Michael J. Fox vs. Brendan Fraser

Well, my school hasn't been held hostage and I haven't "blessed the rains down in Africa," but life in Havana continues to throw me daily curve balls, in the simplest of ways.

The other night I was at a dinner party with three people from my program at our Cuban friend's house. Louise-Enrique is a very unique Cuban in that he has his own place. Virtually everyone lives with their families- parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, cousins, whomever- regardless of whether they are 13 or 30. Louise is lucky, and takes advantage of his situation by having people over to cook and hang out as often as possible. Now, I am not the most domestic of the bunch, so I was given a fairly simple first task...turn on the stove. I walked up to the college-refrigerator sized oven and turned the knob for the stovetop. Nothing happened. I tried again and again, but to no avail. Despite my embarrassment at appearing completely kitchen-incompetent I asked Louise for some help. "Just turn the knob," he says. I do, with the same fruitless result. "Look, it's working fine," he replies, starting to walk off. I'm now genuinely confused. "But there is no fire," I timidly offer. And he just starts to laugh. "You are in Cuba girl. C - U - B - A. You just turned on the gas. Now you need to drop in a match." Oh.

It was a brief, flash of a moment, but it was just one of those reality checks. Heading to the beach with friends or listening to Usher in the cafe down the block can feel so much like home that it's easy to forget what a different world this is. Not that an old-fashioned stove is all that bizarre, but it just served as a reminder of where I am. I've revved the DeLorean up to 88 and traveled back to an earlier time, and that doesn't just mean cool vintage cars, but outdated home appliances and stores in general. Walking into a Cuban supermarket (the nearest one to my residence is about a mile away) is like walking into a 1950's twilight zone. Generic canned foods are displayed in sparse pyramids, like Warhol paintings come to life, but without the Campbell's logo. Department stores are a hodge-podge of cotton shirts, televisions, phones, a sole couch, weirdly old makeup, random Tupperware. And yet, most University students come to class in a uniform of blue jeans, converse, and a T-shirt, headphones hanging from their mp3 capacity cell-phones. They get their "consumer stuff" from family in the U.S, or schlep on the bus to the few stores on the island that carry only a small portion of the goods I could find in a dozen stores within a one-block radius of my apartment.

And as often as I envision myself as the title role in a warped Back to the Future, I imagine the Blast from the Past scenario that would ensue if any of my Cuban friends traveled home with me to NYC. (Blast from the Past was inexplicably a frequently watched Fleischner-girls-flick). Imagine the culture shock of stepping into a Macy's, Whole Foods, or CVS. And that's thinking big. A friend's professor explained his experience of leaving Cuba for the first time and his amazement over the smallest of things. His first U.S stop was the bathroom in the Miami airport, where even an automatic flusher was too much to take. He joked he was relieved no one else was in the bathroom to see his face of pure horror when the soap dispenser put a weird foam in his hand on its own accord.

Cuba is a bubble of land- an island in every sense of the word- with a sense of community that thrives because of how insular it is. It's incredible to, in a city as big as Havana, walk to my favorite corner milkshake stand and be greeted by everyone waiting in line. But then I travel to the store and, while gazing at the aisle full of one kind of Kat Sup (ketchup), remember, "Holy crap. There is a supermarket with a section dedicated to dozens of varieties of cheese on 75th and Broadway."

Spring Break 2.0: Better than the DR?

There is one thing to know about Spring Break at the University of Cape Town: It doesn’t exist. The one week “vac” or “holiday” in September is spent catching up on work or sleep (which Americans do neither of here). Anytime we call it spring break, our South African friends put on their best American accents and reply, “Ohhhh my God, are you, like, going to CABO?”

Well, Namibia isn’t exactly Cabo, but that’s where I found myself traveling for seven days, driving through the sand dunes up the Atlantic coast. Since I’ve returned, people at UCT keep asking what I thought of “Africa” because Cape Town (and most of South Africa) does not provide the cliché and stereotypical African landscapes made oh-so-famous by Nala and Simba. Namibia however, provided me with aspects of Africa I never even imagined.

The first five days our group camped in tents, went hiking, canoeing, climbed sand dunes and toured Fish River Canyon (the second biggest canyon in the world). We walked through caves with Bushmen who showed us ancient paintings and showed us which plants could cure stomach cramps, migraines and skin cancer. This was the Africa that I had pictured when I envisioned my semester. However, Namibia has only been an independent country since 1990 and its colonial German influences are clearly prevalent - every rest stop specialized in apple strudel, schnitzel and German artifacts that looked terribly out of place. As we left the bush, we entered the beach resort town of Swakopmund (also the birthplace of Shiloh Jolie-Pitt) where most people are white, German is the most spoken language and all the architecture is European. Much to my surprise, we found our own slice of Germany in the middle of the vast African desert (although poorly timed since the capital, Windhoek, is known for having the biggest Oktoberfest in the Southern hemisphere).

In a country my parents' generation still probably knows as South West Africa, I felt so far from Cape Town and even further from New York – especially during Rosh Hashanah. As many of you probably know, I am one of the few Jewish people on my program. So this break falling over the Jewish New Year did not faze any of my new friends. I, however, felt guilty in Solitaire, Namibia that I wasn’t doing anything for the holiday. But even in this teeny town (the smallest one in the country) that consists only of a bakery, hotel and a campsite, my friend Ross and I sat down next to an elderly couple. As they started a conversation they noticed my New York accent as fast as I noticed their Israeli accent. The pair raised their children four blocks away from me in the City before moving back to Israel. We wished each other a “l’shana tovah” before going into our separate campsites, and I remembered that you can even play Jewish geography on an adventurous Namibian spring break.

A snow day! Sort of...

