El mes de la patria: Carnaval vegano

<<<diablo cojüelo. that yellow thing he's holding? he whacks you with it and it hurts.


February is 'el mes de la patria'. The whole month is dedicated to celebrating the Dominican Republic's proud history and, if you happen to own a grocery store, getting people to buy more food for discounted prices. Because Independence Day is February 27th and Lent also begins in February, the Church found it convenient to steer the meaning of Carnaval away from its traditional association with Lent--days and days of debauchery before we start denying ourselves in the name of our Lord--to celebrating Independence. Heaven forbid revelry have anything to do with the Church.

La Vega, about an hour and a half outside of Santo Domingo, is where the most famous Carnaval celebrations happen each year, on every Sunday in February. La Vega's best known for its diablos cojüelos. Groups of people picked by committee dress in flashy, terrifying devil costumes beat the crap out of people. Last Sunday, I went on a tour with a friend's friends. For the small fee of 1,100 pesos (about USD35), we got a bus ride in a comfy coach, open bar on the bus, a quick dip in an ice cold river, lunch at a cute restaurant, a few hours in La Vega at Carnval, and a ride back. Even though we left the capital at about 8:30, they were playing loud reggaeton, and dancing and talking (shouting) in the aisle. Dominicans are nonstop. I was tipsy by 11 and mildly hungover by 2.

Carnval itself was fun but a little bit scary. The night before, one of the bartenders at our favorite spot said the diablos are more likely to hit you if you have a big butt. Actually, they target women, especially any woman who's scantily clad. Being as narrow as I am, I mostly escaped the wrath of the diablos, but one of my friends got hit really hard because she has thick hips. Never thought I'd be grateful for my small butt. Aside from the diablos, there were tons and tons of people, most of whom are drunk and dancing to the competing sound systems from the company tents.

We had to fight our way back through the crowd to get to the bus. I was absolutely exhausted and managed to sleep some of the way back, even though the kid sitting next to me was singing along to cheesy ballads. The people on the tour were all really cool though, and we've started hanging out with them.

'Ella no habla español muy bien.' (Coño, pt. 2)

February is 'mes de la patria' in the Dominican Republic. The entire month is dedicated to celebrating the history of the country. Unbeknownst to me, yesterday was Dia de la bandera, or Flag Day. I'd had a meeting with the head of the organization I'm volunteering with, and 5 minutes from where I was supposed to be, traffic ground to a halt. I was sitting in a carro publico that was stuck behind a bus for about 15 minutes before the driver said, 'The Park is closed'. Parque Independencia is more or less where the Zona Colonial, the part of Santo Domingo that dates back to the 16th century, begins. Parque Independencia was beautiful in its prime, but now it's a pick-up place for prostitutes once it gets dark.

After going through the tiny side streets in the Zona, my driver dropped me off in the middle of El Conde, the main street and shopping district of the Zona Colonial. I arrived at the Parque after a few blocks, only to be stopped by a gathering of about a hundred people, middle school and high school students. A few vendors handed out flags and in the distance, I heard some sort of marching band. I stepped carefully down the ruined sidewalks to the otherside of the parade--in 4 inch heels, mind you--and then realized I wasn't quite sure where I needed to go. I asked a man in some sort of uniform that led me to believe he would know what the hell he was talking about. As soon as he realized I wasn't Dominican, he stopped listening. I said, very clearly, I thought, that I was looking for the street 16 de Agosto. He didn't seem to understand me, so I just handed him the address. He asked a fruit vendor next to him, and the woman began explaining to me where the street was and the officer jumped right in and said, 'Ella no habla español muy bien'. That is infuriating. No, I don't speak the best Spanish, but I sure as hell know enough to know that you're being rude in front of my face. I'm American but I'm not stupid. Just have some patience! This wasn't the first time that a Dominican decided to just write me off just because I speak Spanish with an accent (wow, it's weird to think of myself as having an accent). If I take a half a second to respond, it's not that I'm stupid, it's only that it takes me a bit to process what you've said. Also, Dominican men mumble like no one's business, so half the time I just haven't heard you.

Between the two officers and the fruit lady, it's decided that it would be best for the officer to lead the poor stupid girl to where she needs to go. The man took me in the very same direction I came from (back through the parade) until he stopped at another vendor to ask him where the address was. The vendor turned to me to explain at which point the officer again said, 'Ella no habla español muy bien'. I was so ready to tell him where to go but I decided it was best to keep my mouth shut. Imagine how I felt when he pointed me down the street, only to for me to find out that I was going in the right direction by myself and was originally only a block or so from where I needed to be. I was absolutely furious when I finally (finally!) arrived to the office, pouring sweat and out of breath. Once things got moving, I calmed down, but I still get mad when I think about it. I'm having one of those weeks where I'm sick of being a foreigner.


