Hurricanes; Vulnerability and Danger in the Caribbean

Pico Duarte- Mud, Mules, and Mountain

February 27th--- Dominican Independence Day

Here in the Dominican Republic, February 27th is kind of like July 4th in the United States.  The day celebrates independence from Haiti in 1844.   Here in Santo Domingo it’s a big deal with the closure of classes, businesses and people here in the capital hanging flags and all things red, white, and blue from windows, balconies, and even cars.

When I first arrived here and learned about the importance of February 27th, I assumed the day commemorated independence from Spain and freedom from colonization.  But that’s not the case.   February 27th celebrates independence from Haiti, not Spain.   Although in the mid-1800’s Haiti had a population 8-10 times the Dominican Republic and was much wealthier in large part due to the enslavement of almost a million Africans, the idea that independence from Haiti, a country that is now one of the poorest in the hemisphere, is so important may illuminate why the two countries, that share a small island, still have such a strained relationship.

Whatever the events that led to the celebration of February 27th as independence day, the celebration itself is a lot of fun.   Besides parades and decorations, one tradition at our school is the Comparsas.   When I first asked what Comparsas really was, my friend Anyel described it as a dance and music show-- but in the style of a carnival parade. Groups of people perform an elaborate dance routines with props and costumes.  These often act out scenes or make references to important themes in Dominican Culture.   At our school, one group celebrated coffee growers while another did an interpretation of battle for independence complete with a leaf blower confetti cannon.  Each group of classroom parents tries to out-do each other with props and costumes.  The final result is a show that would impress most Broadway producers.  Dance is important to Dominicans so this is a chance to really show-off what they can do.  The students move and swivel, march and jump in an orchestrated triumph of color, lights, feathers, choreography.  Our school used the spectacular new gymnasium to show off the dance skills of our community.  Each elementary classroom did a dance and the show ended with the teachers and a few guest administrators participating in a fake beauty contest.    The production itself featured lights, smoke machines and an actual film crew with several cameras.  The whole thing looked like it had the production value of an Oscar-like award show.

Living outside the United States for a few months has given me a different perspective on the country.  With the election this November, living in a place where dictatorship, tyranny, and corruption have deep and recent cultural roots, it’s easy to reflect about what we could become.  Still, watching the celebration of dance, pride, and spirit reminds us that the government is only a small part of a nation’s culture.   Dance on…. D.R.

Check out more Comparsas  

I've got butter in my pocket, I've got good sand on my feet.

There is a song my 12 year-old daughter listens to---actually I listen too and I'm not afraid to tell you that it's by Justin Timberlake- it goes something like, "I got that sunshine in my pocket, Got that good soul in my feet". That's what it felt like as we visited Samana bay to visit friends, watch whales and celebrate my daughter's birthday. One of the things that's great about the D.R. is the incredible spirit and joy of the people. It seems like most folks have an abundance of good spirit and a joyfulness that is contagious. I was counting on that when I headed out from our beautiful condo in Samana and hit the road mixing a workout with a search for a single ingredient essential for my daughter's birthday breakfast. We needed butter to complete the pancakes and it was my job to get it.


Samana is wonderfully hilly compared to the capital city, so as the run began I headed down hill toward a little village past palm trees and all sorts of tropical greenery and into the village of maybe two dozen houses. Another endearing quality of the D.R. is the Colmado. These open-walled convenience stores are the hub of the community and dot almost every corner of the city. Each little village has several Colmados of varying size. Some aren't much bigger than a closet and others look more the little neighborhood stores we grew up with in Vermont. The first few Colmados I stopped at didn't have refrigeration, except for beer, so I was forced to push on. I passed a school, a bunch of houses perched on the hillside, and enjoyed spectacular views of Samana bay hundreds of feet below. After two or three miles I found a little larger settlement with a larger Colmado. I used my infant-level Spanish to ask for mantequilla or butter and got a big grin and a "Si!". Now back in the states, I would have expected to purchase a nice geometric square, or rectangle of butter, but in the DR, things are not always how I expect. The guy running the Colmado, swiftly grabbed a plastic bag, the kind you bring back from a pharmacy not a fancy zip-lock, and proceeded to scoop margarine into the bag from a one-gallon tub on the counter. After a couple big spoonfuls I was a little afraid that he would fill the entire bag.



