Here in the Dominican Republic it is Independence Day and also maybe the end of Carnaval - these little details are incredibly unimportant and if a silly American girl asks you about them you should probably just hand her a rum and coke and turn up the music.
I am just here to tell you about the noise really - I was so excited that today was a National Holiday and that I was going to get to sleep in to all sorts of crazy hours (because that's so different from my normal life, but still, National Government sanctioned sleeping-in just feels different) but those plans were abruptly and rudely exterminated by the Party of all Parties that is happening all across this half of the island, starting at 9am SHARP (Dominicans are nothing in life if not SERIOUS about the PARTY).
I mean, seriously people, this is a small island. There are just not that many people living here. How can it be possible for them to sustain this decible level?
I am going to a friend's house down by the Malecon later to watch the parade from her roof. In the meantime, I am dancing, no matter what else I am doing, for there is music literally everywhere.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
PARTY!PARTY!PARTY!
Here in the Dominican Republic it is Independence Day and also maybe the end of Carnaval - these little details are incredibly unimportant and if a silly American girl asks you about them you should probably just hand her a rum and coke and turn up the music.
I am just here to tell you about the noise really - I was so excited that today was a National Holiday and that I was going to get to sleep in to all sorts of crazy hours (because that's so different from my normal life, but still, National Government sanctioned sleeping in just feels different) but those plans were abruptly and rudely exterminated by the Party of all Parties that is happening all across this half of the island, starting at 9am SHARP (Dominicans are nothing in life if not SERIOUS about the PARTY).
I mean, seriously people, this is a small island. There are just not that many people living here. How can it be possible for them to sustain this decible level?
I am going to a friend's house down by the Malecon to watch the parade from her roof. In the meantime, I am dancing, no matter what else I am doing, for there is music literally everywhere.
I am just here to tell you about the noise really - I was so excited that today was a National Holiday and that I was going to get to sleep in to all sorts of crazy hours (because that's so different from my normal life, but still, National Government sanctioned sleeping in just feels different) but those plans were abruptly and rudely exterminated by the Party of all Parties that is happening all across this half of the island, starting at 9am SHARP (Dominicans are nothing in life if not SERIOUS about the PARTY).
I mean, seriously people, this is a small island. There are just not that many people living here. How can it be possible for them to sustain this decible level?
I am going to a friend's house down by the Malecon to watch the parade from her roof. In the meantime, I am dancing, no matter what else I am doing, for there is music literally everywhere.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Hello folks. It's strange, I know, but I've actually been busy this past week. I know, shocking. :) It's quite lovely. I spent Sunday through Tuesday in a tiny little town - Las Galeras - located on the very tip of the Samana peninsula(http://www.hotelmoorea.com/en/description.html). It's whale season in the DR - every year between January and March hundreds of humpback whales make their way to the north coast to partake in the glorious Caribbean winter. Seriously people, you know how I was doing nothing but complaining about the heat a couple of months ago? Well, I just had an interview with an organization in DC and when the interviewer started the interview by saying that it must be nicer in the DR than it is in DC right now I had to restrain myself from spending the whole hour bragging about how much I love the climate where I live right now. It's nice. Really, really nice. Really, really, really nice. Ok, stopping now.
But whale season. So we went to the north coast, to this tiny little town with one main street and stayed in this wonderful little rustic bungalow with a loft for sleeping, and one of the most stunning beaches I've ever seen. And we went whale watching, which ended up being less like whale watching, and more like wave watching. We spent probably about 4 hours in a 15-foot dingy riding up and down monster waves with no whales in sight. Sigh. Guess I'll just have to make it back up there before the end of March. Life is really rough sometimes, I tell you.
And then since I've been back I've actually had WORK to do!!! I know!!! It's a ... Valentine's Day miracle! (somehow that just doesn't work as well as "Christmas Miracle"...hmmmm) So I'm prepping for interviews and starting to think about what I'm going to be doing with myself in the next year-ish, which is actually taking up a good amount of time, AND I'm actually moving forward on a project for the Department of Education. I KNOW!
I had a meeting about two and a half weeks ago with this woman I know who works for the Department of Education, and she assigned me to this large and nebulous, but quite exciting project. However! I finally had a follow-up meeting with her this week and got a much more clear and exact description of what the project was and a personal-sized, clear assignment! It's so exciting people! The project is a "Godfathering" program run by the Department of Education which connects schools and businesses to create supportive relationships. It has been allowed to lapse over the last 3 or 4 years, and so the woman I am working with is in charge of reviving it. Right now I am working on an analysis of schools that submitted applications to the program in 2004. SO EXCITING. :)
And in other news....pictures from last weekend!
