After being “standfasted” in the capital for three days, I am finally back in my site after my wonderful American vacation. Standfast is what the Peace Corps calls “lockdown” due to various factors, such as strikes, violence and in most cases, weather. I arrived to Santo Domingo on Thursday morning to a cloudy and drizzly day. Thursday night, I thought God had sent Noah’s Ark once again to save us from the flood.
It was a crazy amount of rain, and because of it, all of us Peace Corps Volunteers who happened to be in the capital were stuck there until Sunday. With intense rain like that, Peace Corps will take no chances of traveling. During the rainy season, streams turn into rivers which turn into lakes which happen to cover a good portion of the highway. What should be a couple hours driving, can literally take days.
Finally, on Sunday the ban was lifted and we could all be on our merry way around the country. After being gone for a month from my site, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I arrived yesterday to find everything pretty much normal. My neighbor painted their house (Dominican peach as I call it) and my Dona, Francia, got a new small flat screen TV. Yes, a flat screen. We are living the high-life here.
I spent most of the day yesterday in my house, cleaning up and unpacking. My neighbor Rosa came over to welcome me home, and insisted I come over and eat leftovers from lunch. It was such a blessing, because I was hungry and didn’t have any food in my house. After dinner, Francia caught me up on all the latest gossip. I went to bed with mosquito bites and sweat dripping down my back, and felt like both were normal.
As I walked up from my house this morning to my center, I ran into the usual characters and as I expected, they all told me the same thing:
“Pero tu eres mas gordita:” You are a little bit fatter. They said, as they grab at my stomach as if to prove it to me.
Normally this comment bothers me, I mean- it would bother any American, let’s be serious. But today, I just smiled and replied with an enthusiastic smile, “Yo se, Yo se!” I know, I know. “Yo comí mucho pa’lla,” I ate a lot over there (over there, referring to America).
I think about how these same conversations used to bother and offend me when I first arrived. In training they told us to expect things like this, but until someone tells you to your face that you are fatter, you never quite know how you will feel about it. Now, I sort of relish in it. I understand now when people tell me I’m fatter; they are not insulting me, but complimenting me. As if to say, “hey girl! Good for you for eating. We are blessed to have food and if you have it, you dang well should eat it!”
This afternoon I am in center just catching up on being gone. After about an hour of sitting here, Mari called me into the office. My coworkers, Mari, Selsy and Fausto, had bought soda, crackers, cheese and salami. This kind of a snack on a regular day really means something big is happening. I looked at them puzzled and said what’s this for? They all turned to me and said, “Because you’re back.”
I gave them each a hug and thought to myself how being fatter has never felt better.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
the in between
Tomorrow I am leaving for Santo Domingo. Tuesday, I will be on a plane and on my way to America. Although it’s only been about six months since I’ve been home, I am ready to go back. 2010 has already proved itself challenging in more ways than one, and what I need more than anything is some time with people I love. I’ll be home for longer than I anticipated (about a month), and hope to spend most of my time there hanging out with my family, especially my mom.
The last couple weeks I’ve been in my campo, my site trying to wrap things up and get things organized for when I come back in July. I gave my English classes their final exam, found the three girls I will take to a girls’ camp at the end of July and yesterday it all ended with a three hour meeting. Well actually, it was only about an hour and a half, but it started an hour and a half late so I still think it counts as there hours. Dominicans are not on “hora Americana,” or American time- as I insist with all my students that my classes start at 6 p.m. Hora Americana! Which means, don’t show up at 6:30 and expect me to be sitting there patiently waiting for your arrival.
The meeting went surprisingly well. We discussed changes that need to be done to the center, a few new people who will be added to our “management team,” and once again, discussed plans for the library. I tried to encourage my team to start without me during this month while I’m gone, but they didn’t want to do that at all. It’s a little disappointing that they don’t want to start on their own, but the library also gives me something to focus on and look forward to doing when I get back.
And just as the meeting was coming to a close, they had mandar-ed (a Cultural phenomenon of being able to send people to run errands for you) someone to bring us snacks- soda, crackers, cheese and salami. The snacks were in honor of me leaving… which seems a little ironic- but I also left my center last night feeling accomplished and content. A feeling I admittedly sometimes wish I felt more of here. Whatever the snacks where for, I think it really is a good idea to throw people a mini-party or something when they are leaving- it makes them want to come back.
