Between Two Palms

Upper Middle: Dominican Man Under the Palm Tree
Big head taking up most of the picture: James

"Quizás seas mejor después de una cerveza," chuckled the Dominican Man Under the Palm Tree. I stand up on the line one more time, refusing James and Kathy's offers for support. I place my fit on the orange cord. A deep breath. As I exhale I push up on the cord, trusting it's tensile properties. I feel my feet leave the white sandy beach and for one second my confidence soars. And just as quickly it plummits as I lose my balance and softly touch the ground. The Dominican Man Under the Palm Tree smiles and thrusts a 3/4 filled Presidente forward with a few cups.

"That's very kind of you but I don't want to steal your beer," I responded in a gringo fashion. But the Dominican Man Under the Palm Tree insists, and his family joins in unison. I know it would be terribly rude to refuse the beer, even if it makes Keystone taste like this years best brew. I drink a few small cups and surprisingly after each I manage to get one more step. (It seems that each step is directly correlated to the number of drinks I have had although this relationship can hardly be linear). As we all take turns balancing on the rope, the family continues smiling, offering comments and ratings; even their children come to try the rope once. Within minutes of arriving at Bayahibe while it is raining, we had already made amigos. After just a few hours we were a little less gringo and a little more platanado.

Sorpresas in the sand!
This was one large cangrejo found in the sand by the family. 

There are many lines in this country, some more obvious than others. On the beach in  Bayahibe you could see the clear division (there is actually a line) between the touristy private beach and the side where we were with the Dominican families. There are places like Casa de Campo and Alta Chavón with 7,000 acres, two full golf courses, polo fields, several villas, shops, etc. Then there is La Romana and the rest of the Dominican Republic full of its daily struggles and incredible divisions between the wealthy and the impoverished. Every day I feel like I am walking on a slack line, balancing between one extreme and the other. On one side is my white skin where the associations of wealth, foreignness, and all other stereotypes prevail; on the other side is the extreme poverty and depression by which I am surrounded daily. This is a reality.

Baby Cangrejos

So today, I keep trying, taking one step at a time, balancing between being foreign and a persona de confianza who the Dominicans can trust. And I'm learning to fall all the while.

It's raining now, and the Dominican family begins stir. Our Amigo Under the Palm Tree smiles at us and wishes us the best. There were no lines or judgments separating us, and de hecho there never was...

El Principio - The Beginning...

I turn on the TV in our house. It seems that New York is experiencing record high temperatures approaching triple digits. I have spent six days now under the dictatorship of Don Heat and his advisor Don Humidity in the Dominican Republic. I cannot help but feel cheated; my one-up stories for spending the summer locked in a sauna that has short-circuited begin to fade away. I open my computer and I read the temperature of La Romana... 88 degrees, nothing like the "feels like 98 degrees" in New York. But then I read further... The phrase "It feels like" catches my attention: 101 degrees Fahrenheit. It seems I still have three degrees in my favor...

Despite the feeling that a warm, moist blanket is slowly suffocating me and the fact that after a shower I cannot tell if the I am wiping off more water or more sweat, there is something else that predominates in the air, something that allows me to tolerate this heat and stifling humidity, something that I think the Dominicans in New York have been trying to explain to me for this past year: there is something magical in the air that makes this place enchanting.

The Dominican Republic is a beautiful and unique country. Despite the stifling heat, most people continue wearing pants. In fact, the mode of dress in this country, at least in La Romana, coincides greatly with the perception of who you are. If you dress in shorts, sunglasses, and carry a camera around, well you definitely will be labeled as a tourist; if you wear speedos on the beach, you are probably European. (Contrastingly, most Dominican men wear there T-shirts into the water, a style that will not be appearing anytime soon on Cosmo's acceptable list of appropriate items to wear to the beach.) And no matter how hard I try to blend in, there's no escaping the fact that I will still be a gringo (foreigner/white person).

Nevertheless, trying to sum up the Dominican Republic in a few words is a great injusticia. The reality is, this county has too much culture, too much riqueza, and definitely too many nights of bachata, merengue, and salsa to do it any justice en pocas palabras. So instead, if you're willing, let me take you on a journey through streets were "motos" (small, rambunctious motorcycles) with as many as five people on them dominate the streets; where mangos, avocados, passionfruit, soursop (guanábana), etc., grow in your backyard; where poverty clashes with prosperity; and where the language is rapid, the culture rich, and the food always delicious. 

And, at the end of this journey, perhaps, just maybe, you'll see why this place is so...

...magical.