I told him "good" and "okay" and he very officially tied off the bag, weighed it, and told me I owed him about twenty-five cents. Of course this wasn't the end of the conversation. The Colmado guy was patient and cheerful asking me questions about where I was from and seemed impressed that I was actually living and working in Santo Domingo. At the end of the conversation he was telling me something about Jesus Christ and God but I didn't catch all of it. This kind of conversation happens fairly often. A few days before I chatted with a guy in Santo Domingo for about five minutes. I thought we were talking about the weather, the guy had plenty of gestures to the sky and it had rained earlier in the day. After I mentioned rain, water in the streets, and the nice cool evenings I finally realized he was preaching about God and other deeper issues while I was making idle conversation. Those chats always end with a slap on the back or a handshake, and a friendly, "okay, okay". It's this great spirit doing things their own way and the gift for conversation that have impressed me so much with the Dominicans. Everyday they remind me that even in dark times it's good to run through life as Justin Timberlake might sing, with "Butter in my pocket and good sand on my feet". After finishing the conversation with the Colmado guy in Samana, I ran back to the Condo and prepared for a great day of whale watching. The butter made it home in my pocket, and the pancakes Whit made were fantastic.

Baseball Dominican Style

A few weeks ago my wife and I along with a handful of other baseball fans watched the Chicago Cubs win the World Series.  Game seven was a great reminder of how cool baseball can be.   The fact that there is no clock and an infinite chance for comeback and redemption seems so very Caribbean.    So, when we had the opportunity to attend a LIDOM or Dominican Winter League game, I jumped at the chance.  


According to Sports Illustrated, "Nearly 600 men born in the Dominican Republic have played in the major leagues since the 1950's."  Baseball is big in the D.R. and this league is no joke.  The rosters are filled with Major League players hoping to make it big and a few honing their skills to make the cut.  The stadium itself wasn't anything special but as soon as you go inside the spirit of the D.R. shows up like crazy.   In the stands, fans dressed in Red or Blue more shout than cheer for their teams.  They have noisemakers, beer, rum, empanadas and fried chicken.  Everyone knows the teams based on color, we watched the blue-- the Licey Tigres take on the red-- Leones del Escogido.  The starting pitchers were both super-talented.  If you, can believe the radar gun reading posted in the outfield, each one was hitting the high 90's pretty regularly with some nasty breaking balls.  The top speed I saw was 104 miles per hour.    
Of course besides the fantastic play, there were some other distractions.  The between-inning entertainment spiced up the time between innings.   Just like in Vermont, there were goofy games with volunteer fans, and cheerleaders that were shaking and dancing in-- definitely not like Vermont.  The game ended with deafening cheers as the Leones triumphed in the 9th inning. The enthusiasm and good-natured ribbing reminded me of how much fun watching a game can be and how important it is to have these little escapes when we all know there are more important things to worry about than the Los Tigres vs. Los Leones.    And perhaps, in this political climate we can remind ourselves that there is always time for a comeback. 

Loitering in the Snow

Loitering in the Snow
After several months working in the Caribbean, a couple of my co-workers and I had the chance to visit the northeastern U.S. for a conference.   We were able to take a few extra days to visit our home in northern Vermont.  It was my first time back since we left in August and the first time showing my new Dominican friends the place where I grew up and lived for the past forty years.    Seeing home from a new perspective is an interesting exercise and a ton of fun.    Arriving in Boston and driving to Vermont gave us. A few moments to check out the north-east.   Anyel’s first question, “What does the word ‘loitering’ mean?”   As I tried to explain, almost on cue, a guy stumbled out of the Dunkin’ Donuts for a smoke.    After five months of asking continuous questions about the meaning of words and emails, it was a bit refreshing to be the language expert again.    The questions continued all the way up Interstate 89.   Anyel asked me how to pronounce towns like Queechee  (kweechee) and a little farther north Barre.   I challenged Anyel to pronounce that one correctly and of course he did almost immediately-- it’s pronounced like the fruit, berry.   Both Anyel and Thairy were so curious about how to pronounce and do things correctly.
We arrived in time to check out the Vermont farmhouse where Whit, Kata, and I lived for fifteen years, and take a quick walk out to the Green River Reservoir.   We grabbed some winter clothing on the way.   The gray starkness of the Vermont November was quite a contrast to the tropical endless summer of the Dominican Republic.