On my way home I ran into Silvia. I eat lunch with Silvia and her family almost every day. Silvia takes care of her parents, my grandparents as I refer to them here. Her mom, Mercedes is in her 80s, and her dad Masop celebrated his 91 birthday at the beginning of June. Silvia and her husband Juan Ramon have three kids and their own house, but every morning the whole family goes over to the grandparent’s house to feed Mercedes and Masop, clean the house and take care of whatever needs to be taken care of. Despite Masop’s age, he gets up every morning, climbs the hill behind his house and takes care of his cows. The man gets up faster from chairs than I do. He is in incredible shape. They are all so loving and wonderful to me. One day, almost a year ago, I told Masop that I really like bananas. I am not joking you- almost every time I eat there (which is pretty much every day that I am here in site) Masop saves a banana just for me.
Anyway, so I ran into Silvia on the street after the meeting and we started to walk back to the grandparent’s house. She invited me to come over and have dinner with them, and I told her that she had already fed me lunch that day, that she didn’t need to feed me dinner too, and that I have food in my house to eat. She just looked at me and said, “Yes, but you don’t have soup.”
I thought about it for a second and just nodded. She was right. I had food at my house, but I didn’t have soup. I followed her to the house and had soup with the family. It was a sort of fusion between chicken broth and Top Ramon. It was simple and delicious.
Sometimes I think about my life here and I don’t know what to feel. There are moments when I honestly can’t wait to get off this island and back to my previous plentiful American life. And then there are moments when I think about how good life is here, despite how hot it can get. I am living as complex as I allow myself to live. I can let all my worries get me down, I can think and stress about the future and daydream about overpriced delicious coffee drinks that are found on every corner back home. Or I can let it go and just say yes to a delicious yet basic soup dinner. I understand that I probably won't ever live this way again or have these kind of choices, and so for now I am grateful. I am grateful to be in the in between. Excited when a meeting goes well and lucky enough to get on a plane and see my family back home.
The last couple weeks I’ve been in my campo, my site trying to wrap things up and get things organized for when I come back in July. I gave my English classes their final exam, found the three girls I will take to a girls’ camp at the end of July and yesterday it all ended with a three hour meeting. Well actually, it was only about an hour and a half, but it started an hour and a half late so I still think it counts as there hours. Dominicans are not on “hora Americana,” or American time- as I insist with all my students that my classes start at 6 p.m. Hora Americana! Which means, don’t show up at 6:30 and expect me to be sitting there patiently waiting for your arrival.
The meeting went surprisingly well. We discussed changes that need to be done to the center, a few new people who will be added to our “management team,” and once again, discussed plans for the library. I tried to encourage my team to start without me during this month while I’m gone, but they didn’t want to do that at all. It’s a little disappointing that they don’t want to start on their own, but the library also gives me something to focus on and look forward to doing when I get back.
And just as the meeting was coming to a close, they had mandar-ed (a Cultural phenomenon of being able to send people to run errands for you) someone to bring us snacks- soda, crackers, cheese and salami. The snacks were in honor of me leaving… which seems a little ironic- but I also left my center last night feeling accomplished and content. A feeling I admittedly sometimes wish I felt more of here. Whatever the snacks where for, I think it really is a good idea to throw people a mini-party or something when they are leaving- it makes them want to come back.
On my way home I ran into Silvia. I eat lunch with Silvia and her family almost every day. Silvia takes care of her parents, my grandparents as I refer to them here. Her mom, Mercedes is in her 80s, and her dad Masop celebrated his 91 birthday at the beginning of June. Silvia and her husband Juan Ramon have three kids and their own house, but every morning the whole family goes over to the grandparent’s house to feed Mercedes and Masop, clean the house and take care of whatever needs to be taken care of. Despite Masop’s age, he gets up every morning, climbs the hill behind his house and takes care of his cows. The man gets up faster from chairs than I do. He is in incredible shape. They are all so loving and wonderful to me. One day, almost a year ago, I told Masop that I really like bananas. I am not joking you- almost every time I eat there (which is pretty much every day that I am here in site) Masop saves a banana just for me.
Anyway, so I ran into Silvia on the street after the meeting and we started to walk back to the grandparent’s house. She invited me to come over and have dinner with them, and I told her that she had already fed me lunch that day, that she didn’t need to feed me dinner too, and that I have food in my house to eat. She just looked at me and said, “Yes, but you don’t have soup.”
I thought about it for a second and just nodded. She was right. I had food at my house, but I didn’t have soup. I followed her to the house and had soup with the family. It was a sort of fusion between chicken broth and Top Ramon. It was simple and delicious.
