Scuba Diving in the Bay of Pigs

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this particular entry on Sunday avfter an Extremely Traumatic Experience. Obviously the best way to deal with an Extremely Traumatic Experience is to talk about it extensively so it’s a teensy bit long. Enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes life in Cuba can be more similar to life back home than you expect. This morning, for example, I woke up heavily bruised, with a pounding headache, back-brushed hair skewing in various directions, some barely explained grazes on my knees and vivid memories of spending several hours the previous day hanging on for dear life to a giant of a man aged about 45. In England, I would associate this combination of symptoms with a night at Bop or perhaps even Erasmus (the 45 year old man being my old friend, Michael, the bouncer. Obvs.). Obviously Erasmus doesn’t exist here so the causes were quite different: YESTERDAY I went on a SCUBA DIVE!!!!!!!!!!

BACKGROUND INFORMATION: It may surprise you to know that I am actually NOT the world’s most proficient swimmer. I did successfully obtain my 50 metre swimming badge aged approximately 10 years old, though I could only do this by swimming on my back, as I couldn’t swim on my front because putting my face in the water freaks me out. However, despite this fact - and despite the fact that any fool could tell you that scuba diving most definitely involves putting your head under the water - as we were cruising toward our diving spot of choice, this was the narrative going through my mind: “I’ve never done scuba diving before. Maybe I’ll have natural talent for it, which I’ve never known about!” I pondered. “I love fish. I love aquariums. I can already tell that this is the sport for me. Maybe I’ll keep it up in Britain. I could get certified. I could become a trainer; that would be a great summer job. Maybe I’ll even find some buried treasure on a shipwreck and become a millionaire!” The prospects were very exciting.

We arrived at a small bay in Playa Giron, a beach in the infamous Bay of Pigs in southern Cuba. The sea was so clear it looked like liquid cling film, the sun was shining and the view was breath-takingly beautiful. We chose to dive because it’s one of Birthday Boy’s passions. Bajan Housemate and he are very experienced, so they split off to go on some kind of intrepid adventure, involving a sunken American warship, and which I imagine to have been rather like the opening scenes of Titanic. The rest of us were left with several cheerful, portly Cubans who cheerfully showed us what we were meant to do and cheerfully helped us do up our wet suits. It was all going ‘swimmingly’ (if you’ll pardon the pun), and I thoroughly enjoyed both the wet suit and the goggles. This was the high point of the morning. In many ways, as soon as I had to enter the water, things began to go dramatically downhill.

First of all, I had to put on this huge jacket with a tank full of oxygen, as this is vital for you to be able to breath whilst under the water (as there is no air underwater).  I did not ask exactly how heavy this tank was ( I shall estimate that it weighed approximately 100 kilograms) but I can tell you that once it was on I couldn’t stand up without assistance, and one of the portly gentlemen had to assist me into the sea, where I promptly toppled backwards due to the weight. The portly gentleman hastily filled my jacket with air so that I floated on top of the water, bobbing up and down on my back (or, in his words, with “my inside-up”). At this point I was encouraged to put on my flippers. I tried to bend forwards to reach my feet but what with the puffy air filed jacket and the 300 kilo oxygen tank on my back, it was remarkably difficult to move, and being unable to reach my feet put me into a fit of giggles which made all movements COMPLETELY impossible. Portly Gentleman had to put on my flippers for me, while I flapped around and rolled over, and I no longer knew if I was laughing from amusement or embarrassment. I was surprised to note that nearly every other member of the group successfully walked into the ocean and put on their flippers without any assistance.

Anyway, we all bobbed around for a bit and I got carried away by the current because I was bobbing too much, and had to swim back and got all tired, and then we had to spit in our goggles(!) and put them on and we saw some fish and got excited and all these sorts of things. Then, one by one, my companions had their jackets deflated by a portly gentleman and ducked under the water.

What then happened is a bit of a blur to me, but I’ve tried to piece it together for your reading pleasure: When it was my turn, I went under, mouth tightly clamped around the mouthpiece, and accidentally breathed through my nose, which caused my goggled to steam up, which surprised me, so I opened my mouth to express my shock and breathed in water and panicked and had to be resurfaced. Portly Gentleman cheerfully reminded me that when I went underwater, I had to breathe. I thanked him, put the horrible thing back in my mouth and bobbed around for a while, hoping he would leave me there. However, he obviously was very keen to see the fishes again as he went back underwater, grabbed my hand, and took me with him!

