Vamos a La Playa

So it’s been a few days since I landed into the middle of nowhere, and it still feels like I’ve been dropped off in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do and nowhere to go…well almost nowhere to go. We discovered there is a disco by my house, but we also discovered that it’s mostly for playing pool, even though there is a GIANT dance floor. We also found out that people in the campo play dominos for fun….every single day. Needless to say, we were all very, extremely bored. After saying enough is enough, we finally pulled together and rented a guagua and went to the beach.

The beach is about a ten minute drive from wherever we are, I’m still not really sure, but would be about a 40 minute walk down the mountain. I had never been more excited about taking a field trip in my life. The thought of leaving our 2 kilometer boundaries on the top of a hill bubbled in my tummy and I couldn’t stop smiling as I walked to our meeting place in my suit and cover-up, ready to finally see the ocean. By my house, there is a hill that you can climb and you can see the beach from there. It seems so close that you could almost touch it when you’re up there. It seems like you could just cut through the backyard, through the palm tree forest and be at the beach, but it’s so far down the mountain that it would take forever to get there. We finally piled into the back of our chariot and road down to the beach. On the ride there, everyone at some point was humming “vamos a la playa, a mi me gusta bailar…” Everyone was in a great mood, the best mood since before we left Jarabacoa.

My eyes exploded as I took in the scenery around me when we finally pulled up to the beach. The sand was white and didn’t seem to ever stop, the water was so blue it made the sky seem dull, and the waves were big and inviting. I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough to start taking pictures. Everyone jumped out, laid down their towels and sprinted into the salty water of the Atlantic Ocean. I was a little timid at first, but once my toes touched the shoreline, I couldn’t hold back my excitement any longer. I leaped over the waves that were coming in to get a little more than waist deep. The water was cool and warm at the same time; it felt great under the blazing afternoon sun. The others could not believe that that was my first time ever being to the ocean, my first time tasting its salty waters (which is really gross, but doesn’t take away from how beautiful it is). After letting a few waves sweep my feet of the ground and put them gently back down a few times, I went a little deeper. At one point I actually had to swim because I couldn’t touch the ground anymore, but that wasn’t a problem (thanks mom for throwing me in a pool before I could walk, it’s been keeping me alive out here). After feeling thoroughly saturated in salt and seaweed, I got out and laid on my towel. I remembered I still had awful tan lines from rafting, so I decided to try and even them out. For the first time in weeks, I just sat listening to my iPod, doing nothing but taking in the magnificence of God’s creations.

When the sun got too hot, I took a walk along the beach, taking pictures with a few others. It was amazing to see, or not to see, how far the ocean went. We walked a little ways away from the group until we came upon a coral bed, which was really cool. They poked out of the sand like little castles of Swiss cheese. The felt like rocks, but there was a certain quality about that that made them somehow different and you knew that they weren’t.

That was the best day spent in the campo, and we weren’t even in the campo for very long. That night, after I showered and rid myself of the residue of the beach, I went outside and sat on the hill by my house, just looking down at the beach. It was calling for me to return to it soon, and I intend to listen to its call. The night got darker as I sat out there, and the stars came out one by one. Soon the entire sky was filled with little miracles dancing in the heavens. I felt very safe under the open sky. I let myself get lost in the stars for a while, trying to figure out summer constellations. That night, I found one thing to love about the campo.

...Porque No!!!

More days of nothing followed our trip to the beach, which at this point just seemed like a dream. They finally decided to take us into one of the nearby cities to do some interviews for our projects and to do a little sightseeing and shopping. I thought I was used to riding on the back of a pickup truck until we had to ride 30 minutes on one, the longest trip by far. My whole body was sore from balancing and tightening all the muscles in my body, and even ones I didn’t know existed before, to keep myself within the truck and not on the side of the road(mom, I’m being safe, I promise). Our first stop in the city was to a private health clinic where I got to interview an OB-GYN for my research, which turned out to be an extremely helpful source. We spent most of the morning waiting on others to do their interviews, but the waiting room was entertaining. There were a lot of staring eyes at the herd of Americanas sitting there with notebooks and pens, looking health as can be.

At one point it was just three of us sitting there, the other two clearly American, and me, the possible Dominican, maybe Cuban, one of the bunch. This one guy comes up and starts talking to the other two, and doesn’t even notice me as I was playing Tetris on my cell phone. I even laughed at how awkward of an encounter it was, and he didn’t realize that I too was American. The receptionist is laughing at this man’s attempts to speak English and hold a conversation, and we exchange a few glances trying not to explode in laughter at how comical it was. This guy was such a creeper, he wanted to know their names, where they were from, if they had boyfriends, it they wanted to marry him… it was so weird, but very funny at the expense of others. The guy found out one was from Michigan, and said when he lived in Boston, he had to take his aunt to the Michigan Hospital for some kind of operation, and that was weird, because most people in this country think that New York is the United States and that Boston is a city in New York, which is close to Chicago (aka they don’t know anything about the geographical make up of the US). So it was weird that he knew where Michigan was since most people have no idea and it’s as safe to say I’m from Michigan as it is to say I’m from North America. One girl interviewed him for his project and he was turned off when he didn’t get paid for participating and finally went away.

