DR

I was 17 when I went to the DR for the first time. It was when I first met Eduardo and eventually fell in love with him, but that place was much more to me from the beginning.

There is something unique and absolutely exquisite about Dominican culture. It is happiness and optimism. There is always reason to smile, to laugh, to dance. In the face of whatever hardship, in the Dominican Republic, the outlook is always positive. There are electric outages that make you so hot and stifled, but lovely ocean breezes that make you feel full of life. There is trash in the streets sometimes, but always amazing coastline and the most pristine aqua blue sea you have ever seen. There is less to "do" than in the U.S. but there are open air bars with cheap cold beer and bachata and reggae music blaring with people who will dance unabashedly until dawn.

Here's the thing. I had kind of forgotten about that stuff. The good stuff. Over the past few years, I'd lost my appreciation for the country that got under my skin so many years ago. And this time around, I found it.

I had a few days alone in Santo Domingo staying in a hotel in the most beautiful square of the city. Across a plaza from the first cathedral of the New World, adjacent to a park where men smoke cigars and women smile and pigeons put St. Mark's Square to shame. I read books and drank delicious strong but mellow coffee. I ate sandwiches with melted queso danes and borrowed a cigarette or two from German tourists who invited me to show them the real Santo Domingo. Done. We walked a few blocks and I showed them Ocho Puertas, the best bar in the world where I had the best conversations with the best people 10 short years ago.

Then, after some time of much needed solitude came the Zuber sisters. Neither had travelled to a developing country before. Italy or Australia, sure. But they had not been to a place where 40 men pile in the back of a pick-up truck or on top of a conversion van. Or where toddlers straddle their mamas and papas on motorcycles, helmetless. Just for example. Fortunately, both Zubers are outgoing, life-loving people who were ready to immerse completely. And, seeing them absorb and fall in love with Dominican culture was nostalgic and powerful for me. It reminded me of why I couldn't stay away from this place.

Upon their arrival, we headed to an all-inclusive resort half an hour from Santo Domingo. Not the best for cultural immersion you say? Au contraire. This particular place had no guests. Truly. There was a guy from Tampa, FL, a Canadian, a few missionaries, and us. Oh yeah, and a bunch of fantastic Dominicans on the entertainment staff. By nightfall our first night there, Brianna and Kelsey had mastered the basic Bachata steps, and within 24 hours had discovered how charming Dominican people can be. Friday and Saturday night wealthy Dominicans flooded the place and showed off their incredible Bachata technique, but we had already sealed ourselves in the hearts of the entertainment staff (equipo de animacion.)

The entertainment staff/ animation team was a group of folks there for the express purpose of making sure were, uh, animated. Having fun. And they also became our good friends. There were late night conversations over Presidente and Santo Libres about love and life and children and immigration and happiness peppered by Bob Marley, Akon, and of course, Aventura and Prince Royce. There was dancing until our shirts were soaked with perspiration. Because in the DR, you seal most everything with a dance.

On Saturday night, when the hotel discoteca closed at 2 a.m., there was much more fun to be had, so at the invitation of our animation team, we headed to Chocolate Bar, an open-air bar that showed equal appreciation for the Black eyed Peas and Antony Santos. There were men on motorcycles in the street outside the bar just as much a part of the scene as the folks inside the bar. There were Dominicans, Americans, Canadians, Haitians, and whoknowswhatelse. Every single person in that place was full of life. Most drunk, a few not, but all in motion. All feeling the beat. All in celebration. It was a place of no tears, no maudlin; only upbeat, only optimistic, perfectly Dominican.

A few of the animation team wondered aloud during our stay at the Talanquera Resort how I could have green eyes and be Dominican. No, no, I'm not Dominican. Just lived here for awhile. But you speak Dominican and dance Dominican. It's true, but I'd forgotten. And it was about time for me to remember.

On the last night we were in the DR, Johan was with us and our new dear friend Fosforito told me that you can tell by the way Johan stands, by the way that he walks, and the look in his eyes that he's Dominican. I suppose there's no denying that.

And the best part is that Johan's mama finally remembered all the wonderful pieces of the DR. I'm not sure when or how I forgot. But I need to make sure not to do that again. This little boy is apparently so Dominican that you can see it in his stance and before long, he will have perfected the Bachata step and put Prince Royce to shame. And we will go there every year and be reminded of the magical place it is, full of happiness and optimism. And even when we are not there, by the look in our eyes, you will know that we are.

And, well, if you're still reading this, you must care quite a lot about how I feel about the DR. So, you should probably come with us on our next adventure. Who's in?

Junto a Mi

We're back. There's so much I want to say. I'm still processing a lot of it. In some strange way, this trip to the DR was changing for me. It reminded me of the travels I used to take there many years ago. There was an incredible and positive energy for so many reasons. I'll go into it more later, but much of that positive energy was set to this newest, latest Bachata craze:


Call it cheesy, but let me tell you that under the stars and the palm trees, you would not be able to keep your feet or hips still and you would dance the whole night away. At least that's what we did, just not in shorts like the girls in the video.

