viernes, 7 de enero de 2011

In which I get stuck in New York- concrete jungle filled with Sesame St characters, photo opportunities and comedy-show -reenactments

Now the cat is out of the bag and has caught a death from cold I can fill people in on the epic journey that was my surprise trip home for Christmas. In a moment of hormonal, home-sickness (I blame listening to Dawn Landes “Dig Me a Hole” on repeat for a week), I had booked tickets home for Christmas. Having told my family the original plan, that I would be travelling around Central America, I decided to keep up the charade and surprise them. Easier said than done with the privacy pulverising Facebook in the mix, but some how, thanks to a combination of my friends’ discretion and their lack of interest I managed to keep the whole thing secret.

The main snag to the plan came slowly rumbling to light as I checked the news on the day I was set to travel and read England, once again, had been caught out and brought to its chilly knocking knees by a unexpectedly seasonal flurry of snow. Blindly optimistic I set off on my journey anyway and it was only when I got to Miami and checked with the staff that I was told, oh actually your flight won’t be getting to Heathrow. So I was given the option, stay in Miami or catch my connection as usual and get stuck in New York. Now I have seen Home Alone 2 so the choice was simple. New York.

Arriving in the first night I found myself completely shattered and bedless in the city that never sleeps. Issue is: I do sleep. A lot. After hours of queuing for information I already had (that the flight would not be heading off any time soon), I found the nearest, “cheapest” hotel and hunkered down for the night. Well it was 9.30pm, I was alone and Wizard of Oz was on TV. Fell asleep just after the part where Dorothy, trying to get home to her family, is stuck in the poppy-field full of snow but then makes it to the glowing lights of the Emerald City. It all seemed very apt. There  is no place like home but while I was trapped here I had big plans to check out all the munchkins!

The next morning I checked my emails to find to my, perhaps not his, delight that a friend, Stephane, from UPEACE was also stuck in New York. Plus he was staying in a lovely, swanky hotel on Broadway... so I promptly invited myself along and after a long subway ride next to a mentally ill but very friendly guy I was in the centre of Manhattan and ready to explore. I had a quick wander around and discover our hotel was three blocks from Times Square, the glamour, if anything being added to by the presence of people dressed as SpongeBob and Elmo on the streets. It was like I had wandered into the TV, and all the channels were playing at one.

I’d agreed to meet Stephane at 11am and sure enough, on the dot the elevator doors opened and there he was. The rest of the day was a montage of brilliant moments. Like an seasoned New Yorker I showed Stephane around Times Square, mumbling “hey I’m walking here” under my breath to anyone that came near. Stephane got a picture with Minnie Mouse and as she held out her hand after I realised she expected payment and felt very much like the naive little country mouse in the big city. Where I’m from the mascots on the street are in it for the love of the game.

I assured Stephane that I had a pretty good innate sense of direction and would get us around. I then proceeded to take us in EXACTLY the wrong direction at every turn. After walking for twenty minutes and not finding Central Park we found instead Madison Square Gardens and Penn Station. I also found myself a giant pretzel and had to squirrel most of it away for future snacks. We managed to get ourselves to 5th Avenue and there found a kind of photo-booth where you could dress up in hideous Christmas gear and get a photo, all for a donation to charity. Like they say, when in Rome... dress as a giant Christmas-present and pose infront of a fake fire place.

I, eventually after several wrong turns, dragged Stephane to Rockafellar Square where we watched the ice-skating, looked at the Christmas tree and I recreated every moment from the opening sequences of 30 Rock. Stephane had never seen the show but was very patient and polite, diplomatically commenting that my face looked “interesting in that photo”. Well it should I was being Kenneth.

We found the Empire State building but were both under-whelmed by it. They should never have gotten rid of the giant ape, it really finished it off nicely. The Chrysler was much better. From there were headed down 5th Ave, sparkling with Christmas lights and finally found Central Park where we saw a break-dancing squad, carol singers, 50 half naked rugby boys, some aging extreme Frisbee players and big bird having a chat. We also stopped at every hat and glove stand and piled on the layers (I only had a raincoat from Costa Rica and so was wearing every jumper I had with me- it was still freeeeezing).