After that we were led part way through this new city by one of our professors, but then he ditched us and left us to our own devices to navigate through this new town that we had never been to before (good thing we’re adults and I speak Spanish pretty well). I had a mission to get some linen to make a pair of pants with my host abuela, and the others had missions to just do some shopping. We successfully killed two birds with a couple of stones, but in a reasonable amount of time. We found this one store that was incredible, the clothes were so cute and the floor was sparkly it was so clean. I felt like I had walked into a boutique in Manhattan. Just to give you all some background, stores in the DR have a specialty (like clothes, books, food, etc) and then they dabble in everything else. For example, in the photo store where you buy cameras and frames and get pictures developed, they also sold Pink by Victoria Secret bra and panty sets. That is the norm. So to find a store that sells clothes and shoes, and only clothes and shoes, and that were not second hand, or imported from the states, was incredible! But so were the prices, so most of us didn’t buy anything. We did run into another group of girls there, and we all decided to leave and get some lunch.

After finding a kind lady to give us directions towards the central park, we made our way to a nice pizzeria owned by a little old Italian man from Florence. He was so nice to us, and his food was amazing! I got a ham and cheese pizza, and it was the best pizza I had had in such a long time. As if providing us with good food wasn’t enough, his restaurant had wifi! Unfortunately I didn’t have my phone with me, otherwise I would’ve called my mommy, but that was beside the point. This little strange who moved to the DR because he had arthritis and needed the heat to keep the swelling in his fingers down was an angel sent to us when our spirits were at their lowest. We were all just talking about how we were ready to go home or at least back to Jarabacoa, because we were not cut out to live in the country, and he just gave us city girls some comfy creatures in the form of pizza and internet. Feeling rebooted, we were ready to take on the campo for a little while longer, knowing that we were almost done with our journey.

A Whole New World

We had all piled into two vans, luggage stuffed into the back of one, and the overflow strapped to the top with a combination of twine, rope, and bungee cords. The air was hot and unforgiving inside the van with eleven bodies all squished together on the pleather seats that slid beneath our sweaty legs. The air conditioning was on, but the fans were so weak that they only reached the heads directly below them, leaving most of us stuck breathing in hot recycled air. We were only about 30 minutes onto the road and we were already ready to get out. I cracked the window beside me, even though I knew the air was on, and the breeze created temporary relief from the heat, until the morning air turned into the afternoon hotbox. The driver was playing what must have been his American Top 40s, Hip-Hop and R&B playlist from his iPod. We were serenaded by Yeah by Usher, Without Me Eminem, and We Found Love by Rihanna, which comforted us for a while as we pended the unknown that we were about to be thrown into.

What was ahead of us was a dark mystery that we tried to be positive about, but it was hard to do since we had only heard two good things about the campo: 1) Less tigueres and 2) It’s beautiful. After four hours of being cramped in our vans, two stops on the side of the road for carsick passengers, three stops for gas and snacks, we finally made it to La Esquina, the campo that’s somewhere between Nagua and Cabrera, but isn’t on any map we’ve ever seen. Well it was true that it was a beautiful place, as we drove up the mountain and dropped everyone off at their new homes one by one, I could see the huge pastures of grazing cattle, the palm trees in the distance, sunflowers and orchids in front of every house and the prettiest birds I had ever seen, but there was one eye sore; the houses. Many houses were made of cement with tin roofs, but there were also just as many made of weathered wood, that look like they have endured a hurricane or two. There were also a few very modern, western style houses that were completely made of cement with modern colors on the exterior, not the bright oranges and pinks that you saw on the other houses, but of course those were not the houses they were taking us to.

It took me about half an hour to actually reach the house I would be staying in for the next three weeks, since I lived the farthest up the hill. The last one to get dropped off, the anxiety I felt waiting in the van grew in my belly and I tried to calm myself down to keep from vomiting up the Doritos I had eaten about an hour before. There were three others to drop off before me, so I prayed for the last seven minutes of waiting, not wanting to have a horrified look on my face when I met my host family for the first time. Well I was calmer when I got to my house, but I still looked horrified. I looked in the direction of the finger of my director who was pointing out my house and it lead to a little wooden house painted Pepto pink and lime green. In the doorway stood a little old lady, who I later learned was called Maria. She was to be my host mom (well grandma) along with her husband Oscar, my host grandpa.