Links
Dia de la Bandera from a local newspaper (in Spanish, but can be translated)

Coño!

Yesterday was not my day. I got up early to go to the library in the public university to get a book that's supposed to be on reserve for my class "Fundamentos de la historia social de la la Republica Domincana" (Fundamentals of social history of the Dominican Republic). When I woke up, I felt like I'd been hit by a bus. I haven't been sleeping well for the past few nights, and the bed in Dona Josefina's houses is kind of uncomfortable sometimes. So when I got to the university, I was dazed and not at all prepared to communicate effectively with native Spanish speakers. I found the library, which is so big, it's scary. There are two huge staircases on either side and there were tons of people milling around. I managed just enough Spanish to be told I need to go to the third floor to find the reserve desk. The book isn't there. All five copies were checked out. Lovely, as class started in just over an hour (I was a little behind schedule because we'd had a blackout and my back hurt too much for me to suffer through a cold shower).

In class, it turned out that nearly no one in the class had done the reading except the people who were presenting the material to us. Sadly, even our presenters weren't safe; the professor chewed them out for talking about the minutae of Carlos I's birth when there were more important historiographical issues at hand. You would think that this sort of thing would cut our 3-hour class really short but no, never that. We were told about the importance of taking responsibility for our education, the opportunity we were being given, and then a bunch of other stuff I both tuned out and couldn't understand.

I booked it out of the classroom when we were finally released because I had a headache and I was starving. The campus at this university, La UASD (pronounced laWAHS. The 'd' disappears), is a city in itself. There are street names and traffic and stray dogs, almost as if you were in a miniature Santo Domingo. I was lost inside the campus for a half hour.

I finally made it back to my house, only to find that the electricity had gone out again! The Dominican Republic has a huge problem with blackouts. This time, the water had also gone. I thought it wasn't a big deal because I was leaving to come to the program office to use the computer but no sooner do I start writing a cover letter for a summer internship do the lights go out again! They came back really quickly but the computers were gone for good. Christ.

Words:
Mierda! Se fue la luz!--Shit! The lights went out.

Old Home(sick) Week

As much fun as I'm having, I've been really homesick this week. I guess it's about time, seeing as how I've been in Santo Domingo for about 6 weeks now. When I go out and hear salsa, I miss my dad. After getting a present from Julia and a birthday card from Natalie, I really realized that I have such great friends that are in this fabulous city. Without me. And of course, I miss The Boy, what with it being Valentine's Day (or Week, the way people are here). My host sister's boyfriend came and decked out her room with paper heart cutouts and balloons and flowers and heart-shaped candles and a sign that said, 'Te amo, bebe'. Oy.

So, just know that I'm thinking about all of you up there, freezing to death and doing comfortingly normal things, like buying kosher pigs in a blanket from Westside Market at 4 A.M. Miss you guys.

Spelunker extraordinaire

Last weekend was sopping wet, which sucks when you're deep in the woods. The program took us to Cueva de las Maravillas (Cave of Marvels? Sounds less cheesy in Spanish), which is a cave turned museum that has lots of Taino cave drawings. And bats. And tarantulas, apparently. As weird as it sounds, the cave had great lighting; the parks organization turned about a third of the cave into a museum with nice, smooth paths. So much for hardcore spelunking.

The second stop on our trip let me get more in touch with my inner Jane of the Jungle (anyone remember that crappy video game? It was great). The bus took us to a hotel called Caño Hondo in Los Haitises, a huge national park in the eastern part of the country. The hotel is gorgeous. It's made of wood and stones and there are waterfalls all through the property. We put our things in our rooms and went into the woods for a guided hike. The guide somethings about the local flora and fauna that I´m sure was really interesting, but I can't remember any of it now. 3.7 kilometers and a million mud puddles later, and a cave (this time, without smooth paths), we got back to the hotel.

That night, we had a great dinner and danced a bit. I then stayed up until 5 A.M. talking to kids in the program. Feels like I never left school.

Saturday morning, the program directors dragged us out of bed at 8:00 for some whale watching. I'm all for seeing Shamu in his natural habit, but this was my worst whale watching experience ever. The boat was tiny--maybe 25 feet long, and even that, I think, is being generous. It was a delightfully overcast day and the waves were big. 30 minutes in, I got seasick. 10 minutes later I was laying on my side, covered by one of the ugly yellow raincoats the tour guides gave us. I felt nauseous and weak and dizzy and lightheaded; at one point, I actually thought I would pass out. The only thing to do was to make myself take a nap. I could hear everyone going, 'Oooo! Aahh! Whales!' but I could not lift my head from the seat. When I woke up, we'd docked my this beautiful restaurant, but for our first 20 minutes on dry land, I couldn't look at food. When I heard we would have to get back on the boat to get back to the hotel, I immediately started feeling seasick again.