Later we got the subway to China town and who should be sitting opposite us but.... Todd, the bongo playing third Conchord from Flight of the Conchords. It was all I could do not to say Arf Arf. Stephane had never seen that show either (honestly it as if the French have better things to do than watch hours of TV) so was a bit confused as to why I was bouncing up and down with excitement.

Having finally calmed down we got some Chinese food, searched in vain for Brooklyn Bridge, grabbed a taxi home and stopped off at Times Square again to see it all lit up. Staring up at the big, neon lit billboards Stephane said “you know, just once in my life I think I should get my face up there.” The universe must have been listening because the next second the ad we were looking at flashed over to reveal a sign saying “Get your 15 seconds of fame, come in doors and get your photo taken.” Well you can’t ignore the universe, especially when it messaging you through a 50ft TV screen, so we got our best poses on in the shop and 5 mins later we were stood in Times Square watching our huge faces flashing up next to Hollywood stars and signs for Broadway shows. It was brilliant! So I can tick “Get my face on Broadway” off the list. I only wish I had had my Christmas present outfit from before.

Feeling like the stars we had been for 5 minutes we headed back to the hotel, sat in the incredibly plush bar and drank Manhattans and Cosmopolitans until the bar shut and our bank balances had run dry.

The next day I had to leave for the airport at 12 so we got up and headed off to nerdishly drool over the United Nations building. We took the tour and got to go inside the General Assembly room while they were in session. Couldn’t hear what was going on but pretty sure everyone was just chatting away on Facebook saying “OMG did you see what BKM just said! Happy face, angry face.” By the time we’d earmarked where our future offices would be it was time to go and I got the shuttle to the airport and held my breath while the plane was delayed and delayed and finally went! Off I flew to English snowy fields and to scare the living daylights out of my unsuspecting family. All in all, the best possible disaster.

Lessons learnt:

I mainly listened to Fairy tale of New York and Last of the Melting Snow (Leisure Society).

If you haven’t seen Home Alone 2 (like Stephane), spending hours in Central Park trying to find a bird-lady ally may seem a waste of time.

The General Assembly building is totally falling apart. Big damp patches and everything. The guide said, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day that balcony falls off. I might have to get into the Security Council instead. They probably have a retrospectively cautious plan to address having had a balcony fall on you. But it would be vetoed by China just because they know how to build walls that last.

jueves, 6 de enero de 2011

In which I make a pilgrimage, have a breakdown and salsa the night away

So though some time has passed and I have been busy organising Christmas concerts, toy-drives and sponsored runs I thought I really should finish up writing about Cuba.

So when I left off last time we’d spent a few days in Havana and had acclimatised ourselves to the attempted scams and had actually become super cynical to the point where when the taxi driver took us to the bus station I was sure he was trying to rip us off when he was actually just taking us to the proper station.  Isabelle also found the smiling and nodding your head when she doesn’t understand people’s Spanish doesn’t always work out, especially when the taxi driver is saying you girls don’t like me with dark skin, you think we’re ugly right? Ah inadvertent taxi racism.

We got the bus down to the centre south of the island to the town of Cienfuegos, (meaning 100 fires). Ironically given the name, five minutes after we arrived there was a town-wide powercut. We ended up eating dinner in a paladar (where people’s front rooms are converted into mini restaurants- with 4-5 tables), in the pitch black being serenaded by the most beautifully-voiced singers. Very surreal, and you would pay a fortune to go to the pitch-black restaurant in London. We walked home in the pitch black along unfamiliar streets aware of the movement from the doorways where residents of Cienfuegos regularly sit out on their doorsteps and chat to each other. In fact just hanging out on the doorstep seems to be the primary form of leisure activity in this town.