On the table to greet me as my lunch already prepared. La Bandera, of course, was set up on the table, but it didn’t look very appetizing. I didn’t realize why at first, but then I noticed that my chicken was moving. Ants had taken over my lunch, probably because we arrived two hours later than we were supposed to due to all the extra stops we had to make. The only thing on the table that had not been invaded was the rice, so I ate rice…a good choice since the little black soldiers would be easily spotted in my white starchy meal.

Maria showed me to my bedroom, where I was greeted by a very bright pink bed spread, a window that was wide open with no glass or screen, and a wooden vanity. I thought I was going to puke, there was so much pink. The sunlight that came in through the window had reflected onto the walls making them also appear to be pink. (For those of you who do not know me very well, me and pink do NOT get along…at all. It is by far my least favorite thing in the world. I hate it more than almost anything else, it’s almost up there with murderers, rapists, and child abusers…yes, that high on the list.) So yes, I had a pink room in a pink house… perfect -_-. I decided that I could stomach the pink room when I saw that I had a personal fan in the room too. That would make this experience much better.

First impressions say a lot, and I can honestly say that this has not had a great first impression on me. But impressions change, and I can only hope and pray that this one will leave a much better impression, and soon. I’m not sure I can handle three weeks of ant food and all pink everything.

So Hard to Say Goodbye

Time is really flying by. It seems like just a few days ago that I arrived in Jarabacoa, with my blue tie dye dress on, sitting in a preschool room waiting to be matched up with my host family. The last week in Jarabacoa was extremely eventful and fun, a very bittersweet memory. In order to celebrate surviving the first half of our program, we went to dinner at this super fancy restaurant on top of a mountain. It took us twenty minutes to get there, 16 of which were just us climbing up a very steep, very curvy mountain side. We could see all the buildings and houses below us get smaller and smaller the higher we got. Once we reached the restaurant, we were in awe at how much of the town below us we could see. The sun was setting and left a pale blue streak across the sky highlighted by a bright burnt orange that just kissed the horizon. Naturally we took a lot of photos…for about an hour. Once our table was ready we sat down and attempted to order our food.

This was by far the absolute longest dinner I have ever had. We left at 7, were seated at 8:30, ordered our food at 9, and got our food at 9:43. The place closed at 10pm. We finished eating at around 10:30 or so, well maybe a little later as we were taking our time. Then it took us forever to get our checks. Once they came, it took them forever to pick them up. The bills were wrong, probably because they had two guys taking orders together, trying to take them in English, even though we were giving it to them in Spanish. One side of the table to the other took about thirty minutes to get orders in. It was ridiculous. It took so long that our taxi drivers were getting mad because it was taking us so long (although I’m not sure why they were mad because they ate at the restaurant too, and saw firsthand how long it was taking, but…). They had an issue with giving people who paid in cash their change back. On one bill it was all in cash except for one card, and the waiter thought all the cash that was in the book was a tip and charged the whole bill on this one girls card…that was about to get ugly, but they finally fixed it. Once we got bills settled, we finally left at like 11pm. Nobody went out that night, arguing with waiters takes a lot of energy out of you.

That week I also had a lot of interviews to do around the community. Having people sit down and answer a lot of personal questions is an extremely hard thing to do in the United States, and you usually have to spend a lot of time pleading your case with people to get them to care even a little bit about what you’re researching. The upside to doing research in the States, however, is that you can do a lot of work online, that way surveys are done when it’s convenient for the participant to complete it, it doesn’t seem as invasive because you’re not staring directly at the person who is giving you the information, and it gives a lot of people a better sense of privacy and anonymity. So naturally, without access to these online resources, I was extremely nervous and anxious about going into people’s houses and asking them, in my less than perfect Spanish, a billion questions about themselves.

Now my research is on the differences in breastfeeding practices between urban and rural Dominican Republic…basically. In the United States, if I were to walk up to a person’s house and say “hi, I’m a student, I need to know how you breastfed your children” that would be a little awkward, right? Yeah, well, apparently not. Here in the DR, nobody looked me weird like I had an extra head growing out of my left ear and a hand protruding from my nose. Everyone was very open to sharing. Actually the hard part of my data collection was keeping people’s answers brief and to the point (Dominican women really like to talk and share stories). But even though the people here are very open, old habits die hard and I still felt extremely awkward approaching people.