Math

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= the best way to spend the last days of January.

Why We Don't Do That

Johan: We don't poop in the bathtub.

Me: You're right. We don't.

Johan: Because if we do, the water is hot and then there will be hot poop.

Me: That's one of the reasons, but there are lots of other reasons we don't do that, too.

Johan: We don't want hot poop.

Me: Good point.

Johan: So don't do that.

Bar Food

I just boiled some eggs and thought of Chile.

While we were studying in Chile, my friend Roisin always carried around a travel-size transportable shaker of salt with her. She really loves salt. I would tease her about it because, really, if we were at a restaurant and the food needed salt, they would have salt shakers on the table. This was Chile, not the U.S.S.R., you know?

Then one day we found ourselves in a bar and instead of peanuts or some sort of rice cracker mix, the bar food was hard boiled eggs. And they didn't have any salt. I guess Roisin had the last laugh as I asked to borrow her travel-size salt shaker.

I can't remember the name of that bar. Huevos Bar? No, that's too easy. How do you say bizarre in Chilean?

That's all for now.

Oh, yeah, and Johan and I are leaving for the Dominican Republic on Sunday. I will be spending a few days alone while Johan and Eduardo spend some time in the campo and before my friends Brianna and Kelsey. I am armed with plenty of books, New Yorkers, and sunscreen.

Dinner Conversation

I love dinner conversation. There is nothing I'd rather do than sit with witty and bright people at a table, eating a good meal, drinking good wine, and having good conversation. And I like it best when we sit at the table long after the meal is finished, laughing and talking.

When I was growing up, in both of my homes family dinner was important. It didn't happen every night but I liked when it did. I liked talking about our days, about politics, about ideas and plans, and how my dad would conduct the conversation according to the Federal Rules of Evidence.

During my years with Eduardo, the dinner table was sometimes too quiet for me. I think there are some cultural things associated with this. My experience in the DR is that Dominicans laugh and talk over beer or a game of dominoes, and certainly at the cock fights, but that dinner is really just a time to eat. Eduardo never wanted to discuss anything deep or serious or even funny over dinner.

Then, once things were less than stellar, we often would not even eat together. Or, if we did, I felt deeply the lack of robust conversation that I longed for.

Over that past couple of months, Johan and I have been at the dinner table together. Just the two of us. Recently, he's been really engaging at the dinner table. We share about our days and a couple nights ago he told me he was disappointed that he didn't get to do the Stretch and Grow class at school because we didn't sign up. We talked about how he'd like to do that and that I would talk to the director to make sure he got registered. It was such a special moment. It seems like a pretty small thing, but represents a lot to me. It means he understands that he can change his world for the better by talking about his needs and wants in a rational way.

And all of a sudden, I have a family where dinner table conversation is again an important part of the day. Pretty soon we'll be debating legislation and discussing articles in the New Yorker, but for now I'm happy to just stretch and grow with Johan. Pour us another cup of juice.

Moving On

It's hard, you know.

New Years is one of my favorite times of the year. I like reflecting on the year just finished, and making plans and goals for the upcoming year. 2010 was a hard one. I guess every year has hard times and good times. As my previous writing documented, it was a lot of ups and downs for me. I felt emotional and vulnerable and maybe let that get the best of me.

I want 2011 to be a year of less drama. When Eduardo and I first split, Paul and I were sitting on his couch and I told him I just wanted to skip over all this. All the pain and the worry and the heartache. And he said No way. He said you have to just be in it for awhile. There are going to be some times where you have to just be in the stillness and silence and feel sad. And it will be awful. But it will slowly start to get better.

I think I spent the last couple months of 2010 trying to prove Paul wrong. Trying to skip over the really hard stuff. Then it caught up with me toward the end of December and hit me like, well, you know, bricks.

I'm fortunate that I was able to leave Minnesota for a change of scenery. While a cruise is not necessarily a relaxing environment, I did get to do some (wobbly) yoga, sleep a lot, and be near the ocean. These are all things that help center me and that help me to find clarity.

2011 will need to be a time of rebuilding myself and my life. A time of finding balance. I'm somewhere in between ok and a mess. There are going to be some times where I just have to sit in the stillness and feel sad. There's not any drama to it. There's nothing really to fix. It's a process that just has to happen so that I can get to a new version of ok. It won't look really how I'd planned, but what does?

One of the philosophical questions that I struggle with is whether everything happens for a reason. I've written about it before and I've wondered about it for as long as I can remember. There is something comforting about predestination, but at the same time, there is some injustice that makes me think predetermination is pretty sadistic, and that the world must be just a random sequence of events.

I read a Henry David Thoreau quote the other day that I think strikes some balance between destiny and randomness.

"If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment."

I can't change what happened in 2010. I don't know if that was always meant to happen or not. I suppose I won't ever know that. The point is that it doesn't matter whether it's random or not. What matters is what I choose to do next. I can quiet my mind and ready myself. I can choose to find peace in the quiet.

Thanks, HDT, for some sound advice to start 2011.