Day 12: The downpour we encountered while visiting the ISA schools today perfectly reflected my current sentiments toward Havana and my peers. My interactions with Cubans have become increasingly aggressive, and between relentless cat-calling and being hit up for money, my patience is wearing down quickly. To further perpetuate such negativity, our discussion of the ISA schools, undoubtedly my favorite memory from my first trip to Cuba, was frustrating to sit through. While I realize that the nineteen students that comprise our group have different interests than myself, architecture is a personally sacred phenomenon. So, when the construction of a bunch of buildings on what was a really nice golf course was called into question, I was offended. To me, those buildings represent far more than spatial structures; they represent la revolución. Although the crumbling decay of the unfinished schools were, by no means, part of the original construction plan, they provide a certain poetic justice for the triumphs and failures of la revolución throughout the past fifty-three years. Running around, or, at one point, away from guards, the ISA grounds during my first trip to Cuba was a deeply profound experience for me: it signified the first time I truly interacted with a building, seeing it for much more than its structural worth. Naturally, I was ecstatic to return to my personal holy grounds, but the visit fell short of expectations, a feeling I am increasingly experiencing during my time here. The paradise I encountered my last trip to Cuba has given way to a harsh reality: I cannot blend into Cuba the way I had hoped. I cannot fly under the radar of the Cuban gaze. Cubans only see me for what I repre$ent. I came here to find culture, but all I’ve discovered is a culture of desperation. Nineteen more days until I go home.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Jul 2013 04:12:24 +0000