Today was another slow-paced day. This was in part due to my skin's crispiness and sore bum, but also because I hadn't planned any excursions (which are relatively numerous for a town the size of Trinidad, but still limited). A horse ride through a nearby exposed local park would have worsening effects on my sunburn and backside, and I hadnt made the necessary preparations to visit any of the local farms though the conditions of the ones I passed on my way to the beach suggested that I wasnt missing much. No, instead I would practice the art of idleness. Ive been surprised in the past with how increased distance from frenetic happenings can mute their rapid pace; laying next to a river, one can easily forget its powerful current.
I took a brief swim in the local figurative river though, by waiting in the pulsing cluster outside Etecsa. The time on my wifi card had almost expired and figured that I could be a fly on the wall. The mob outside the shop was present again--apparently it is every day, all day--so I diffused through the folks to get in the wifi card line. It proved also to be a good time to observe passer-bys and count the Stars and Stripes. I got up to 50 by day's end. These folks today had much of the same desires (so surprise, I mean how many services could a communications company offer?), though I noticed more people buying (their first?) smart-ish phones. I remember the excitement that I have felt when buying the new iphone, so could easily identify with the anxious look in their eyes as they hoped for their line to move faster. In the end it took... maybe 45 minutes to buy another wifi card, and I did question if the opportunity to observe yhe Trinaderos was worth the cost-saving of buying a card from a scalper.
From there I stopped at a supermarket to get some snacks for lunch. I rrally dont mean to sound condescending, but there was actually selection! Like: two different types of tortilla chips; three different juices; and some bon bons. I really take for granted what selection we have in the US. I settled for some garlic puffs and a big bottle of cola Nationalista. I walked back to the wifi park and tapped the previous day's blog entry, interrupted a an army of ants intent on securing a garlic puff and an older man who approached my with his hat in hand.
Afterwards I departed on a mission of souvenir errands. I navigated myself throught the streets to look for a musical instrument shop that makes claves--the wooden sticks that resonate when struck. Unfortunately I didnt find the workshop, but did stumble upon a street market. I moved from stall to stall, the hawkers eagerly showing their goods, and I enjoyed the utlitly of having a list to shop for rather than browsing; it made it easier to say no. At one shop, after I turned down their trinkets, they held up a cup and asked if they could have a drink of my cola. I happily gave them the rest of the bottle, and felt a slight twinge of survivor's guilt.
I spent an absurd amount of time at ine stand that had a pile of claves, both Afro-Cuban style (a lower pitched, hollowed-out stick) and Cuban style (higher pitched and solid). Of course I had to find which set would be as close as possible to an octave apart, and which sticks were the most resonant and sang. I'm sure the sellers thought me insufferable by smiled encouragingly as I tapped through all the options.
Next up: a table runner, or walker in Spanish. One of the crafts is embroidered table cloths/runners/placemats. I first saw them in a village that we stopped at along the train ride. The visual of the hanging white cloths, billowing in the breeze sorrounding by verdant bushes and with a tower in the background was striking. I would have said that it is a woman's craft, but I remember walking by a security guard whose hand passed a needle to-and-fro through a circular frame.
I had a list of criteria for the desired runner: rectangular, short-but not too short, beige-not white, and with blue thread. With the many stalls selling these cloths, I felt bound to find the One. Actually having these specifications continued to be helpful as I told several disappointed would-be sellers, "Sorry but my wife has specificiations." (Sorry Whitney for kinda throwing you under the bus!) Eventually I did find a beautiful runner that will adorn our table and eventually have grape juice spilled on it. Hopefully beige hides the stains.
I spent the rest of the day in even lower gear, first at their Spanish Steps. Around 4pm, the band started playing and the pack of dogs arrived. These dogs that Id noticed at night very placably lounge about with the sitting folks. However the moment a scooter zips by, they go into guard dog mode and jump to barking attention. The path of the scooters are bottle-necked by the corner of a building jutting close to the steps, so the driver has to slow down to navigate. This gives the dogs more time to yap at their wheels, creating a humorous sight of the driver trying not to get tripped up on the cobblestones nor hitting the barking dogs.
I walked away from the tourist steps and meandered through the streets, at one point passing an elementary school and hearing through the open windows the teacher and students reciting together. My german friends later told me that they passed a school (perhaps the same one?) Where the kids studied for a while and then carted out cots for a siesta.
For dinner I ventured even further away from the tourist center, and felt very excited when I saw a menu all in Spanish, with prices--and this was a first for me--in monesa national, or CUPs! This was sure to be authentic, local food. I ordered a chicken filet with pineapple, and then casually asked the waitress if more of the clients are tourists or Trinaderos. Without skipping a beat, she responded "Oh, tourists." Dang. Well, the dessert I got must have been authentic, because it certainly wasn't what Ive aeen in the US: called Dulce Casero ("Sweet Home"?), it feautured a dish of guyaba sauce like a loose jelly with thin slices of a hard cheese.
I spent the rest of the night trying to dip my toe into the busy current of going-ons in the US. The Spanish Steps wifi was hopelessly jammed by the many tourists, but I found success after numerous tries at the more Trinadero-populated Etecsa wifi hotspot. At least I could be authentic in that way?
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