That Wednesday was the 4^th of July, the great American holiday; just another day in the DR. Being the super Americans that we are, we all wore some form of red white and blue to class that day. It wasn’t until then that we really noticed that those are the same colors of the Dominican flag. On our walk to school that morning, feeling deprived of the smell of barbeques firing up, and fresh fruit being chopped, we serenaded ourselves with the Preamble from School House Rock. “We the people, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice and ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare and…..Do or ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America!” We couldn’t remember the fifth line…and still can’t remember… so we just hummed around it (if you know the words, please comment them!). We had been discussing for a while how we should go about celebrating our Independence, and settled on a trip to the river and burgers from Carlos at Mi Tio Café.  Because of being so behind in collecting data, I skipped the swimming and met up with everyone later.

Thursday was pretty regular until about 8 pm. Josue, the tostada guy in the cafeteria that’s attached to our house, was playing some music and had a game of chess going with his friends. The music got a little louder when me and the other Americanas showed up. Soon enough it was a full on party going on in the street. We had all the kids in the neighborhood laughing and dancing in the street. It was pretty dark out, but nobody seemed to notice. After a while, we switched up iPods and played some songs from the US (which the Dominicans already knew, so it wasn’t that novel). I had to leave mid party to get some dinner, but the party was alive and well by the time I came back.

Friday we had a despedida, where we had a formal farewell to all our families at the school. It was nice and brief. Some people gave some speeches, so parents told some funny stories, we ate some cake, drank some punch and called it a night. Afterward, my neighborhood had a block party at a bomba, which is a gas station. One of the girls in my program, her dad was hosting the party, and was playing the accordion in our live merengue band. His brother owned the hotdog stand that was on the property. We danced a little, chatted a little, laughed a lot, and then went home. I still had to pack my bags.

The next morning was a very sad day. I didn’t want to leave my new family. I was just getting close with them, and now I had to go my separate ways. It was very tragic. I told my host mom I wasn’t going to cry, but as soon as I got in the car, it was over. I don’t know what the campo has to offer me, but I know it has some very, very large shoes to fill. The car ride will be long, so hopefully by the time I get there I will be more open minded about leaving Jarabacoa.

Alta Gracia

In our studies of health and nutrition here in the Dominican Republic, we decided that it would be good to look at some economic factors impacting the health of Dominicans. We took a two hour drive down to a town called Villa Altagracia, where a fair-trade clothing factory is. The factory, Alta Gracia, was pretty big, but did not have nearly as many people working there as you might’ve imagined. There was a cluster of people, mostly women, working in what seemed to be a seated assembly line of sewing machines. The tables were close together, and the materials were passed in a clockwise rotation. The various sized machines on various tables looked much like a monopoly board full of purchased property. The first thing I noticed about the work arrangement was that everyone had their own office chair, the nice kind that swivel all the way around with the curvy backs and the cushiony bottoms. No crappy wooden or plastic chairs here. The second thing that I noticed was that the people were all smiling. Every time I think of a factory, I think of the seen toward the end of The Wiz, before the part where Evilene sings “No Bad News” and everyone has on these hot sweaty full-body suits, with evil scowls on their faces, doubting they’ll ever see the light of day again… but that was nothing like what I saw here.

As we took a walking tour about the factory, I got a closer look at what the workers were actually doing, and it turns out they were making t-shirts and athletic clothes, like sweats and hoodies. So here’s how it goes down. Some guy with a very sharp saw cuts the fabric in small, but very specific shirt-like shapes. Then the fabric get soaked and stretched out to their right size. Once they dry, they are taken to the first sewing machine where the sides are given a seam. Then they’re passed on to the next guy for the sleeves. Next, they go on to get a good collar, and so on and so forth. The coolest part was the little machine that presses on the tagless label to the inside of the shirts’ collars. It looks like swooshy A, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it before. So it’s a pretty basic, standardized process of making the shirts, what makes this place stand out are its work conditions.

Every worked in Alta Gracia receives 3.3x the salary of other Dominicans doing the same job. Also, they work 38 hour weeks, but get paid for 40, instead of working 50 hour weeks and getting paid whatever. They also have this initiative to get all of their workers adequate housing for them and their families. Fun fact: every mother that works with Alta Vista has at least one child. Also, this place is the only factory that allows unannounced inspections for health and safety regulations. They have nothing to hide. We got to talk to their boss and ask him whatever question we wanted to know. They even went out and did research on what the cleanest and best water to provide to their workers throughout the work day, which turned out to be Planeta Azul, the same water we drink here (because we have sensitive American immune systems that have never been exposed to anything worse than the flu and common cold). It’s real clean.

After all of that, we got to see firsthand the living conditions of one of the workers. We literally got on our bus and drove to this woman’s house where all 20 of us, yes twenty people, piled into here little wooden house and talked to her about what it’s like to live in this kind of condition. We met her husband and she showed us pictures of her two kids and told us to sit down and everything. After completely taking over that house, we drove a little ways away to where she and her family where building a new house. The woman was so proud of what she was able to pull off with her new job. 