Sometimes I think about my life here and I don’t know what to feel. There are moments when I honestly can’t wait to get off this island and back to my previous plentiful American life. And then there are moments when I think about how good life is here, despite how hot it can get. I am living as complex as I allow myself to live. I can let all my worries get me down, I can think and stress about the future and daydream about overpriced delicious coffee drinks that are found on every corner back home. Or I can let it go and just say yes to a delicious yet basic soup dinner. I understand that I probably won't ever live this way again or have these kind of choices, and so for now I am grateful. I am grateful to be in the in between. Excited when a meeting goes well and lucky enough to get on a plane and see my family back home.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
a staring state of mind
Dominicans have a way of staring. They do it with no shame or regret. If something or someone is strange or puzzling, they have no qualms about sitting two feet away and just staring. When I first got here, over a year ago, it made me feel uneasy. How could it not? It’s that feeling you get when you think someone is watching you, but in reality someone really IS watching you.
Now, a year later, when Anna Maria, Eve and David visited, they told me I stare too much. On more than one occasion, Anna Maria hit me across the arm to wake me from my trance of staring at random strangers. Mostly, I stare at other white people. I find myself removed from them, wondering what they are doing in the DR and if any of them will leave the tourist parts of the island and see how the “real” DR functions. Anna Maria and Eve promised they would help me get my “social skills” back when I come back home. Another year left, and I will have to take them up on their offer.
Today, a nine-year-old boy sat down at the same table as me in my center and played the usual staring game. By now, I’m use to it and just carried on with my tasks as if he wasn’t there. We talked for a few minutes at first- I asked if he passed his grade and he said yes. Then he pointed to my nalgene water bottle and asked me to bring him one back from America the next time I go. I smiled and said “vamos a ver,” or we’ll see. He then asked me if he could read a book from the library.
The current state of our library is dismal, and is what so many of my generous friends and family from back home donated money to help me fix. The boy asked me if he could read a book and enthusiastically I told him he could read any book he wanted!
He picked out a large children’s picture book with some writing and set it on the table. Now it was my turn to stare at him. He scanned the first page for a few seconds, making mental notes of the images and the colors. He looked at the two or three sentences at the top of the page for less than 10 seconds and then flipped on to the next page. After repeating these actions four times or so, I asked him if he was reading the book.
“Oh, I don’t know how to read,” he said matter-of-factly.
Surprised, I asked him if he was joking. He told me no, and that he didn’t know how to read. I asked him how old he was again (nine-years-old) and how he just said he passed his grade and will be moving on to the next grade next school year.
Now he looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Well yeah, I passed, but I don’t know how to read,” he repeated.
“So what do you do in school then?” I asked.
“I write some and then read a little from one book called Nacho.”
“But you don’t know what this says?” I asked pointing to a word on the page. “Do you know what the different letters are?”
“No,” he said again.
I tried to give him a 2-minute lesson on how each letter makes up a different sound and how they combine together to form words that we then can read. He seemed interested and said that his teacher never told him that. I tried to continue, but quickly realized how over my head I was with trying to teach him how to read in one afternoon. Soon he got distracted and went to play a game on the internet. I hate to admit it, but I felt relieved.
As he politely left the table and put the book back on the shelf, he left me staring at the place where he was just sitting. A year later, and things like this still shock me. This nice, well-mannered nine-year-old boy has been pushed through school, going from one grade to the next, without ever learning how to read. Kids like him are everywhere in this country and unfortunately will probably graduate high school without ever being taught to read.
The make it through just staring. They stare at the blackboard all day at school. They stare at their teacher and copy everything he or she puts on the board into their notebooks, without ever realizing what exactly they are writing or learning. Most kids can write, because they’ve been taught to write the letters- but if you were to ask them to point out the letter “S,” or the letter “C” they’d never be able to do it.
So when something or someone different comes along, they just continue to stare. They have never been taught to question or to wonder why things are the way they are or how things can be better. Of course, this is a general statement and of course there are many smart Dominicans who have educated themselves.
But in my small town, with limited money and limited resources, most kids will never get that chance. How do I wake people up from this staring trance? As I feel myself fall into, how do I resist it? This country needs a wake-up call, and maybe teaching one nine-year-old how to read, how to resist the staring, is a way to start.
Now, a year later, when Anna Maria, Eve and David visited, they told me I stare too much. On more than one occasion, Anna Maria hit me across the arm to wake me from my trance of staring at random strangers. Mostly, I stare at other white people. I find myself removed from them, wondering what they are doing in the DR and if any of them will leave the tourist parts of the island and see how the “real” DR functions. Anna Maria and Eve promised they would help me get my “social skills” back when I come back home. Another year left, and I will have to take them up on their offer.