A message that an Argentine friend left on my facebook page (loosely translated):

“Hi Amanda, the school is still taken, for now there are no classes tomorrow. I don’t know if the teacher will have it in the hallway or the street…but I’m letting you know so that you have an idea of what’s going on. “

...The school is “taken?”

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Shana tova!

Shana Tova (Happy New Year)!! So as of Wednesday night, we are now celebrating the Jewish New Year here in Israel. New Years here isn’t exactly like New Years everywhere else, though. In fact, I would say it’s the most non “new years-y” feel of any day since I’ve been here. Rosh Hashanah starts the first day of the 10 days of repentance. I actually haven’t been feeling well these past couple of days so I was able to start my repenting process early (being that I had to take a few days off from going out…tough life). Although I have been celebrating and observing Rosh Hashanah my entire life, as obviously expected, it has definitely been a different experience this time around.

At home, most Jews go to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It is the couple of days of the year where everyone finds it in themselves to make their way over to synagogue. Whether it’s to sit and listen to Rabbi Steinhardt and cantor whatshisface or chill out in the lobby with all my friends from my Jewish elementary school (one of my favorite pastimes), for whatever reason, the high holidays gets everyone out of bed and into synagogue. It is quite different here, it seems. There are 2 very different Israels. There is the religious, observant Israel, and the very reform, or non-practicing Israel. Reform here, however, is very different than reform at home. Everyone here is still living a Jewish life, they couldn’t escape it even if they tried: the Kosher food, the Shabbat quietness, the Jewish trappings; it’s everywhere. So, Rosh Hashanah here, at least for the Jews that I am surrounded by, is not about going to synagogue and davening all morning. 2 nights ago I went to one of my cousin’s house for Erev Rosh Hashanah dinner. My cousins Nili and Pinchas had 33 family members at their house for a wonderful meal. There is nothing that makes me feel more at home than big family dinners like this with all my Israeli cousins, including 8 little Israeli munchkins running around that constantly remind me of my little baby back in Florida (Zoey…my 6-year-old cousin that is my pride and joy, of course). Before this trip to Israel, it was only a rare occasion that I would get to see my Israeli cousins. I’m so excited that I’m here for such an extended period of time so that I can really get to know them, and become more than their cousin from “artsot habrit” (United States of America) who sounds very funny when she speaks Hebrew.

While this wasn’t the most religious Rosh Hashanah I’ve ever had (being that I only went to a Chabad “service” for about 10 minutes where I heard the shofar blown and ate some cake), I do feel like it was very meaningful and different. Sitting at dinner with my family, talking in Hebrew about the different things we were eating and their relation to Rosh Hashanah, playing with my little cousins with a language barrier that gets smaller and smaller each time I see them, made me realize that for the first time since I’ve been away at college, I wasn’t homesick on the High Holidays.

It’s a quiet week here in Israel; everything is closed from Wednesday-Saturday evening because Rosh Hashanah rolls right into Shabbat. Everyone stocks up on food on Tuesday afternoon from the markets and grocery stores as if everything is going to be closed for about 3 months, as only Jews know how to do. Ulpan (intensive Hebrew class) is now over and we have a month break for the holidays (Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot). So, I’m off to Europe tomorrow morning for 3 weeks with my friends! So…Shalom, Ciao, Ahoj, Tschüs, and Au Revoir!!

Binders and Scarves...no más

Every year I anticipate that first week of September when suddenly it's acceptable to debate which composition notebook is best suited for English and which outfit is both put together and casual. Back at home, back to school is a holiday in its own right, and I celebrate accordingly.

Things are a little different here.

Come Monday we all had our first day of school butterflies. Our group arrived at breakfast unnecessarily early, overanalyzed what writing utensils to bring, and debated the pros vs. cons of personally introducing ourselves to our professors. Well, all our anxiety was for naught. It's only been four days of class, but already our group is picking up on the super laid back tendencies of the Cuban back to school variety. And at a university where solidarity is of utmost importance, Cuban students are more than eager to help us out. Five practical week-one lessons:

1. The only special school supply you need is a FAN. The classrooms do not have AC, and 40 plus bodies sitting still in a small classroom (known as "aulas") for an hour and 30 minutes in the 80+ weather, results in a lot of sweating. Within five minutes of my first class ever girl had whipped out a fan and I realized what it felt like to be a Cuban guy- jealous and over- heated.

2. If you arrive to class in the right place and at the right time, but there is not a soul in sight, you aren't lost or confused. There is just a very good chance that it is one of those classes that always starts 14 minutes late. All the students seem to know which professors arrive exactly on time and which don't, and plan their schedules accordingly.

3. If you can't find a seat in your classroom, don't panic or awkwardly stand around, go to the next-door classroom and borrow one. All the classes have those elementary-school style connected chair-desk combos, so they are easily transported from one aula to the next, (but they lack tennis balls on the bottom so they make horrific noises when you drag them). When I arrived in my third class and couldn't find a seat I nervously hovered in a corner until a Cuban student was nice enough to take pity on me and personally deliver a desk. I felt proud to be able to do the same for a fellow clueless American in my fifth class.

4. Don't go to the library! All the books are infested with fleas, and it's being fumigated.

5. You are not allowed to eat ice cream in class. Although smoking and note passing are permissible, depending on the professor, there are clear "Prohibido de Comer Helado en La Aula" signs on the walls. When frozzens (Cuban fro-yo) is only 5 cents, and it's 90 degrees, it's obvious why it would be tempting.

I’m sure I’ll only continue to learn all the norms and nuances of Universidad de Habana life, and eventually begin to understand the accent of the polish exchange student who I now only ever nod and smile at.

Che Boludo! Dónde está el Colectivo?

Spotlight On: "El Colectivo" (Also known as the bus.)

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