I imagine he was hoping that once we were under the surface again I would realise that it wasn’t so bad after all, and that as long as I breathed through my mouth and kept my mouth shut, I would be okay, and I would be able to let go of his hand and swim off and enjoy the coral. But I did not let go. I held on to that man. He pointed at fish, I nodded enthusiastically, and kept hold of him. He pointed at my companions, who mainly seemed to be taking to diving like ducks to water (if you’ll pardon the pun), and I observed and nodded and waved at them and kept hold of the man. He repeatedly asked me if I was okay and I replied (using the scuba diving special signal) that I was – and I reinforced my tight hold of his arm.  I held onto that man extremely tightly, as if my life depended on it, and stayed with him for the complete duration of the dive. I think three times I considered letting go, when I was distracted enough by the fish and the coral to calm down a bit – or just after he accidentally dragged me along two feet of coral and I cut my knees - but the thought of it gave me mild heart palpitations and made me breathe faster which made lots more bubbles come out of my mouthpiece that hit me in the face, which alarmed me (and the fish) and then I just held on tighter. At one point I contemplated letting go and swimming to the surface, where it was safe, and waiting there until everyone was finished, but I had an inkling he wasn’t about to let that happen. Then I no longer knew if I was holding him or he was holding me – it was very confusing.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, he tapped me on the head and pointed upwards, and I stood up out of the water, only very nearly avoiding toppling onto my back again. I was shaking and wobbly, and made my way slowly out of the sea and, with the help of a portly gentleman, climbed back up onto the rock where the coach was and took off my jacket. Then I saw Bajan Roommate and I had a little cry because I’d been so scared but I’d had to be so clam for so long to avoid panicking and drowning. Then I had a little wee because I’d needed one in the water but hadn’t wanted to wee on Portly Gentleman and also I find it difficult to sea-wee.

There were two others who had found it a little perplexing, and had also made use of some hand holding (though only I had kept a grip of my man for the entire trip), and we all took a bit of time out to regather our Selves. Some of the group were sorry to get out, and had loved every minute. I find that very suspicious. I haven’t felt that close to death since the Great JLS Riot of 2009.

However, in conclusion, I did manage to see a sting ray floating along on the seabed. I recognised it because I have seen them in Birmingham Sea Life Centre, which I can enter for free with my Blue Peter Badge. I love a good sea life centre and plan to do all future sealife viewing at this venue, and NOT whilst scuba diving. J

Kisses from the Caribean,

Sarah

Going to the beach and going crazy

UPDATE FROM THE CARIBANIA:

HEY GUYS!

As I hear it has been snowing the UK/Austria this week I am sure you will be able to extend some sympathy to my situation in Havana, as we're suffering a bit of a cold spell. Yesterday it was one of the  boy's birthdays so we went to the beach, but we were the only people there, as there was a bit of a cool breeze and several clouds in the sky. I was only wearing shorts and a t shirt, and at one point I had to put a towel over my shoulders to keep warm!!!!!!!!!!!! I still managed to get a spot of sun burn on my left tricep though.

Spirits were high at the beach as we were all enjoying the birthday cheer, and I felt like I was in Cornwall  what with all the wind and sporadic sun, so we listened to a lot of Brit Pop to keep us in the mood. Festivities carried on into the night and we braved a local club, which is confusingly called 'Bertold Brecht' and boasts some BIG NAMES in the Cuban prog rock scene. Things were going well and I even made some Cuban friends, but then one unruly character grabbed a chunk of my (admittedly irresistibly luscious) hair as I was walking into the toilet. On my way out (of the toilet) he grinned at me and I politely told him to not touch my hair. He did not seem to comprehend fully however as he then touched my hair again and said "I've met your parents! I know you!" I disregarded this immediately as my parents would have definitely informed me of any Cuban friends they had, so I said "no you don't. Don't touch my hair." To my utter HORROR, in response he then GRABBED MY CHEEKS (!) and shouted, drool and spit flying all over the shop, "YOU'RE IN CUBA NOW!!!!!!!" then touched my hair again (!!). Thankfully (for him) he then decided to leave, cackling like a little gnome. Those surrounding me had to HOLD ME BACK to stop me from giving him a Piece Of My Mind. I'm still angry at him and hope not to bump into him again. Most Cuban people do not act like this, which is a blessing. You'll be glad to hear that despite this interlude the night was still a success, and I got a HUGE sandwich to snack on in the club, and it came with BREE in it!! (as in, the cheese!) It was so exciting!

We were all hoping to have a few days off uni due to the national mourning taking place for President Chavez of Venezuela. This turned out to be far from the case and our teached pointedly rang our homes to make sure we knew that we had to go to class. However, we did go down to the Plaza de la Revolucion, where about 500,000 people were queuing up to pay respects to him at a little memorial. Cuban people are very patient and very, very good at queuing, far better than English people I AM AFRAID TO TELL YOU. I hope that doesn't destroy your sense of national identity. English people queue better than Austrians (not hard) but Cubans win hands down. Every time they join a queue they say "who's last?" to make sure they're not pushing in. Then they just watch that person, instead of the whole queue. They don't even need to queue in a straight line this way! It's SO efficient!

In the last week Bajan Housemate and I have been competing to come up with one adjective that adequately described Cuba. So far we have been squabbling over "confusing", "interesting", "chaotic" and "complicated". My word of choice was 'confusing' because I spend at least 95% of my day with a complete lack of comprehension of what is happening around me. This is caused partly by the language barrier but mainly by the culture barrier, which is great. The good news is that my cleaner/cook/maid lady has gone from hating and disdaining me to finding me ridiculously hilarious, mainly because I never have a clue what's going on and I get out of bed so late (which she seems to find funny...)