In the boat, setting out.
There was a big collective of little kitchens all under one big communal roof on the beach. I loved these two signs - the one one the left says "Sweet Cafeteria" and the one on the right "God and Ana Maria are Here"
But whale season. So we went to the north coast, to this tiny little town with one main street and stayed in this wonderful little rustic bungalow with a loft for sleeping, and one of the most stunning beaches I've ever seen. And we went whale watching, which ended up being less like whale watching, and more like wave watching. We spent probably about 4 hours in a 15-foot dingy riding up and down monster waves with no whales in sight. Sigh. Guess I'll just have to make it back up there before the end of March. Life is really rough sometimes, I tell you.
And then since I've been back I've actually had WORK to do!!! I know!!! It's a ... Valentine's Day miracle! (somehow that just doesn't work as well as "Christmas Miracle"...hmmmm) So I'm prepping for interviews and starting to think about what I'm going to be doing with myself in the next year-ish, which is actually taking up a good amount of time, AND I'm actually moving forward on a project for the Department of Education. I KNOW!
I had a meeting about two and a half weeks ago with this woman I know who works for the Department of Education, and she assigned me to this large and nebulous, but quite exciting project. However! I finally had a follow-up meeting with her this week and got a much more clear and exact description of what the project was and a personal-sized, clear assignment! It's so exciting people! The project is a "Godfathering" program run by the Department of Education which connects schools and businesses to create supportive relationships. It has been allowed to lapse over the last 3 or 4 years, and so the woman I am working with is in charge of reviving it. Right now I am working on an analysis of schools that submitted applications to the program in 2004. SO EXCITING. :)
And in other news....pictures from last weekend!
In the boat, setting out.
Unsuccessful whale-searching
Awesome fisherman and his fish (dorado for those who are interested)
Playa Fronton
The Playa again
There was a big collective of little kitchens all under one big communal roof on the beach. I loved these two signs - the one one the left says "Sweet Cafeteria" and the one on the right "God and Ana Maria are Here"
Friday, February 8, 2008
It sneaks up on you in this city, its old, violent, mysterious, and not a little bit romantic origins. So much of the city feels new – not new in shiny, chrome, Big Apple, modern architecture way, but new in a more homespun, necessary way – the humidity and susceptibility to serious weather mean that heavy structures don’t last long without major and constant renovations.
Along the coasts here (or at least the coasts that do not boast big resorts) you see these small shacks – structures that are really just boxes made of wooden planks covered with sheets of plastic or metal. I always find myself, sitting on a bus watching them skip by through the window, thinking about how when a storm comes through, these flimsy houses, sitting right on the beach like that, must just get washed out to sea or scattered among the lines of palms standing against their back walls. Obviously economic factors are key here - these are cheap, perhaps free, building materials, and most anyone can put together a structure like that, with a minimum of effort and difficulty. But I also have come to wonder if there isn’t a part of it that is that yes, storms destroy the houses, but having a house that is easy to rebuild makes more sense than having one that is difficult to rebuild, given the fact of living so close to the edge of the sea, living so much more in direct contact with the basic precariousness of our situation on earth. A brick and mortar house, perched on sandy soil at the edge of ocean will be splintered and washed away by the storms that rage over this island, just as a wooden hut will, their “order” giving way to the infinitely more powerful and inevitable chaos of the sea.
And although Santo Domingo does not sit on the sand, it is most definitely perched right at the edge of the ocean. I live on the very edge of the ocean. Did you know that? I have to admit, that this city is so dense, so very intense and loud and consuming that I very often forget this fact, living all of two blocks away from lapping waves. I often find myself walking or driving down to the Malecon, and when I hit that street, and suddenly the buildings give way to palms and then suddenly, ocean as far as the eye can see, I am habitually surprised. Ocean! Did you know?!
