Back in Brooklyn

I'm here... for 24 hrs only, as a quick stop over before making te trip back to London. We have an interesting night planned, that will end up in the Meatpacking district, and since Nadine stayed home today it means that I don't have to rush in to see her straight after getting here. Anyway, the shower is beckoning so I'll sign off here.

Hasta nunca

It's my last day in Santo Domingo and I really don't know how to sum it up. It's been a bit of a ride in terms of seeing things, meeting people and thinking about what I want to do when I get back to London. It's been tiring, uplifting, challenging, beautiful and thought provoking. The reality of getting back into the swing of things in London is yet to hit and I doubt it will until early next week. I feel a real affinity for the Dominican people, and yet a certain incompleteness at not being able to fully communicate with them.

The country has so much going for it, but at the same time they aren't helping themselves deal with the biggest problems they face. One chat with a taxi driver turned political and we discussed the idea that Dominican governments want to be remembered for doing something big: big projects, hospitals, the Columbus lighthouse, and now - the current President wants to bring a metro to Santo Domingo. So many buildings and towns around the country look as if they were built on higher hopes and overhyped expectations. The economy simply cannot sustain modernisation in one very niche area while the rest of the more important problems go unsolved. Education, health, poverty and simply keeping the city clean are all much bigger priorities right now than the metro - a symbol of a modern country in an environment that tells a very different story. Who knows when the project will be finished, or if the next goverment will give it the same attention as the current one?

I doubt this will be my last visit to the country, but I'm having trouble pinning down what's making me want to return.

Me gustan Cuba Libres

We really need to stop hanging out here so much. Thursday cover is RD$100 for girls and locals RD$250 for white men... not so much racism as good business sense. With that, you get as many rum and cokes as your liver can handle... it does involves getting your fellow volunteers home - which is usually the white man's responsibility. Odd, given that as he's paying more, he should be drinking more. Anyway, Googling images from "atarazana 9" gives you an idea of the types that go there... it's fun, trust me on that one.

Things I'll miss about the Dominican Republic

1. Fruit juice - proper freshly squeezed, just fell from the tree fruit juice, preferred flavours: Strawberry, Mango, Chinola (passionfruit)

2. The way people say 'hi' or 'good day'when they get on a bus or into a guaga or public car (six passengers - two in the front and four in the back - have to be seen to be believed)

3. Music everywhere you go, and not the atmospheric background Starbucks tosh either, this stuff is invasive, in your face merengue or reggaeton. It's unavoidable and it becomes something you get used to and is just a part of life here.

4. Cheap travel. 20p to get from our house into the city centre, £1 to get to work, £5 to get to the other side of the country... beat that TfL.

5. Leidy and the way she made me feel like a Dominican, her enthusiasm for everything, her smile and the way she says '¿tu entiendes?' with a look of hopeful expactation that could go either way depending on whether I had actually understood what she way saying.

6. The weather and the beaches... enough said I think.

7. Fresh fish - I can almost see Billingsgate market becoming a new favourite hang out.

8. Endless opportunities to practice Spanish.

9. The kids at school and their keenness in the face of not having the things in life that I take for granted.

10. Being different. This is one for my ego, but here you do get attention for being white (with a good tan by the way), and it makes a change from London where everyone fades into anonymity.

Trying to cram as much as possible into a weekend here can result in many things when you travel as a group - mass hesitancy on decisions, large amounts of discussion about the check, a little stress on the general timetable. Which is why the past weekend, which I spent in Samana with only two others went swimmingly. We managed to fit three excursions into the two days as well as the coach trip (5 1/2 hours each way) and a visit to Cielito, the world's smallest merengue club. Merengue is sort of the national dance of the DR, not the national egg-based dessert. The music is contagious and great to dance to, but the club was the size of someone's garage and they kept cramming the people in, so it did get a little warm. We were also the only westerners in the place so our arrival did make me feel a little like a celebrity, with heads turning througout the bar.

Samana is the DR's whale watching centre. Every January, hundreds of humpbacks make there way to the bay and are observed by thousands of visitors from around the world. In the off season, there's fewer people around, more chance to chat with the locals and the sights of the area (Parque de los Haitises, with it's otherworldly islands and caves; Cayo Levantado (pic), which is the original beach used by Bacardi as a marketing image; and El Limon, the waterfall that cascades down a mossy cliff and appears white all the way down). El Limon is accessible only by horseback so Karen and I got there early and made our way there helped on the backs of Juan and Palmero, and led by two local guides. When we arrived, we were the first there, and went for a swim in the pool and behind the fall itself. After 30 minutes or so, we got out and the popularity of the waterfall became apparent as group after group of other travellers, mostly sporting the all-inclusive wristbands that come as a part of staying at a nearby resort, arrived at the secluded spot. On our way back, we passed several large groups starting out on their way, and going from feedback from other volunteers who had already visited the fall, we were exceptionally lucky to have the whole thing to ourselves, if only for 1/2 an hour.