See ya later alligators xxxx

Dipping our toes in the warm Cuban Cultural POOL

“Ballet!” we cried, in unison, storming the ticket booth in solider-like unison, moneda nacional waving in the air and a sense of righteousness that enabled us to get in for local, Cuban prices.

“Ballet!” we cried, shirts buttoned and dresses flared. “Ballet!” we hollered, skipping into the venue, and settling bums into our velvet seats…but BALLET – ‘BALLET’ - is NOT what we were presented with. Unless, of course, the Spanish word ‘ballet’ actually means ‘FLAMENCO’ or ‘woman pretending to be a bull and thrusting’.

The chosen piece was ‘Carmen’, the traditional OPERA, turned into ‘Spanish Ballet’ which was 100% flamenco. The ticket for Cubans costs 10 moneda nacional, far less than a can of coke and about 30p in GBP, and I must admit the dancing quality was extremely high – the production values slightly less so. It was all a bit confusing because they used a lot of the famous music from Carmen, but I am also convinced they did a mash up between flamenco and swan lake at one point and I have no idea why. The music wasn’t live though, and the sound quality was a little tinny and echoey, and in adition I spent some of the second half distracted by the fact the walls were creaking threateningly and I was scared they’d fall down. By far the best bit was when they stopped the music and the male protagonist stood on top of a table and did that insane foot-stamping flamenco thing, accompanied only by a woman clapping and another man beating on a wooden box. His feet were moving so fast you couldn’t see them! It was really cool and we clapped VERY hard.

The ballet venue is only 10 minutes walk from our house, as is the national theatre and concert hall, so we are planning to make some more visits soon and see what we like. I definitely want to go to see the national ballet (as I think it would actually be ballet). As regular fans will no doubt be unsurprised to here, I am also on an avid search for getting my next fix of opera.

The theatre is just off La Plaza de la Revalucion, which is a big square where that huge mural of Che Guevara is. In the middle is a giant tower built to Cuban hero Jose Marti, a poet and revolutionary from the 1800s. Me and Bajan Roommate went there on Saturday and got the lift to the top to get a view of Havana. [NB: The following eloquent and poetic description will only make sense if you have ever played Sim City.] You know on Sim City, when you built a town really nicely in a nice grid shape, and given a few nice monuments and a town hall and a hospital and all that jazz, but then you neglect it for a bit? From zoomed out it still looks good, but when you zoom in, some of the blocks still look all shiny and new and the town hall is doing great, but right next door to the shiny, healthy looking blocks and you see a whole block of derelict buildings that are falling down or on fire. That is what Havana looks like! (except no buildings on fire). A beautiful renascence building will stand directly opposite an almost completely derelict one – its really extraordinary  From what I can gather, this is because Old Havana became very derelict as I guess there isn’t much money and it was being spent elsewhere (like at the ballet.) but recently they have started a big project of restoration, which is why seemingly new buildings are stood by decaying ones. The restoration is deemed as being a huge success because the man who spearheaded it had ensured that they keep to how they would have looked originally, and carefully and sensibly restored. The results are quite SUBLIME in some places.

The area where I live is full of huge houses where the mafia used to live, now mostly looking really quite rundown. One of the concerns of opening up the housing market is that foreign money will not be as respectful to the history of buildings as the government has been, and fund cheap but poorly judged and insensitive repairs to the buildings, which would really take the magic out of the area. I find this very interesting, and I learnt a lot from speaking to our professor who came to make sure we were doing okay as we settled in (and bought me a shandy).

NOW FOR SOME POLITICAL INSIGHT: Cuba is currently in a state of mourning after the sudden death of President Chavez, and this means I have uni off tomorrow. There is going to be a huge ralley in the Plaza de la Revolucion apparently, so we're planning to go in the morning. Venezuela is one of Cuba's closest allies and trades with it and apparently, amongst other things, sells it cheap oil. A change in government there would really affect Cuba, so we're waiting to see what happens. However the TV seems to show the whole of South America is very affected by his death, as he was a bit of a hero.

The weather became quite stiflingly, suffocating hot this week until I could barely breath without getting all bothered, and every now and then I’d get a whiff of how I smelt and it would be so stomach-churningly sour that I’d immediately run to bathe myself in a refreshing lukewarm shower. Then, on Thursday, l the heavens opened and the rain fell down with the pounding force of projectile vomit. It was absolutely freezing today (like 20 degrees or something) and I’ve been having to use my blanket at night L I’m even wearing my (only) hoody as I type (it’s starting to stink.)! 

Mother will probably have noticed my grammar and spelling have improved this week, which is due to the fact that I found ‘Microsoft Word Starter’ on my laptop (instead of notepad) and it comes with Spellcheck! I love Spellcheck.  But apart from that, university is still running, I’m still on a diet based almost exlusively on rice and beans, and the an army of dogs is still roaming the streets, bald and growly and scaring me senseless.

Kluvya bye xxxxxxxxxx