The next day we stole my brother from his parenting duties and hiked Mt. Mansfield- the tallest mountain in Vermont.   After an hour we hit our first snow and a mile later we made it to the ski trails where the Mt. Mansfield ski area had been busy making feet of snow for the upcoming ski season.   Seeing my Dominican friends enjoying snow, real snow for the first time renewed my joy for the white stuff as well.   And watching them experience new sensations like the warmth of the sun reflected off the snow, the smell of a crisp Vermont mountain top and even, the numb hands and seriously cold feet for the first time reminded me how lucky we are to be experiencing new sensations everyday.     We took a few extra minutes to loiter in the snow, taking it all in and enjoying life in the moment, not wistful or nostalgic but remembering how much fun it is to share new experiences with new friends.

Freedom, Adventure, Education and Bicyclettas…..August 2016- Santo Domingo 

 From my first blue Schwinn Stingray to the white Raleigh cyclocross bike I ride in Vermont, bicycles mean freedom.   The ability to cover real distance with nothing more than a simple  machine and some human power is something magical.   Since, my wife, 11-year old daughter and I moved to Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic three weeks ago, there have been lots of adventures, a ton of humility but we didn’t have bikes.     

So, I made it my mission to get bikes.   Santo Domingo is a wonderfully vibrant city with lots of people and sounds.  Both are friendly and happy most of the time but it is still a city and after a couple of days I was feeling a bit cramped.   Luckily, we have a great group of fellow ex-pat teachers here who have a established several lively social media groups to share information and post questions about life in the D.R..   In one of those posts, a teacher posted a link to Santo Domingo’s crags list-like post for  bicycles.   There were some pretty pricey mountain and road bikes  posted.   One poster seemed to have quite a few inexpensive bikes— I clicked on the link and found A.M. imports.    The name seemed pretty sketchy to me but I was desperate for a bike that wasn’t a new-cheapo from a local shop.  

I noticed A.M. imports was located in the Colonial Zone.  This part of Santo Domingo is famous for  Christopher Columbus’s son’s actual house and many other old, colonial buildings that look like a movie set.  Whit and Kata wanted to see  the neighborhood and I wanted bikes so we Ubered up to the zone.   When we arrived I stopped by a bike rental shop and asked about A.M  imports.  After checking out the super cool hand built bike that the owner had designed and assembled,  the folks at the shop confirmed that it was kind of legit so I What’sApped Alex at A.M. imports and started wandering over to his house.   

It turned out that A.M. imports is really just Alejandro, a guy who sells bikes out of his tight-on-space house.   I was a little nervous when he met me in the doorway and unlocked the steel gait guarding the door to his place.   Once inside, Alejandro showed off a variety of great used and new bikes.   Everything from  full on mountain bikes to fat bikes and a few cruisers.     After a few minutes of checking things out, I returned to my wife and daughter and hatched a plan to return on the following Tuesday to pick up bicycles and start exploring the city in style.     

Although we considered mountain bikes, we both fell for the cool single speed cruisers that you could never get away with in the hills of Vermont.     I felt pretty good about my little adventure into the blackmarket bike world and chatted up A.M. imports with some of our fellow teachers.   When we returned on Tuesday, we brought six friends with us and had a blast checking out bikes  and enjoying the thrill of buying used bikes from a guy who sells bikes in his living room.     In the end I picked up a sweet blue cruiser, Whit went with Yellow and the big handle bars.   A few days later we grabbed a sweet little teal number for our daughter.    

For the last few days we have zipped around the neighborhood and explored.  I was pleasantly surprised by how much joy, and thrill an old cruiser bike could bring and that feeling of freedom is still there.   I am convinced I can get around the city on a bike almost as fast as our friends with cars…. and it’s a pretty classy ride.