Today, a nine-year-old boy sat down at the same table as me in my center and played the usual staring game. By now, I’m use to it and just carried on with my tasks as if he wasn’t there. We talked for a few minutes at first- I asked if he passed his grade and he said yes. Then he pointed to my nalgene water bottle and asked me to bring him one back from America the next time I go. I smiled and said “vamos a ver,” or we’ll see. He then asked me if he could read a book from the library.
The current state of our library is dismal, and is what so many of my generous friends and family from back home donated money to help me fix. The boy asked me if he could read a book and enthusiastically I told him he could read any book he wanted!
He picked out a large children’s picture book with some writing and set it on the table. Now it was my turn to stare at him. He scanned the first page for a few seconds, making mental notes of the images and the colors. He looked at the two or three sentences at the top of the page for less than 10 seconds and then flipped on to the next page. After repeating these actions four times or so, I asked him if he was reading the book.
“Oh, I don’t know how to read,” he said matter-of-factly.
Surprised, I asked him if he was joking. He told me no, and that he didn’t know how to read. I asked him how old he was again (nine-years-old) and how he just said he passed his grade and will be moving on to the next grade next school year.
Now he looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Well yeah, I passed, but I don’t know how to read,” he repeated.
“So what do you do in school then?” I asked.
“I write some and then read a little from one book called Nacho.”
“But you don’t know what this says?” I asked pointing to a word on the page. “Do you know what the different letters are?”
“No,” he said again.
I tried to give him a 2-minute lesson on how each letter makes up a different sound and how they combine together to form words that we then can read. He seemed interested and said that his teacher never told him that. I tried to continue, but quickly realized how over my head I was with trying to teach him how to read in one afternoon. Soon he got distracted and went to play a game on the internet. I hate to admit it, but I felt relieved.
As he politely left the table and put the book back on the shelf, he left me staring at the place where he was just sitting. A year later, and things like this still shock me. This nice, well-mannered nine-year-old boy has been pushed through school, going from one grade to the next, without ever learning how to read. Kids like him are everywhere in this country and unfortunately will probably graduate high school without ever being taught to read.
The make it through just staring. They stare at the blackboard all day at school. They stare at their teacher and copy everything he or she puts on the board into their notebooks, without ever realizing what exactly they are writing or learning. Most kids can write, because they’ve been taught to write the letters- but if you were to ask them to point out the letter “S,” or the letter “C” they’d never be able to do it.
So when something or someone different comes along, they just continue to stare. They have never been taught to question or to wonder why things are the way they are or how things can be better. Of course, this is a general statement and of course there are many smart Dominicans who have educated themselves.
But in my small town, with limited money and limited resources, most kids will never get that chance. How do I wake people up from this staring trance? As I feel myself fall into, how do I resist it? This country needs a wake-up call, and maybe teaching one nine-year-old how to read, how to resist the staring, is a way to start.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Pico Duarte
First things first: all of the money for my library has been donated! Thank you to everyone who donated money, helped spread the word and/or supported my cause! Because of all of you, my Peace Corps grant has been filled, and giving my community of La Caya a library is one giant step closer. I could never have done this without all your help and support, and my gratitude is literally as big as this island.
Now, we are waiting for PC in Washington DC to send a check to our PC office in Santo Domingo. Once this happens, I will open a joint- account with my project partner and we will then start the process of buying all the books and supplies we need to make this library a reality.
I will keep my blog updated with the library’s progress. Hopefully within a few months, La Caya will have the small but need library it deserves! Thank you again!
Second: Remi and I returned home victoriously from our five-day mountain hike up Pico Duarte- the Caribbean’s highest mountain peak. It proved to be a long, hard and at times strenuous hike, but well worth the fight. It was beautiful, and it felt pretty incredible to be in the mountains again. Surprisngly for both of us, a lot of the trail reminded us of Nevada and California- more specifically where those two worlds collide: the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
The DR is an incredibly diverse island, and even on our five-day hike we witnessed this at great lengths. There would be times when we would be climbing at about 5000 feet and the air would be hot, the dirt dry and the smell of sagebrush (no lie) would linger. It honestly felt like we were hiking around Lake Tahoe, and after our day of good hiking, we could head over to T’s for some delicious tacos. And then, the trail would drop over a thousand feet in altitude and as we climbed down, we would be walking through a swampy kind of Caribbean wonderland, all the while being shaded by bamboo trees. At these moments, it felt like monkeys could be flying above us searching for fruit in the tall trees.
The trail continued like this for all five days, up and down, up and down. It felt like we climbed about 10 mountains before we actually got to Pico Duarte. It took us 2.5 days to get to Pico Duarte and then 2.5 days back. I never would have thought it would take just as long to get back as it did to get there, but seriously with all our ups and downs, I believe it now.