She showed us what in reality was a slab of cement, but what will be a two bedroom house with a living room kitchen and bathroom. Her face glowed with excitement as she walked us through her tiny, but decent, future home. From the slab of cement, we could see the mountains and the town below, it was incredible and we made it a point to tell her that she should have a big window there so that she can admire the beauty of what was around her all day.

We returned to the factory for an informative Q and A session and then had a Bandera lunch, as usual. The day was sort of long, having driven almost all the way back to Santo Domingo, but it was a good reality check to see what people had to deal with, and these were the people who caught a good break with this job, as they only have about 40 or 50 employees. 

We were charged to spread the word back to our schools about purchasing more of the fair trade shirts that come from Alta Gracia, so they can expand and employ more Dominicans who really need the job. So here’s what I’m going to do. Every college student, parent, alumni, faculty and staff member who reads this, look at the bookstores at your school, especially if you have Barnes & Noble, check to see if they have a fair trade section of shirts and keep an eye out for Alta Gracia. The tags have pictures and stories of real employees that testify to how your purchase is changing their lives. When I get back to UM, I’m going to get one! J 

<--yes, I am aware that I do not go to MSU and that it is a rival school of UM, BUT they didnt have any UM shirts at the factory, because they were already sent to our campus, so I took a pic of the closest thing they had. Hey it was this or OSU...)

GET DOWN!!!

The adventures never seem to stop in this country. We spent one Sunday on a trip to Rancho Baiguate, where we went rafting. It was a simple treat, something that we could enjoy doing even in the States, but that we could never duplicate the experience there. We arrive at the resort early Sunday morning, where we were greeted by a breakfast consisting of eggs, pancakes, fresh fruit, and an assortment of other delights. Needless to say, we almost fainted at how American the meal was. After we ate, we had to wait for the other groups to arrive before they gave us our preliminary crash course on how to handle a raft. The video they played was cheesy, to say the least. It was a group of six men sitting in a raft, on the grass in what looked like someone’s backyard. They were over exaggerating the motions and the music was typical “epic sports” music. The instructions were typed on the screen in four different languages, and we found it funny that the English version was represented my Britain’s flag, even though there were far more Americans who visited this location.

After our crash course, we had to suit up. They gave us all the black wet suits that looked like Styrofoam wrestling uniforms, helmets, and life jackets to wear over our swimsuits. We climbed into two big open-bus-type-truck things that lugged us and our rafts across town to the river. On the way there the employees, all men, were jumping around like monkeys, climbing on the outside of the buses, bouncing off the rafts, grabbing branches from low hanging trees, throwing leaves at each other. They were like professional frat boys. Hugo and Frances, a couple of blokes we had met before from one of our facilitators at the discoteca, were the most rowdy of them all. They were especially fond of picking flowers from the trees and presenting them to various girls on the bus.

Once at the river, they divided us up into our various boats and gave us yet another rafting 101 crash course, this time interactive.  Before long we were all in the water, ready to tackle the rapids. Apparently we were the only ones ready because we just sat in the water, anchored to the bank for about five minutes. Once we finally took off down the river, our guide, who ended up being Hugo, which is pronounced like Ugo, not with the H sound (because that would mean his name was Juice), decided to test us on all the commands we just practiced on the bank. Watching us adjust our seats a hundred times must have been real entertainment for Hugo, because he would tell us a command, like “GET DOWN!” in as panicked a voice as he could muster, and then tell us to go back to our positions after a few seconds. Not to mention that he would do them at inappropriate times, so it was useless for us to do most of what he was telling us to do. It didn’t take long for us to catch on, so we decided to use our brains and only follow his instructions when it made sense to.

Realizing that he had been thwarted, he resorted to the next best thing, swimming. Hugo liked very much to tie us down to some bank and just jump into the water for a casual swim. He even at one point had us hold on to some weeds so he could climb up some rocks and belly flop into the river, which I’m pretty sure was not deep enough for him to do that safely. He and his frat brothers would take turns doing dangerous head-first stunts into the river, and we cringed at every trick. Hugo did a very impressive three turn  dive from a rock in the middle of the river, that we were just sure he was going to break his neck upon hitting the ground of the river, but he miraculously resurfaced, without so much as a scratch on him. He was a pro.

