Not-So-Dirty Dancing on our First Havana Night

After enviously hearing about the experiences of my friends, the fourth girl is finally ready to share news from the fourth continent. Although I constantly pestered Judy, Chuzi and Katie to update their posts, I now realize what a daunting task this actually is. I've only been in Cuba for a week, but already it feels like a month. We've all been plucked from our routines and environments and dropped into a world that's equal parts foreign and mesmerizing. I feel like I'm three- where doing everything means doing it for the first time, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Setting off for Havana my expectations were...pretty much nonexistent. Cuba is a country shrouded in mystery for us Americans, and even though I have Cuban family, I had no idea what to expect. The country is so close- a mere four-hour flight- but it couldn't seem father away. Will I hear American music? Are Cubans really uber patriotic? Are the cars really all old? Well, it' pretty much yeses across the board. Vintage-hipster-dream cars cover the streets, Chuzi is right and Gaga is universal, and every Cuban we've encountered has readily professed their love of their people and country even while acknowledging the problems that do exist.

Our first night out was a revealing introduction- Cuba has a culture that hits you square in the face. Our group of 10 students was eager to get into the thick of it (pura candela, as locals say), so we decided to check out the famous Malecón- an enormous concrete boardwalk that runs along Havana's coast and is conveniently located minutes from our residence. Before we could see it, we could hear it. Reggaton blasting. And then a mob of people dancing. We were at a sight we soon learned was called "El Maine"- a monument dedicated to the sunken American ship of the Spanish American War. It's a phenomenon I've discovered is common in Cuba- a seamless blending of history and youth culture, a marriage of politics, music and dance in the most organic way possible. A marble structure you would expect to be photographed or admired from afar was literally covered with dancing bodies, people atop every possible platform and step. Our group of hip-swerving-challenged Americans couldn't have felt more visible and more out of place. But as the digitized (guitar? harp? piano?) intro of "Telephone" came on we found ourselves become a bit less self-conscious. And, to our delight, people sought us out to talk to us. Immediately we were asked what country we were from, how long we were staying, etc. An answer of "los estados unidos" didn't solicit any strong opinionated reactions, but rather "¿que estado?" and before we knew it were listening to Linkin Park on a man's mp3 player (mazel tov to them for finding an international following), and learning of the best places to eat ropa vieja.

Despite the surreally magical first night, it's obviously going to be a struggle. The Cuban accent is truly unlike anything we've heard in Spanish class and my salsa moves need some serious improvement. There are also complex political and social divides at play here. Instead of billboards advertising Coca-Cola or cell phones there are images of Che and messages of "Viva la Revolución." Classes at the University of Havana- where we will be total immersion students for the semester- haven't yet started, and it will be interesting to learn how America is portrayed and what about a "Philosophy of Cuba" class feels like biased propaganda. But I keep reminding myself it's just the first week, and I have a full semester to answer all my questions. So for now I'm content to take a back seat and observe, enjoy the end of mango season, and pray the DJ at tonight's club plays "Empire State of Mind."