Dispatches from Cuba: Issue 1 - Stereotypes of the rich and famous
I'm rich. Loaded. Overflowing with sickening wealth and power. I feel huge, bloated and grotesque. When I returned from my vacation in Cuba, I almost wanted to claw at my reflection in the mirror and yell, "Look at you, you huge, superficial cow!". No, it wasn't the buffet that caused this (although it was both nutritious AND delicious) but rather the bus journey from the resort to our airplane that has caused such personal revultion.
It was almost fortunate that we arrived in Cuba at night. That way, there was little to see out of the bus window on our 90 minute journey from the airport but moonlight reflecting off the water, and the suggestion of towns and fields. I did spend a lovely week at the resort, and while it was always tempered by the idea of poverty (the staff were enlightening) I never really encountered it in its hideous glory.
But there, on that bus ride, I saw it. And it was staggering. The crumbling pink and pastel blue tower blocks. Glass-less windows crossed with bars. Empty rooms that housed multiple families. A tower block compound surrounded a quadrangle of burnt grass, on which the residents goats grazed. I had to face it, I wasn't in Toronto any more.
But what was most heartbreaking were the children, running alongside the buses, waving and cheering in genuine joy at seeing us. If it had been me, I think I would have thrown something at the sunburned faces and yelled "How dare you come and steal our sun? Stay locked up in your compounds and refuse to see us?", because it is all true, I couldn't look at them...I felt too sorry, guilty, terrible, fortunate, and so glad, so damn selfishly glad, that I wasn't them.
I don't want to complain about the commute. I don't want to complain about the water cooler never being refilled on time. I don't want to complain about how hard it is to find non-dry clean dress pants.
But I know I will...in time. And that's sad.
It was almost fortunate that we arrived in Cuba at night. That way, there was little to see out of the bus window on our 90 minute journey from the airport but moonlight reflecting off the water, and the suggestion of towns and fields. I did spend a lovely week at the resort, and while it was always tempered by the idea of poverty (the staff were enlightening) I never really encountered it in its hideous glory.
But there, on that bus ride, I saw it. And it was staggering. The crumbling pink and pastel blue tower blocks. Glass-less windows crossed with bars. Empty rooms that housed multiple families. A tower block compound surrounded a quadrangle of burnt grass, on which the residents goats grazed. I had to face it, I wasn't in Toronto any more.
But what was most heartbreaking were the children, running alongside the buses, waving and cheering in genuine joy at seeing us. If it had been me, I think I would have thrown something at the sunburned faces and yelled "How dare you come and steal our sun? Stay locked up in your compounds and refuse to see us?", because it is all true, I couldn't look at them...I felt too sorry, guilty, terrible, fortunate, and so glad, so damn selfishly glad, that I wasn't them.
I don't want to complain about the commute. I don't want to complain about the water cooler never being refilled on time. I don't want to complain about how hard it is to find non-dry clean dress pants.
But I know I will...in time. And that's sad.
posted by Jennifer @ 3:43 p.m.
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