The five days were as follows: the first day we hiked 18 kilometers, the second day 12k, the third day 26k, the fourth12k again and the fifth 18k again. Everyday we would end at a different camp ground along the trail, which had old wooden houses with open fire pit stoves in them for us to sleep and cook in. On the third day, we actually climbed up to Pico Duarte and back down again to our campsite in the “Valley de Boa.”
I actually thought the hardest days were the second and fourth, because they had the steepest ups and downs, even though they were the least amount distance-wise. However, after we finished the second day, we ended in the Valle de Boa, which is a vast valley with a river skirting the edge. The valley is at the base of La Pelona, which is the mountain you must climb before you actually reach Pico Duarte. The valley was beautiful, and we stayed there two nights, as we summated Pico Duarte and returned to the valley in one day.
Climbing Pico Duarte on the third day was great. It took us about 5 hours to get from the Valley to the statue of Juan Pablo Duarte, which looms over the peak. The view from the top of Pico was spectacular and breath taking to say the least. You stand up there, the wind blowing, the Dominican flag soaring, and you see all the mountain ranges laid out in front of you. We were lucky enough to be there on a clear day, before the clouds rolled-in in the afternoon. It was almost scary, to be that high and to know how far down the bottom actually is.
I haven’t yet mentioned our guides. Although the hike can be done without guides, we took the advice of other PCV’s and hired a guide, Tony, 50-something-years-old) from Mata Grande- the town where the hike began. Much to our demise, Tony insisted that we needed two guides (him and his 70-year-old brother) and a mule. The mule was a great idea, because it carried our bags up and down the mountain, and Remi and I only had to bring a daypack each with us for water and snacks and such. Although Remi and I really didn’t need two guides, now that it is all over with, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
The brother, the 70-year-old, literally drank rum and smoked the ENTIRE time. Not joking you, climbing the mountain, going down the mountain, at camp, the guy always had a cigarette and a flask. And his cigarettes were not regular cigarettes. He hand rolled them all… with lined paper. Like paper you use in school, out of notebook. No filter, no nothing, just tobacco and lined paper. On the third day, he followed us up Pico Duarte on the mule, while Tony stayed back at camp with our bags. He always gave us a head start and when we were about ½ way up La Pelona, I could smell his tobacco and I knew he was coming.
Both Tony and his brother were skinny, toothless, Dominican country men. They had spent most of their lives in those mountains and knew them like the backs of their hands. Tony cooked dinner for us every night, which consisted of rice and beans or rice and lentils. We ate salami and cheese for lunch and after our day was done hiking, Tony would treat us to burnt coffee or over-sugared hot chocolate. It was great, I wouldn’t have wanted it another way.
The guides loved Remi too. As most of you know, Remi is quite handy in the great-outdoors, and he proved this to me and our guides without having to speak any Spanish. The first night he and I froze in our sleeping bags, because we didn’t have a sleeping pad or anything. The next night and all that followed, Remi made us mattresses out of pine needles and soft fern branches. Tony told me we should sell them to people.
At our second campsite, there weren’t enough chairs around the fire, so Remi built one out of three sticks, old rope he found on the ground a rock. Our guides couldn’t get enough of it, and each sat on it with amazement. The third night, Remi was bored and so he literally welded a spear out of an old tent pipe he found on the ground. The guides kept looking at him and then telling me what he was doing in Spanish. It was pretty hilarious, because even though Rem speaks no Spanish, the guides were impressed with him to say the least. The entire five-days they kept looking at him like, “what crazy thing is he going to do next?”
We finished the hike on the fifth day with flying colors. Remi and I beat Tony, his brother and the mule almost everyday. Tony told me it was rare to have people who could out-walk him in the mountains. We climbed to the top of Pico Duarte (and several other small mountains and hills along the way). I can now check it off my list of “must-dos” while living in the DR. And if you ever find yourself in the DR, looking to climb the Caribbean’s highest peak, go to Mata Grande and ask for Tony. Tell him the guy who made mattresses, a chair and spear sent you.
Now, we are waiting for PC in Washington DC to send a check to our PC office in Santo Domingo. Once this happens, I will open a joint- account with my project partner and we will then start the process of buying all the books and supplies we need to make this library a reality.
I will keep my blog updated with the library’s progress. Hopefully within a few months, La Caya will have the small but need library it deserves! Thank you again!