When you can't give enough

Being friendly and welcoming is a trait that the Dominicans pride themselves on. Local guys are happy to hand out tips, advice and information, the club scene is so much less about cliques than it is in London, and in school, the kids just want to talk to you and hang out with you all the time. But the trait has another side to it. Being a westerner in Central Santo Domingo, El Conde, is like being a magnet for beggars, "tour guides", taxi touts, shoe shine boys "They're canvas I don't think boot polish will do them any good." and people who just want your money. It's assumed that all westerners here are loaded - which in relation, we are - but it's frustrating when you receive a look that says "You can afford a few pesos and yet you chose not to give them, where is your heart?" when you're here as a volunteer, doing what you think is a good thing for this country, in an organised and worthy fashion. There's one homeless woman who is often outside our local grocery store who I give to occasionally, but when people are all "buddy" in the streets "Where are you from?" it's as if they've learnt a few key phrases in English in order to tug your heartstrings enough to open your purse strings, and I'm unwilling to give to something so mercenary.

Lewis and the Jet Set

All of you who follow my attempts at being cool will be glad to know that they took another leap in the right direction yesterday with a visit to a club called Jet Set. it was recommended by a few of the local Dominican guys as the best place in the country to be on a Monday night, and with a cover charge of 2000RD$, which is about 35 pounds, its obvious that the clientele aren't the usual Santo Domingo crew. The ladies (I say ladies as it's an older crowd) are all dressed up to the nines - tens and elevens in some cases - with corsets doing a massive amount of work throughout the night. There were two live music acts, one merengue group, the name of which I can't remember, and a salsa artist called Victor Manuel (pic). He is very famous, apparently, but I've not found much about him online, which is a shame, as I wanted to know if his gaudy dress sense (grey silk waistcoast, white tie - huge knot, stripey blue and white shirt) was at all related to his sexuality (ambiguous at best). We also discovered that there are many songs you can do in a merengue style, including George Michael's "Faith" and the Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony", prompting the idea of a "Now that's what I call unusual pop merengue 1" CD launch. Date to be decided.

Sleep deprivation, Santo Domingo style

I don't remember the last time we stayed in of an evening. For the last two weeks, there's been something going on every evening, either in Santo Domingo, or on one of our jaunts around the country. That means a lot of dancing, talking in Spanglish - which is massively tiring in itself - and generally meeting new people. With the heat/sun/noise of the others having breakfast meaning that there's a consistent wake-up time of 7am, I'm beginning to feel a night off is in order. There is a lot to do in this city, and although we are keeping things fairly mainstream by spending time in the colonial zone, mixing in with the locals has been a great experience. Latin girls have a passion that I admire and really know how to enjoy themselves without taking it all way too seriously. Being Western and "the Other" when we go out means that its easier to talk to people - they're more open and more interested in you, whether its for your money or not is a different question, and something you catch onto pretty quickly.

The week just gone, Gisela, the school's language teacher switched from English to French classes. I'm unsure of the value of this since the grasp of English is so poor and of the two languages, English is of more use for these guys, with the US being the country's major political and economic investor. in any case, teaching French, in Spanish, was an interesting experience and something I will have to repeat before leaving since Gisela worked out that I speak more French than she does.

This weekend we stayed around Santo Domingo, visiting some amazing native indian caves - Los Tres Ojos (pic), the National Aquarium, and a beach nearby San Cristobal called Playa Najayo. It was pretty much deserted and the water was lovely. The one cafe at the beach was taken over by a family just having a great afternoon chilling out and chatting. The mother asked if we wanted some fish so she and I took a walk to chat with some local fishermen, who had been out in the ocean minutes before, catching whatever it was they could find in the shallows. Mirella - I think that was her name - then proceeded to cook the best seafood I have had in a very long time, if not ever. There was plenty for us and we couldn't even finish it, throw in a couple of drinks and you have a feast for three all for the bargain price of 800 pesos, that's about 4 pounds each. She also wanted us to go and see her house (a bed and breakfast place that looked pretty nice on the flyer) but I felt a little odd about that and we returned home. Today's sign of poverty, a family home with no money for a Christmas tree or decorations so a regular tree sits in the garden, with used fruit juice cartons as replacement baubles.

