Last night I dreamed that I checked my phone's wifi signal and it was strong and all the webpages were loading quickly and everything was right in the world. Then I woke up to reality. It really is interesting to be separated from something that has become so ubiquitous in my life, and so quickly. I got my first iphone in 2007, and its integration in my life is so thorough and seamless that I dont really see how much I use it until I cant, like if Im on a plane, or in a country emerging from strict controls (it was only a few years ago that Cubans were allowed to get cell phones). Most folks can only get internet service in public squares where the Etecso monopoly broadcasts a hotspot, and it certainly brings the community together. Well, physically together but not directly interacting with others in their physical proximity. I guess like most things in life, the influence of the internet is a complex issue with pros and cons. For example, I may trade some sunset-watching to text with Whitney.
I had breakfast this morning on the roof top of my CP. The dishes were not quite as extravagant as in Havana, but the view was superior. The hosts, Omar and Mailen, seem to be very savvy business owners; they would especially excel in an economy that has greater support for small business owners. They have one little girl and the three of them stay in one room, and are renting out the other two bedrooms in their apartment. But theyre converting their roof to a bar/kitchen/dining area (when I arrived the place was covered in concrete dust due to their daily work) and will convert their existing kitchen to a third guest room and another area to a family bedroom. They are making smart sacrifices (no cell phone.. she was astonished that i have two) to invest in their future. I wonder what examples they saw that provided the framework to take on this challenge.
After breakfast I walked over to the train station that, at one time, served villages along the base of the mountain. However, some years ago a hurricane disrupted the line further than a few stops up, but anyway roads serve the villages now and the train is strictly a tourist train that terminates at an old 1950s sugar mill. The info board in the station that describes the route contains an illustration of two tourists: a middle-aged obese white couples. Well, we know how we are seen now! Though the middle-aged Cubans arent exactly Roman gods either.
The two open-air cars held about 100 people who represented many different countries. Lots of Germans, a few Spanish, Americans, Irish, Chinese, Japanese, Australians, Polish, and others who spoke discretely. We took off and snaked our way of of Trinidad and emerged into post-harvest fields with mountains in the backgrounds, dotted with palm trees. The plots were enclosed by fence posts made from tree limbs of surprisingly similar diameter. This led to less-manacured low jungle shrubbery, where the ground had often been burned apparently months ago, and green blades and leaves broke through the scorched earth. The jungle never got too dense like Jurassic Park, but we frequently passed banana trees that missed some low-hanging fruit and saw the occasional mango tree, whose fruit hung from branches like potatoes in stockings. Sweet fragrances from the tropical blooms mixed with the exhaust from the diesel engine.
The first stop on the line was Iznaga, and as we approached the station little kids rushed out from their homes that abutted the rail line, smiling and waving. We all de-trained and it felt very much like a cruise stop: a load of relatively wealthy foreigners being belched out into a community eager to sell their goods. I saw lots of beautifully embroidered table clothes, shirts, and dresses, carved figurines, and a few cloth dolls. One stand sold Guarapo: sugar cane juice, sometimes with lemon. I know it was fresh because behind the stand, a man stripped the cane of their rough outer coatings by sliding it back and forth between two semi-stationary gears. Then another fellow rung the stripped stalks between two rollers to extract the juice. He charged me $1 for a cup, but I think the locals only $0.10. The drink tasted earthy with a potent sweetness. I could take only sips at a time through a straw, but the locals drained their cups like shots. My blood coursed like I had a burst of adrenaline.
The other stop of the train before reversing featured an antiquated sugar mill. It would make a wonderful set for a zombie movie. Like usual in Cuba, this "museum" lacked substantial descriptions, but was still interesting to walk through the relics and imagine past routines. I saw a distillary in series, which perked my ChE nerdiness.
Back in Trinidad, I waited in a park along with dozens others for wifi, but for whatever reason the system was down. I returned to my CP and headed or for dinner. I think this was my first time going to an actual restaurant in Cuba! Havana didn't seem to have many tourist-accessible, reasonably priced restaurants though i didnt look too hard because i had wonderful breakfasts and dinners at my CP. But Trinidad is much more geared for tourists. I stumbled upon a nice little place and grabbed a seat by the window. Soon I had stuffed tomato (tomate relleno) and paella in front of me, as well as a can of national government company-produced cola. At first I thought the paella featured a lobster tail segment, but then I realized with some horror that it was a mega shrimp, and was finally relieved to find that it was indeed lobster tail, cut laterally. Just as I left, two young women set up to sing with a guitar and shakers.
I took a post-dinner walk through town, and was pleased to find that the internet was back on! This was evidenced by the crowd sitting on a grand outdoor staircase near the central plaza (like Rome's Spanish Steps), with most faces reflecting a faint light from their phones. I myself got on, but only had enough time to get the weather for tomorrow, chat with Whitney for a bit, and find that Beaver baseball lead at UCLA 2-1 in B9 with bases loaded... before being cut off. Augh, the tension!
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