Second: Remi and I returned home victoriously from our five-day mountain hike up Pico Duarte- the Caribbean’s highest mountain peak. It proved to be a long, hard and at times strenuous hike, but well worth the fight. It was beautiful, and it felt pretty incredible to be in the mountains again. Surprisngly for both of us, a lot of the trail reminded us of Nevada and California- more specifically where those two worlds collide: the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
The DR is an incredibly diverse island, and even on our five-day hike we witnessed this at great lengths. There would be times when we would be climbing at about 5000 feet and the air would be hot, the dirt dry and the smell of sagebrush (no lie) would linger. It honestly felt like we were hiking around Lake Tahoe, and after our day of good hiking, we could head over to T’s for some delicious tacos. And then, the trail would drop over a thousand feet in altitude and as we climbed down, we would be walking through a swampy kind of Caribbean wonderland, all the while being shaded by bamboo trees. At these moments, it felt like monkeys could be flying above us searching for fruit in the tall trees.
The trail continued like this for all five days, up and down, up and down. It felt like we climbed about 10 mountains before we actually got to Pico Duarte. It took us 2.5 days to get to Pico Duarte and then 2.5 days back. I never would have thought it would take just as long to get back as it did to get there, but seriously with all our ups and downs, I believe it now.
The five days were as follows: the first day we hiked 18 kilometers, the second day 12k, the third day 26k, the fourth12k again and the fifth 18k again. Everyday we would end at a different camp ground along the trail, which had old wooden houses with open fire pit stoves in them for us to sleep and cook in. On the third day, we actually climbed up to Pico Duarte and back down again to our campsite in the “Valley de Boa.”
I actually thought the hardest days were the second and fourth, because they had the steepest ups and downs, even though they were the least amount distance-wise. However, after we finished the second day, we ended in the Valle de Boa, which is a vast valley with a river skirting the edge. The valley is at the base of La Pelona, which is the mountain you must climb before you actually reach Pico Duarte. The valley was beautiful, and we stayed there two nights, as we summated Pico Duarte and returned to the valley in one day.
Climbing Pico Duarte on the third day was great. It took us about 5 hours to get from the Valley to the statue of Juan Pablo Duarte, which looms over the peak. The view from the top of Pico was spectacular and breath taking to say the least. You stand up there, the wind blowing, the Dominican flag soaring, and you see all the mountain ranges laid out in front of you. We were lucky enough to be there on a clear day, before the clouds rolled-in in the afternoon. It was almost scary, to be that high and to know how far down the bottom actually is.
I haven’t yet mentioned our guides. Although the hike can be done without guides, we took the advice of other PCV’s and hired a guide, Tony, 50-something-years-old) from Mata Grande- the town where the hike began. Much to our demise, Tony insisted that we needed two guides (him and his 70-year-old brother) and a mule. The mule was a great idea, because it carried our bags up and down the mountain, and Remi and I only had to bring a daypack each with us for water and snacks and such. Although Remi and I really didn’t need two guides, now that it is all over with, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
The brother, the 70-year-old, literally drank rum and smoked the ENTIRE time. Not joking you, climbing the mountain, going down the mountain, at camp, the guy always had a cigarette and a flask. And his cigarettes were not regular cigarettes. He hand rolled them all… with lined paper. Like paper you use in school, out of notebook. No filter, no nothing, just tobacco and lined paper. On the third day, he followed us up Pico Duarte on the mule, while Tony stayed back at camp with our bags. He always gave us a head start and when we were about ½ way up La Pelona, I could smell his tobacco and I knew he was coming.
Both Tony and his brother were skinny, toothless, Dominican country men. They had spent most of their lives in those mountains and knew them like the backs of their hands. Tony cooked dinner for us every night, which consisted of rice and beans or rice and lentils. We ate salami and cheese for lunch and after our day was done hiking, Tony would treat us to burnt coffee or over-sugared hot chocolate. It was great, I wouldn’t have wanted it another way.
The guides loved Remi too. As most of you know, Remi is quite handy in the great-outdoors, and he proved this to me and our guides without having to speak any Spanish. The first night he and I froze in our sleeping bags, because we didn’t have a sleeping pad or anything. The next night and all that followed, Remi made us mattresses out of pine needles and soft fern branches. Tony told me we should sell them to people.
At our second campsite, there weren’t enough chairs around the fire, so Remi built one out of three sticks, old rope he found on the ground a rock. Our guides couldn’t get enough of it, and each sat on it with amazement. The third night, Remi was bored and so he literally welded a spear out of an old tent pipe he found on the ground. The guides kept looking at him and then telling me what he was doing in Spanish. It was pretty hilarious, because even though Rem speaks no Spanish, the guides were impressed with him to say the least. The entire five-days they kept looking at him like, “what crazy thing is he going to do next?”
