Por fin: Memories of my December trip to CUBA

So as many of you know, I returned to Cuba a third time this past December for winter break. I had the full intention of blogging about it and kept a journal, but I found that when I came back, my experience had honestly been more emotional and personal then interesting blogging material. It was an amazing trip but it was mostly hanging out and enjoying the time with everyone and trying to figure out my life. The long days consisted of different eating establishments and my best memories of the trip revolve around our meals and where we ate and the events that surrounded the meal such as the time that I split my finger open when I attempted to pull in a chair that was not actually nailed together at 7Mares our fave seafood restaurant. Or when we went to El Caramelo and the fried chicken that looked heavenly on the outside was raw on the inside and we both basically crawled home to bed with horrible stomachaches. Or when we walked 20 minutes in cold rain past the John Lennon statue to Jose’s favorite street pizza joint which needless to say was not really worth the cold walk but I loved every bite of that pizza. Or when we cooked whatever we could find and afford in the kitchen at Jose’s house, using a rock to mince the marinade and tenderize the beef, a piece of tin to grate the weird-tasting cheese, and rusty scissors to open a bottle of Soroa  to accompany the meal.
When we weren’t eating or planning where to eat, we danced, went on random photo adventures to different parts of the city, sat on the Malecon and talked or daydreamed, talked to random people on the street, or chilled at a friends house enjoying the company, good music, and some drinks. Every day crawled by lazily and even though the temperatures were at record lows, I feel those days now with warmth. My connections grew stronger, I fell more in love, I learned about people, I learned about myself. It was a brave trip I think and I didn’t really realize that when I booked it. It was daring of me to go back, to see Jose again despite everything that had gone on throughout the year and all the things I didn’t know. I maybe was crazy to go by myself and spend all that money just to be with Jose and try to make things work. But I did it. And I don’t regret anything. Although I took those trips back to Cuba so soon because I had Jose as an excuse, I was there for myself. Even with the confusion that Cuba relentlessly provides, the occasional heartbreak, the cold bucket showers, and missing toilet seats, I have never been as happy as I feel when I am there. And I can’t explain it. Even if you gave me hours and days to explain. I couldn’t. Because I don’t even understand.