We were staying with a very friendly couple who were both doctors and rented their room out on the side. They made us pina coladas and we had a lovely chat about all sorts of things. Restricted by the powercut we had a early night.

The next day we crammed onto a bumpy, run-down bus and trundled away to the seaside. As is standard on all our trips a young child vomited next to Isabelle (once is gross, more than once you have to start wondering about the effect you have on small children.) Found the beach, roasted in the hot sun and went for a lovely swim. We got back to town on a very loud, crammed in bus and freshened up before heading out to explore the non-re-illuminated bright lights of Cienfuegos nightlife. Started off in a very tiny, Cuban-only bar where we were quickly joined by the only other 2 men in there. Was quite nice to chat although I had said we don’t talk Spanish to give us a get out clause (Cuba brings out the liar in me), and then had to act really hard to not react to what they were saying in Spanish. After that we headed to a club called Benny’s where we hung out with a nice group of Cuban’s and tourists (6 ft 5 skin head from Salamanca, Spain, mid-40s playwright called Dante from Italy, plus young Cuban kids called Bryan and co.- looking around at our merry group I swear we looked like something out of Lord of the Rings). Drank rum, met a guy we’d met early who had come up to us at dinner and said “oh i saw you guys in Havana- let’s meet up later”, but turned out he was just a really European looking Cuban trying to fool us.  

The next day we found a bargain taxi driver and started out on the very long drive to Santa Clara. It was lovely to sit back and watch the flat fields of sugarcane monotonously rolling by... that was until the beat-up Fird Fiesta started spluttering the way and finally gave up the ghost and broke down right in the middle of nowhere.  After much pushing, and huffing and puffing we managed to get it going again and, holding our breath, rattled on to Santa Clara. The city its self was pretty underwhelming but we were there to visit Che’s tomb. Was an impressive site with an interesting museum but is all a bit strange with the deification of a man who’s claim was to be one of and for the people.

Our journey came full circle as we headed back in a collective taxi (with, unfortunately, the most overwight Cubans I’d seen since getting here.) Was great t get back to Havana after the quiet, understatement of the other cities. We wandered the streets with a homecoming joy, ate a lunch to tapas, did some shopping and then got ready for our last night out in Cuba.

First we headed out to eat at La Guardia, a paladar which had been set up in the flat used in the firlm Fresa y Chocolat, and a place I had been too poor to visit last time I was here (Eve and I had asked if we could stick out heads in the door without buying anything.) This time we sat in the relative opulence and ate nice food, mojitos and two very chocolatey desserts!

From there we had a quick power nap then headed down to the main street to find a good bar. We didn’t need to look far because soon enough we stumbled across a street party, full of salsa dancing and generally a fun atmosphere. We soon got chatting to two Cuban guys and had a crash (not kidding) course salsa lesson which soon made us the focal point, and probably chuckling point, of the street. Danced away and then we headed on with the guys to a discoteca where there was more salsa lessons (got quite dictatorial- a lot of not like that like this- Isabelle and I tried to teach them some of our patented disco moves but they were having none of it. After the disco we headed out to the Marecon, the sea wall where we sat and listened to the sea and tried to divide the boats’ lights on the ocean from the stars. All rather romantic and nice to use the Marecon the way the Cuban’s do- as a cheap date location. Headed home and packed up all ready for our flight out the next day.

Lessons learnt:

The cheapest taxi option is not always the best, unless you like your journeys to involve some cardio-vascular workout

Hiding from the 20 mins of rain we had the whole trip we ducked into a bookstore where I spent $60 on film posters. No-one needs that many film posters. Especially when you don't own, or plan to own, any walls. You can try and escape capitalism but it will find you.

Che was a man. He did some very cool things. It is weird how he has been made into a deity and a logo rolled into one. I'm not sure he would have liked this. (I still remember reading his diaries the first time in Cuba. "Day 2: We are low on drinking water. I think I remember reading somewhere if you mix sea-water and drinking water together it goes further. Day 3: Everyone is sick." He is a legend just for that.)