We finished the hike on the fifth day with flying colors. Remi and I beat Tony, his brother and the mule almost everyday. Tony told me it was rare to have people who could out-walk him in the mountains. We climbed to the top of Pico Duarte (and several other small mountains and hills along the way). I can now check it off my list of “must-dos” while living in the DR. And if you ever find yourself in the DR, looking to climb the Caribbean’s highest peak, go to Mata Grande and ask for Tony. Tell him the guy who made mattresses, a chair and spear sent you.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Not related to work, but related to fun...
It has been a few weeks since I’ve updated. April has gone quickly and it has helped by having two wonderful visitors from the good ol’ US of A (one of which is still here).
My good friend Kerrie came for her spring break during the last few days of March and into the first few days of April. Kerrie is a sixth grade teacher back home, and also my traveling partner for life. We met while studying abroad in
While Kerrie was here, it was actually Semaña Santa, which basically means “Holy Week.” It’s the week before Easter, and the entire country of the DR has the week off to spend time with family and go to church. Although, some people actually do this, most people spend the week drinking too much and acting crazy. Kerrie and I decided with all of this in mind, the best way to celebrate Semaña Santa and her visit to the DR would be to head to the one and only, Cabarate.
Cabarate is a magical place on the north coast, which is more like
Joining us was also a few of my Peace Corps friends, which made the week that much more enjoyable. Together, we journey along the
Although being in Cabarate, or the north coast in general, wasn’t real life, Kerrie did experience real Dominican life by riding on the “guaguas.” The guaguas are the Dominican term for any kind of vehicle that can hold more than five people. Mostly, however, the term guagua is used for buses and vans. We rode in nice buses with air conditioning, old vans that were literally rusting away and bigger vans that were meant for 15 people or so and crammed 22. There’s nothing like sitting in a two-person seat with five people, one of which is a very large woman holding her young granddaughter, the other an older man, with a sack full of chickens squawking as loud as they can. I’m not saying Kerrie got the enjoyment of squawking chickens, but I am saying it happens.
The second-to-last day Kerrie was here, we stopped off the road to
Basically, it’s awesome. And basically, you feel like you’re in a scene from
Kerrie left on Easter Sunday, but it was an awesome week filled with friends, good food and adventures- the way Kerrie and I do most of our traveling experiences together.
A few days later, the one-and-only Remi arrived and much to my luck is still here. He’ll actually be here until May 24, and the month of May is literally filled with our adventures. I am excited.
When he arrived, we went straight back to Cabarate and I got to enjoy another weekend of unreality. When I was there with Kerrie, I saw a restaurant on the beach that let you pick out your own lobster and eat it. As cliché as that is, the lobsters were HUGE and it was reason enough for me to want to bring Remi back the weekend he arrived into country.
Remi did in fact very much enjoy the over-sized lobster and after our weekend at the beach, we headed down south to
We’ve spent the last couple weeks in my site, enjoying the laid back life of the campo. Two weekends ago, we went back to Damajugua and did the 27 waterfalls again. It was just as good the second time for me, maybe even better, because we had just had a lot of rain, so the water was rushing and the slides were fast.
This week, I’m wrapping up my English classes and some other activities I’ve been doing in my town, like helping one of the teachers in my school a few times a week with her kindergarten and first grade class, because come Saturday, Remi and I will be hiking Pico Duarte.
Pico Duarte is the highest peak in the
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Help me build a Library
Dear Friends and Family,
I write to all of you to humbly ask for a favor. About a month ago, I applied for a grant through the Peace Corps office in Washington D.C. to help turn an unused room in the computer center I work at into a library for my community. Currently, there is no kind of library in my small Dominican town of La Caya. Yes, the school has books, but there is no place that any member of the community (no matter how young or old) can freely read a book.
The Dominican Republic has the second to worst education system in all of Latin America (only Haiti ranks lower). People here know what a book is, but more often than not do not see how much they can benefit their lives. Help me to change this. Help me show my community-- from the four-year-old who is learning the alphabet, to the single mom who loves Spanish romance novels (but has to go into the big cities to get these books), to the 85-year-old woman who wants to read about religion-- that discovering this information through books is as easy as walking to our center.
The Peace Corps grant I applied for is for just over US $4000. My community is donating around US $1000, by fund-raising for 50 books, providing the space and labor to install shelves, paint the walls and transform the now barren room into a one-of-a-kind space for our community.