He thought it would be funny to give us all silly decorations to put into our helmets, but I resisted as we were putting weeds on our heads. Hugo specialized in humiliation, we realized, as he pulled the one girl in our boat who couldn’t really swim well into the water unannounced, and then rescuing his damsel in distress. We also ran into a lot of rapids that almost took our faces off. The first one created such a splash in our faces that we couldn’t fight it, and we found ourselves struggling to keep our raft from tipping over. Another time, after ramming into another raft, helping them out of the jam they found themselves in between a rock and a hard place, our boat was traumatized by the rapids and from being out of rhythm due to the previous collision, that we again proceeded to tip the one side, two of our girls basically in the water. April especially was head first, bottoms up in the water just when Kathryn’s newfound mother instincts kicked in, rescuing her by a swift grab to April’s life jacket. It was so fast, it took all of us a moment to process what had just happened.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped for juice and sandwiches, because we were so extremely famished from our lack of rafting. All the stop and goes were really hard to deal with, so we, apparently, had worked up quite an appetite. They fed us ham and butter sandwiches, which are gross, and some strawberry juice, which was refreshing. We had to eat fast, because we were quickly being approached by bulls. Literally. Bulls. I’m not lying to you. Once back in the boat, we refused to make half of the stops that Hugo had scheduled for us because we realized that we had spent most of that morning floating on the bank instead of fighting rapids. Understanding our frustration, Hugo let some of the stops go, but of course he couldn’t ignore all of them so we stopped every 5 minutes instead of every three.

 At the end of the run, we were the only boat to successfully make it to the end without tipping over, because we’re pros. One boat had a really bad crash, one guy broke his nose from the collision. It was pretty bad, and to be honest, I’m not really sure how it managed to happen since we rode the same course they rode, and it was very mild (and that’s coming from someone who’d never been rafting before).

Once everyone finished the course, they loaded us back onto the buses and took us back to Rancho Baiguate, where they tried to sell us crappy photos of ourselves. The lunch that we were served was, of course, La Bandera, which was a nice treat still. Oddly enough, even though you eat it almost every day here, you are always grateful for rice, beans and chicken, mostly because you know what it is, and you know it won’t make you sick. We lingered at the resort for a while, admiring our awkward tanlines, taking a dip in the chlorinated pool (a feature we were very excited about), playing a little volleyball. We almost didn’t want to leave, but then a giant group of Dominican middle school-ers showed up, and it was time to go.

Las Cascadas

My first family outing was a trip to La Confluencia, where the Rios Yaque and Jimenoa meet, with my host mom, brother, Puchi, sister, Katerin, and my abuelo, Santo. We were picked up in the afternoon one blazing Saturday, by my grandpa driving a guagua, which is the Dominican word for a pickup truck. I was a little confused at first when I noticed that there were only two seats for 5 people. Then I realized that in a guagua you have a driver, his companion in the front seat, and then you stuff as many people as you can on the bed of the truck. This is the Dominican way. My mom and abuelo didn’t let me sit in the back, so I squeezed in the front seat with them. Santo was playing some good old merengue music, extremely loud, and he and my host mom were having a silent war over the volume control knob (I’m surprised it didn’t break). My backpack was being guarded on the bed of the truck by my brother and sister, who seemed to really enjoy the fresh air and open space of the bed of the truck.

We stopped on our way to the river to pick up some snacks, but it wasn’t too far away at all, about 5 Dominican minutes, which is really 15 minutes. Once we got to the river, there were some other families there, but it wasn’t unbearably crowded. I got to mount a horse and take a picture, as did Katerin. Puchi didn’t want to, but not because he was scared (of course). My abuelo noticed my fascination with some of the plants around me and was explaining to me how you can crunch some of the leaves and find full seeds to plant in your yard. He said he did it many times and now has trees in his yard. He also took me down the river to his favorite spot, the most beautiful view of the whole river. You can see the topography pretty well from there, but it’s really just a bunch of pine trees (but it was still really nice of him). There was a lot of horse poo on the ground so I had to watch every step I took, so I probably missed a lot of the natural beauty around me.

Katerin and Puchi finally got into the river, and I followed. The water was cold, but compared to the afternoon sun, it was really refreshing. Terrified of swallowing the water, I only waded in a little bit and found a spot where I could sit about waist deep in the water, far from any risk of getting water in my mouth. As I watched Puchi splash around, Katerin and I stayed closer to the shore and laughed at how good he was at being just a kid. After a while I guess Katerin got bored with me and she joined her brother a little farther into the river. While they treaded deeper into the water, I stayed sitting near the shore. I grew very aware of my surroundings, taking in the children splashing and screaming gaily in the water, the women gossiping, the men boasting about the strengths and abilities. I could smell corn boiling a little ways up the bank, and families preparing la bandera for each other. There was the faint sound of thunder in the distance from a rain storm brewing up the river. I could see miles of mountains, which I had hardly noticed before that moment. They were like stoic giants, guarding the horizon, and seemingly endless. Across the bank was a horse grazing in the various trees. He was pretty well hidden, in the shadows of a pine tree, and as I was admiring its ability to find a space of privacy and tranquility in such an interactive and open community, a little boy in the middle of the river shouted out “Mira! Un caballo!” drawing everyone’s attention toward the rust colored beast. The horse became an object of awe and fascination for only a moment, and once the novelty wore off, everyone returned to their conversations. I too lost interest in the inanimate creature and went back to studying the natural motion of the river.