So even without the precariousness of the sand, and even though so much of the city is not directly next to the water since it extends for many miles away from the Malecon in all directions, the weather does not allow much to stand for long. Which means that much is new here, belying the age and complexity of this city and its history. In the Zona Colonial however, driving in a taxi around a dark corner or strolling on a Sunday afternoon with frozen yogurt in hand, these centenarians appear, and instead of being consumed, as you were a minute earlier, with the thoughts of the date you are late for or the absolute deliciousness of the pineapple, raspberry, and blackberry combination you chose for your frozen yogurt mix, you suddenly see Columbus and priests and many Spaniards, here to terminate who knows how many years of indigenous order and fit the Old World arrangement into the New, like a little child, determined to make a square peg fit into a round hole.
The grand Basílica which takes up one side of the main park in the Zona, the Parque Colón, is perhaps chief of these buildings. It is the oldest such building in the New World, and was intended to be the religious center of the West Indies and the base for converting all of the indigenous people of the Americas. A pretty intense purpose for one stone and mortar building, no? This building somehow manages to live up to its history however, in a way that not that many buildings in my experience do. It is intense and brooding, and watches the square and the all the merriment happening within it with a forbidding eye.
I see one of its cupolas peeking up over the skyline from streets away and am suddenly reminded of its presence. I suddenly find myself strolling along one of lengthy sides and suddenly am located in a city where I hardly ever know where I am. It sneaks up on me, in places where I least expect to see it, and silently states its deep, dark, romantic purpose. Spaniards, streaming over the sides of ships, causing havoc which reverberates into the present day.
Along the coasts here (or at least the coasts that do not boast big resorts) you see these small shacks – structures that are really just boxes made of wooden planks covered with sheets of plastic or metal. I always find myself, sitting on a bus watching them skip by through the window, thinking about how when a storm comes through, these flimsy houses, sitting right on the beach like that, must just get washed out to sea or scattered among the lines of palms standing against their back walls. Obviously economic factors are key here - these are cheap, perhaps free, building materials, and most anyone can put together a structure like that, with a minimum of effort and difficulty. But I also have come to wonder if there isn’t a part of it that is that yes, storms destroy the houses, but having a house that is easy to rebuild makes more sense than having one that is difficult to rebuild, given the fact of living so close to the edge of the sea, living so much more in direct contact with the basic precariousness of our situation on earth. A brick and mortar house, perched on sandy soil at the edge of ocean will be splintered and washed away by the storms that rage over this island, just as a wooden hut will, their “order” giving way to the infinitely more powerful and inevitable chaos of the sea.
And although Santo Domingo does not sit on the sand, it is most definitely perched right at the edge of the ocean. I live on the very edge of the ocean. Did you know that? I have to admit, that this city is so dense, so very intense and loud and consuming that I very often forget this fact, living all of two blocks away from lapping waves. I often find myself walking or driving down to the Malecon, and when I hit that street, and suddenly the buildings give way to palms and then suddenly, ocean as far as the eye can see, I am habitually surprised. Ocean! Did you know?!
So even without the precariousness of the sand, and even though so much of the city is not directly next to the water since it extends for many miles away from the Malecon in all directions, the weather does not allow much to stand for long. Which means that much is new here, belying the age and complexity of this city and its history. In the Zona Colonial however, driving in a taxi around a dark corner or strolling on a Sunday afternoon with frozen yogurt in hand, these centenarians appear, and instead of being consumed, as you were a minute earlier, with the thoughts of the date you are late for or the absolute deliciousness of the pineapple, raspberry, and blackberry combination you chose for your frozen yogurt mix, you suddenly see Columbus and priests and many Spaniards, here to terminate who knows how many years of indigenous order and fit the Old World arrangement into the New, like a little child, determined to make a square peg fit into a round hole.
The grand Basílica which takes up one side of the main park in the Zona, the Parque Colón, is perhaps chief of these buildings. It is the oldest such building in the New World, and was intended to be the religious center of the West Indies and the base for converting all of the indigenous people of the Americas. A pretty intense purpose for one stone and mortar building, no? This building somehow manages to live up to its history however, in a way that not that many buildings in my experience do. It is intense and brooding, and watches the square and the all the merriment happening within it with a forbidding eye.
I see one of its cupolas peeking up over the skyline from streets away and am suddenly reminded of its presence. I suddenly find myself strolling along one of lengthy sides and suddenly am located in a city where I hardly ever know where I am. It sneaks up on me, in places where I least expect to see it, and silently states its deep, dark, romantic purpose. Spaniards, streaming over the sides of ships, causing havoc which reverberates into the present day.
Monday, February 4, 2008
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