment section? do i need to elaborate on how comfy those are in this kind of heat? i thought not.
hilarity to resume in un momentico.
ps: have you been to a country where they only sell polyester thongs in the undergarment section? do i need to elaborate on how comfy those are in this kind of heat? i thought not.
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