 I let my hands explore the ground of the river, stumbling upon an infinite number of rocks and leaves. The rocks were sharp under my feet while I was wading, but sitting on them they were coated with a thin smooth blanket of clay. My fingers found some rocks that were a rust color that stood out under the water. There were also some stones that were smooth and bright blue. I started a meager collection in my lap of the blue and rust colored rocks, figuring they would make nice decoration pieces in my living room later. Conscious of the extra weight I was adding to my luggage, I was searching for only the most intriguing of the stones to keep with me for the journey back. Eventually Katerin and Puchi helped me find some keepsakes. Puchi even found a blue one shaped like a hand gun, but we left it there for some other wanderer to stumble upon. Once my collection was decent, I decided to shift my focus to looking for small, smooth, flat stones. I could fit about five in my hand without losing them to the current again, and once I had them, I showed my brother how to skip the stones down the river. It was difficult to explain how to properly throw a stone to make it ricochet off the current multiple times in a different language (skipping stones is not on the list of vocabulary words we’re taught in school).

Soon the storm that was just up the river was catching up to us, and the sky decided to pour out all the water it could muster. The rain started abruptly and almost everyone retreated up the bank to the bar or to their cars. We waited by the bar to see if the rain would subside within a reasonable time. The rain seemed to be absorbed by the river, and the water level gracefully rose without hesitation. I let my eyes wander up the bank, tracing the waterline. The horse was still on the opposite bank, in the same spot, but the water was quickly rising to meet his hooves. We eventually gave up on being able to retreat to the river, so we got back in the truck and started for home. We hadn’t been in the car for more than five minutes when the rain halted as abruptly as it started. We looked at each other and laughed; a universal communication we all shared. Katerin and Puchi had been hiding under a towel on the bed of the truck, but when they realized the rain had stopped, they emerged from under their makeshift shelter like baby sea turtles seeing above ground for the first time.

Our first trip as a group to get to see what this little town of Jarabacoa has to offer was to a waterfall called Salto Baiguate. It was probably one of the most beautiful scenes I have ever seen in my life. So we all met up at our school one afternoon after class to go on a mini adventure to the waterfalls. Greeting us at the school’s entrance was a guagua. This one was a little bigger than the one Abuelo Santo had, seating an extra three people on the interior. We, all being hungry for adventure, and exciting stories to share with our friends and families, stuffed ourselves into the guagua. This time I rode in the bed of the truck, but chose a cautious seat in the middle, right behind the backseat. Once everyone was sufficiently settled in, we took off down the street, headed out of town. We passed the dense city structure that we were used to, and into a more spread out version of our little town. We passed three fields of cows, some horses, and goats along the road. Every Dominican that we passed, adult and child alike, waved us safe travels and shouted out “Americanas!” to acknowledge our passing by. Some kids on bikes tried to race us, but eventually turned around.

We finally stopped at a sign that said “Salto Baiguate” and we knew we had arrived. We had to hike a little to get to the waterfall, but the closer we got to it, the more the earth revealed itself to us. It was much like walking through the gorges in Ithica, where you could see both the tops and trunks of trees at the same time. The sound of rushing water got louder and louder as we neared our destination. We were getting more anxious to see this natural wonder and our paces quickened, like we were being pulled in by a magnet. There was a set of stairs that took us down into the base of a waterfall. We hopped down them, trying not to fall, intimidated by how steep they were. Naturally there were a gazillion photos being snapped as soon as we caught sight of the waterfall. We were overwhelmed with being able to swim for the first time in this sweltering country, and by how beautiful everything was. There was a little cove under the waterfall that a few people were brave enough to venture out to. Still afraid of swallowing water accidentally, I stayed in waist-deep water again. We ventured around in the river, taking spunky photos of each other and the scenery. There were so many wonders to be discovered in such a small area.

We spent about two hours venturing through the rocks and water, discovering new things at every turn. A few of us wanted to get a closer look at the top of the fall, so we hiked back of the stairs in search for its source. Half way up the stairs we regretted not bringing our things with us, because it was difficult to get up them once in bathing suits and carrying nothing, let alone having to do it a second time with backpacks. The top of the waterfall was a great view. Our friends who stayed below looked like colorful specks in the water from their bathing suits, almost like fish in a pond. You could see way down the river, where there were various bends and twists hiding. After a while, I realized how far of a drop it was down the waterfall, so I inched as far away from the edge as possible. The water was so cool and fresh, and some even commented on how clean they felt for the first time in this town. We all air dried in the back of the guagua on our way back to the school, which proved to be a sufficient way to dry ourselves. We had exhausted ourselves from all of our excitement, so when I got back I ate dinner and went straight to bed, and I had the best sleep in my foreign home that I had had since I arrived.