This project cannot start until ALL of the money has been raised. I know times are tight in America. I understand that donating to a library in the Dominican Republic may not be your first priority, but please help me to do one small thing to better the lives of the people of La Caya, Dominican Republic forever.
If you are interested, copy and paste this link:
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=517-356
-OR- go to www.peacecorps.gov, click on DONATE NOW, type my last name ELIOPULOS into the search bar (you may have to do this twice) and my library will come up.
Thank you so much, and seriously, I do live on an island- COME VISIT!
-Stacie
I write to all of you to humbly ask for a favor. About a month ago, I applied for a grant through the Peace Corps office in Washington D.C. to help turn an unused room in the computer center I work at into a library for my community. Currently, there is no kind of library in my small Dominican town of La Caya. Yes, the school has books, but there is no place that any member of the community (no matter how young or old) can freely read a book.
The Dominican Republic has the second to worst education system in all of Latin America (only Haiti ranks lower). People here know what a book is, but more often than not do not see how much they can benefit their lives. Help me to change this. Help me show my community-- from the four-year-old who is learning the alphabet, to the single mom who loves Spanish romance novels (but has to go into the big cities to get these books), to the 85-year-old woman who wants to read about religion-- that discovering this information through books is as easy as walking to our center.
The Peace Corps grant I applied for is for just over US $4000. My community is donating around US $1000, by fund-raising for 50 books, providing the space and labor to install shelves, paint the walls and transform the now barren room into a one-of-a-kind space for our community.
This project cannot start until ALL of the money has been raised. I know times are tight in America. I understand that donating to a library in the Dominican Republic may not be your first priority, but please help me to do one small thing to better the lives of the people of La Caya, Dominican Republic forever.
If you are interested, copy and paste this link:
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=517-356
-OR- go to www.peacecorps.gov, click on DONATE NOW, type my last name ELIOPULOS into the search bar (you may have to do this twice) and my library will come up.
Thank you so much, and seriously, I do live on an island- COME VISIT!
-Stacie
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Mercedes' Walk
Dominicans crammed into a back of flatbed truck waiting to be taken home. Imagine seeing this on a highway, the truck going over 60 MPH and the people passing around beer bottles. Yes, it does happen.
Mercedes (in blue) walking back to her house with Cha Cha and Cha Cha's grandson.
People sitting on top of and inside the dugout in the baseball field watching the commotion.Yesterday my town played host to all neighboring towns for the start of Holy Week. Every year, a different town within the providence is chosen for this event. Whichever town is picked, people from all the other towns are supposed to walk there- in what I would imagine to honor Jesus' passion. Although it would have been crazy for these people to walk all the way to La Caya, many of them did start a mile or so out, or even half a mile and walk up to town. A pretty incredible feat, given that Dominicans hate to walk and it was ridiculously hot yesterday.
I have never seen my town so full of people. The one street leading into town was packed, with cars, motorcycles and people. Most of them I had never seen before. They all walked up to where the baseball field is, and there there was a tent set-up where the religious ceremony was happening. Although the purpose of the event was religious, most people were there to socialize.
The biggest thing, in my opinion, however that happened through all of this, is that the Grandma of the family I eat lunch with left the house to see what all the festivities were about! As I was walking around, being stared out for being the only American among all these people, I saw Mercedes (Grandma) walking down the street with her oldest daughter, Cha Cha. I instantly lit up inside and started to zig-zag my way through the crowd and was almost burned by a motorcycle exhaust pipe in my hurry. When I finally made it through the labyrinth of people, Cha-Cha saw me and gave me a huge smile as she simultaneously pointed to her mom walking through the crowd.
"Mama," I cheered! "You are here! With all these people. Are you okay?"
"Imagine!" Cha Cha answered. "We were sitting in the house and she (Mercedes) said she wanted to see all the people here, so I said, let's go! And look! She actually left and here we are together!"
I gave Mercedes a hug and Cha-Cha one too and I can't tell you how excited Cha Cha was to be walking around with her mom. Cha Cha then told me that it had been over a year since Mercedes had left the house.
Over a year! Mercedes has quite a few health problems, and she tires easily. Although she has energy to be awake and even do a few house chores, she doesn't like to leave the grounds of her house, not even to walk down the street to the market. Yesterday was the first time in over a year she's ventured further than the fence beyond her house.
It was an incredible moment to be apart of. Mercedes and Cha Cha only walked around for about 10 minutes before Mercedes wanted to go back home, but the energy and happiness that was beaming from Cha Cha left me feeling so content. As the hundreds of people in the street rested from their walk up to La Caya, in my mind there was only one person there whose walk really mattered.
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