Thanks

Thanks for all the wishes and messages that I received yesterday. It was odd having my first birthday outside of the UK, and my first birthday in which the weather was great. I went to work as usual, but didn't mention it to any of the staff or children, it felt a little odd sharing something like that with people I barely know - although doing this was a little inevitable, given the timings of my little outing. As it happened, we had a very relaxed evening, ending it with drinks - including a nice bottle of Louis Latour Pinot Noir, it's not all roughing it down here - in a terrace bar at Plaza Espanyol (picture). I think I had my first pangs of homesickness, although I'm not sure what it was I was missing, a mixture of people, places and things that are spread out around the globe rahter than a "home" of sorts. I had a longing for a sense of normality, but no idea about what I want that to be. I know it involves certain people in the ways expected of them, and in an ideal world, it would involve others in ways that I know are not possible. This all sounds very vague, I know, but in a country where my principle frustration is not understanding or being understood at a basic level, the realisation that language isn't the only barrier in communication is somewhat heightened.

Country for sale

Not having the internet working at the house any more is a major annoyance and it means that I've not been able to post in a week or so. So much has happened over the last days, its impossible to put it all down or even remember it all. Although the pace of life here is pretty slow, time does fly when you're enjoying yourself. Last week we dropped by the baseball stadium to catch a midweek game. We had great seats, but the atmosphere is a lot better at weekends according to the locals - especially when Licey (pretty much the Manchester United of Dominican Sport) are playing. We also went out on Thursday night to a bar/club where we encountered some serious reggaeton dancing, which is mostly reminiscent of a Sean Paul video only not taken so seriously, its all about having fun, the looking cool aspect isn't so important amongst friends. We met some really great people there, and I expect we'll see them again at some point, SD's a small town at heart.

This weekend we made a trip up to the North coast. Although the main focus of tourism in the area is the swathe of all-inclusive, walled-in resorts of Puerto Plata and Playa Dorada, one beach has risen up as the destination of choice for the independent traveller. Cabarete is known around the DR as a centre of watersports such as surfing and kitesurfing. Unfortunately, on the days we were there, the waves weren't up to much, and the kitesurfing schools are very precious about letting novices loose on the equipment, so I had to be content with swimming and generally chilling out on the beach - not such a hard consolation to accept in all fairness. The town is very relaxed and quite small, with a few bars and restaurants pulling in the majority of an audience that is mixed between American, European and Dominican about equally, the European influence being mostly from Scandinavia, which is a little odd to witness when you've spent the last two weeks living amongst the locals.

The drive from South to North takes about 5 hours in total, and taking a cross section journey through the middle of the country gives you an idea of some of the issues facing it's economy today. "Se Vende" is the most widely read sign, almost every plot of land is looking for development and it seems it has been that way for years. Land owners simply don't have the resources to develop the land themselves and when investment comes in from outside or from the goverment, the results are often a sorry sight. Unfinished houses, apartments and even hotels are dotted around the landscape, construction abandoned, with funds running out and no-one with enough earning potential to move in, these "shells" are an all too real reminder that the most that many Dominicans can hope for is a life in the US, with Dominicans now representing the fourth largest Latin immigrant group in the States. One sorry building was a medical institution, billed as groundbreaking, but standing hollow. In another town, a large mall had been built less than 100 metres from a slum in which one of the houses was made from old fast food restaurant signs, yet the modern building was only half filled with retail space, supply outstripping demand by a huge factor, a sight that seems to be repeated where the objectives of eradicting poverty and developing into a "western" country come head to head and the latter inevitably wins out.

Protection

Getting to the project has become a lot easier since we found the right place to catch the express bus (25 minutes rather than 1hr and a half), and the football has become a lot easier after a little trip to buy footballs, keepers' gloves, kit bag and some plastic bowls as we couldn't find proper cones. The kids still play like they're in the playground, with everyone chasing the one ball, I'd love to help them take more time over the game and play more tactically, but only time will tell. At present, our time is spread so thinly that we don't really have the chance to develop proper teaching strategies with any one group, and the fact that volunteers are only around for 4-8 weeks means that there is a real lack of consistency there.

In addition, the children aren't really learning that much English from their current teacher, who doesn't know enough of the language and teaches from a book in a way that makes it easy for them to guess answers rather than really know what it is they're saying. I really want to see if this can be changed, but without permanent staff that can teach English well, it seems a little doomed. I've already had one offer of donation, so if anyone would like to give, please email me with ideas and I can buy things for the kids out here on your behalf.

If the forms of transport in SD are unreliable and unsafe - mostly private bus operators that cram barely working Toyota mini-vans full of people and stop on every street corner - then its grocery stores are the most well protected I've seen. Our local one makes you check your bags with a security guard, who is a nice enough chap... he doesn't say much but I try to stay on his good side, mainly because he's armed with a shotgun. In fact there are a lot of guns in the country, in the club that we went to in Jarabacoa, they guy who went ahead of us in the line had to leave his gun at the door, a little offputting, but better than having them handed out with the cover charge.