La Bandera

So taking classes and living in a different country is a little easier than I expected it to be, but that could just be because I had such low expectations. Here is a rundown of a typical day in Jarabacoa. I wake up and take a cold shower. The icy water was hard to get used to, but it’s so hot here sometimes that I’m grateful for it. The water in the shower is not the same water you drink, so I brush my teeth using a bottle of Dasani. Next I go eat breakfast, which is always ready and waiting for me on the dining table (which, in my house is outside, which is pretty cool, actually). Since I’m a lazy bum and don’t like to wake up too terribly early, I scarf down the food and rush off to class with the other chums in my neighborhood. My host mom has figured out that I wake up pretty late, so some days she makes me something I can take to go called a pastelito, it’s similar to a Hot Pocket, but homemade. School is pretty chill, and every day we go home for lunch. Actually the whole town goes home for lunch. When I get in we have some version on La Bandera, a Dominican favorite comprised of rice, beans, meat, and a salad. And then we have water and homemade juices (they’re great!) Sometimes we have potatoes or spaghetti, but there is ALWAYS rice on the table. Just as I get sleepy from my food coma, its time to return to school for the second half (which is strange here, because there are so many kids here and so few schools, kids only go to schools half days). The second half of school is like the first, but harder to stay awake and alert, and thus, feels longer. After class is done for the day, sometimes I go stroll about town with the other Americanas, but we inevitably get tired of being hissed at by tigueres and getting kissy faces from the motoconchos, that we eventually go back to our homes. Sometimes I visit other families in the barrio, but usually I’m so pooped that I just do my homework or read while I wait for dinner. I like to sit on the patio in the rocking chairs (which everyone in this town has, literally, everyone) and usually I’m joined by someone else from my host family (actually I’m writing this on the patio, in a rocking chair). After dinner, I chit chat with my family, practicing my Spanish, getting to know the strangers with whom I am now living with and who are now my new temporary family.

Speaking of family, I have an update. They’re awesome (but not quite as awesome as my real family).

It’s been quite the adjustment becoming a big sister, I must admit. Some of us took our younger sibs out for pizza one night, and it was really fun. We all walked together and got to meet each other’s siblings and it was a great bonding experience. We finally got to see all the faces that went with the stories (some terrible) we were hearing in class. Getting to the pizzeria was fine, and it was even fine managing a swarm of excited children over a makeshift dining table for 20. We even held out through eleven year old boys spotting a famous ex-Dodger baseball player. Getting our pizza was a bit of a struggle, and even more so when our waiter said we ordered extra pizzas (I’m still not sure why they didn’t send the English-speaking waiter to the table with 10 gringos, struggling to interpret the menu). The walk back was quite the adventure, however. So when we left the restaurant, we saw that next door was a bakery, and of course us over-fed Americans could not resist our genetic sweet-teeth and had to get dessert. Of course you cannot get dessert without sharing the experience with the little big eyed niños (well I didn’t get dessert, and thus, neither did my little bro and sis, but they were ok with it; I did, after all, just by them dinner).
Big mistake! The sugar went straight to their heads and they were running through the street, stopping at bus stops pretending to be beggars, it was loco. The girls were chill, just waking with linked arms in two age appropriate groups, it was actually really adorable, but I cannot say the same for the little brothers of the group. For one thing, they’re already wild some of them. They had to touch everything they passed, they were yelling in the street, and my little 7 year old brother, the littlest of them all, just had to copy everything he saw. It was so stressful to get them back home. All of us were thinking, at one point or another, “all we wanted to do was take the kiddies out for a nice treat and get them home safely. My host mom is going to kill me and then kick me out if something happens. Oh my gosh, I’m going to be homeless!” It was so scary. People here already don’t use sidewalks, and cars don’t like to stay on their side of the road, or go the speed limit, so we’re worried enough about our own lives sometimes, let alone the lives of these wild little monkeys our Dominican parents let us in charge of. At one point the boys were in the street with a tree branch provoking a stray dog. Yep, this is real life. I eventually grabbed the hand of my little brother and made him walk with me, away from the other hooligans, because I was not about to take the heat for what some knuckle headed little boy decided to do because he thought it would be funny. Shout out to Jayonne, Jessica and Jonathan, I totally respect you for being able to handle being a big sib, because I was stressed out.