Once on dry land for good, I took a nap. My group played a lovely game of musical chairs and 'baile de la escoba' (dance of the broom), where everyone has a dancing partner except one person, who has the broom. When the music stop, everyone has to run around and find a different partner so they won't get stuck with the broom. It was a lot of fun. I love how every now and then our program allows us to regress to the kiddie birthday party games. Baila de la escoba turned into a spontaneous dance party. I think I'm getting the hand of this merengue business. I'll report back once I go out again.

It rained all day Sunday, so I spent a few hours playing dominoes before we all boarded the bus back to Santo Domingo. Mind you, this is the same rain that had kept our clothes wet and smelly for the weekend.

Oops.

I'm an idiot. People from Santo Domingo are called capitaleños, not capitalistas. Here's to fact checking.


Don't laugh.

Ay, cono

Craptastic day yesterday. I had a hard time getting to my class in this huge university that's more like a city than a school, I got lost trying to get back to the program's office (how many guaguas and carro publicos does it take to go a mile?), it rained as soon as I got my hair done, and I closed the gate on my hand when I got home.

Fortunately, I have great friends back at school. Julia sent me a birthday present and Natalie sent me a birthday card. Thanks again, guys!

Lo ma' heavy en la musica latina

I hear this song wherever I go, all the time, at least once a day and I absolutely love it. It's called Chambonea by Omega. I finally managed to get a hold of one of one of his CDs. Here's a crap YouTube video that at least lets you listen to the song. This is some sort of super extended version but it's OK. The more Omega, the better. He apparently performed in Santo Domingo last Friday, but no one knew where, which is surprising because he's so popular.



Disfrute!

Cabarete, pt. 2

Because Cabarete is such a touristy area [there are lots of Germans that come; the menus at a lot of the restaurants are in English, Spanish and German], you see a lot of prostitutes. It breaks my heart. When we went to Sosua for the concert, the first band we heard wasn't that great, so we found a cute little bar. There were some women sitting at tables on the sidewalk and Natalie, one of the girls that I went with, said to me, "Most of these women are prostitutes". Sure enough, within 10 minutes, one of the women from outside was pumping this American tourist full of Presidente and inviting him to cop a feel. The bar was called Bar Las Flores. Shakespeare would've appreciated the irony. It's so sad how many prostitutes there are here; after 9:00, I can't walk down the street without tripping over one. Sex tourism is big in the Dominican Republic. It's weird to think that people travel to other countries just to have sex with prostitutes, and a lot of the customers look normal, like Bill in accounting, but there are also the sleazy fat old men. I saw an enormous American man walking down the beach in Sosua with three prostitutes, none of whom could've been older than I am, and they were all fighting for his attention like little kids. I could go on about the commodification of the non-white female body but it'd just be too depressing.

I'll be volunteering with an organization that both helps sex workers stay safe and trains them for other types of work.

iz mah birfday, pt. 2

One of the biggest birthday highlights: my parents FedExed me a pound cake for my birthday! It got to me on my birthday, intact and smelling good. It tastes great, too [thanks, Ma!]. I only had one class, and everyone sang happy birthday to me, both the translated Spanish version, and the real Spanish/Dominican version. If I can find the lyrics, I'll post them because they're really sweet. They say something about you being a gift from God.

I had a less-than-great experience at a hairdresser, but I wanted my hair to look nice for the club. I'm starting to find that when people realize you're not a native speaker, they just turn off and stop listening. I'm sitting there trying to explain to this ridiculous woman that I don't want my hair to have a ton of volume and she just sucks her teeth and points to this other girl in the salon that speaks English, and the girl more or less says the same thing I said to them [in Spanish] using slightly different words.

I went home to my host family, and the sisters, Dona Josefina, and 4 other girls shared a chocolate cake and Coke with me. Dona Josefina's family always does biscocho y refresco [cake and soda, usually Coke]. I wanted to go to a club in the Zona Colonial, but we decided it'd be best to stop by Ladies' Night at Vamvu [pronounced Bamboo] House because 1) that's where everyone was and 2) we could get free drinks before heading out. It seemed like half the people from the program plus our friends from the colmado were there. I got a cigar as a present from one of the students. This week, there were other people in Vamvu House, including one very pushy, very small Dominican man. He danced really close and told me he liked morenas and not white girls and that I needed a Dominican boyfriend. Rachel talked the bartender into giving me free drinks for the night so I would stay. It was a great time. And yes, I remember everything that happened.

Word of the day:
borracha-drunk
Yo estaba bien borracha: I was really drunk.