Dominican men love to sing.
I first noticed this when good ol Charlie picked me up at the Punta Cana airport and after a couple minutes of conversation started singing to the radio’s tune. But it wasn’t only Charlie. In nearly every situation I have been in this country, there has been a singing man involved. At the resort in Punta Cana, the waiters at breakfast would always be singing (or rapping) love songs (or dirty lyrics) to the ladies at the table. At night when the workers were off and I would occasionally join some of the guys by their trailers for a couple hours of dominoes, often the only noises one could hear were the slamming of the dominoes on the table (I loved this) and the radio playing some bachata. But the silence would only last for so long because someone would start singing along. When our group stopped at a church in Higuey one of the security guards was just sitting there singing. Ditto with the policeman on horse in Santo Domingo who I heard when the cab Ebs, Cita, and I were in stopped at a traffic light our first night. Or how about that bus from Veron to Santo Domingo with the 6 drunk kids in the way back hollering to the songs on the radio (yes, there is always music playing on public transportation in this country which I think is pretty awesome) and shouting at the driver when he changed the station and eventually turned it off because they were so loud (a big dude from the front of the bus gave em a bit of a talking to). And the guys sitting next to me in the guagua from S.D. to Samana who every so often started crooning for everyone to hear. Or Cita’s friend of a friend of a friend at a quiet moment in during dinner, or Leonel and Amaury the two neighbors who work as day laborers for Cindy and Jose start singing bachata or merengue (but never ever reggaeton) and so on and so on. It seriously must be in their blood something. I mean if all Liben men dance (and trust me, we do), then all Dominican men sing.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
A Catalan 4th of July
On my first morning (after being woken up super early by everything around me), Cindy told me over coffee that since it was Sunday there was no work. My official work schedule was to comprise of Monday-Fridays from 8am-noon, and then from 2-4pm. Pretty reasonable in my mind. After messing around watering some plants for a couple of hours, we went to David and Marta’s house for Marta’s 33rd birthday party. Marta is smart and beautiful. David and Marta are from Catalan, Spain, and are in the town of Las Galeras (about a ten minute motorcycle ride from the farm) trying to open a hotel—more on foreign (wealthy) people trying to make money in this country to come soon. Speak to David for a mere 30 seconds, and they’re not from Spain. No no, Catalan. [A sentence on Catalan as explained a few weeks prior by my Spanish friend Lisa: it has its own language, history, culture, etc., and under the dictatorship was suppressed. Now there is an uber conscious effort from the current government in Spain to appreciate everything Catalan not as worse, but as different and also part of the Spanish cultural, historical, and current fabric.] It should secede, David says after introducing himself and offering a round of martinis (at 12:45 in the afternoon; yep, it’s gonna be that sort of day...). Everything good about Spain is actually from Catalan. I’m from New York? An incredible city says he, but from where are its best chefs? Catalan. The famous modernist architect Gaudi? From Catalan. Conceding that I’ve never been, he runs excitedly into the house (we’re on the patio) and returns with a coffee table book of Catalan filled with indeed beautiful imagery. He later brought out more books of Catalan, too—one filled with pictures from the castle he built (I repeat, a castle he built), and one of Gaudi’s work. I tell David and his 20 year old son (from his first marriage) all that I really know about Catalan and Spain—that half of the national Spanish world cup squad is from Catalan to which David literally jumps with joy repeats it to Marta. It didn’t matter what I said the rest of the day because boy did win them over with that comment! [This too I knew this courtesy of Lisa so mad props there] While Cindy and I are scanning through it and Jose is starting up the grill, David informs us of a tradition ‘typical in any Catalan household,’ namely pouring whatever alcohol happens to be in a jug (called something awesome but I am forgetting now) from as far as one can into one’s mouth without spilling. A drinking game, hurrah! He passes the jug around the table and while he and his son are quite deft at it, the rest of us are a bit more cautious and sloppy. He repeated this process of jug passing every time new guests came, and I started to get quite good at it :)
Highlights of the afternoon: getting drunk with all the guests, eating great bbq’ed food, getting taught yet another drinking trick by an 80 year old grandpa from Las Galeras, and sounding off 3 different national anthems and 3 rounds of happy birthday.
Now, I noted previously that David and Marta are here for business. Las Galeras has a gorgeous beach that has not really yet been tapped by tourists. If one couldn’t tell by now, David also has a bit of money, to say the least. However, he is pretty frustrated because since he’s been here people have been ripping him off left and right, and the money simply isn’t where it used to be. And time is going by and he is still getting ripped off. And he is obviously a fluent Spanish speaker and a businessman. But, because he is not Dominican it doesn’t matter. As a non-native, it’s like he has a big ‘Gringo’ tattooed on his forehead. Cindy has explicitly stated similar stories time and time again and similar frustrations because she, too, is going broke here. Well, when the incoming mayor of Las Galeras (term starts in August) and his two pals showed up (invited? Uninvited? Unclear) and were given ample food and liquor, David’s already quite toasted Dario, also a Spaniard and hotel hopeful (although Dario is doing everything completely illegally—starting with the land purchase, the walls he’s putting up around his property, the sewage that will flow right into the ocean and so on) and David started railing to the politicians about how it was all unfair, etc. etc.
The point of this side story is simple. My friend Paola complained sometime back about how she hated being treated like a gringa even though her mom is Cuban and she speaks a real good Spanish. She found it offensive and could not believe that as a fellow Spanish speaker she’d be treated like the rest of us kids from the U.S. Apparently, if you’re not Dominican, good luck. Well Paolacita, I hate to say it but I (and really Becca) told ya so.
A second and final anecdote I learned that afternoon that also came from a side discussion about how us gringos always get swindled. Once Marta told a frustrated Cindy that there is one important thing to remember about Dominicans: the men are thieves and women are prostitutes. Lemme tell you, after personally getting robbed in Miches a few weeks ago by some punk with a knife and after seeing enough local bars and joints where the literally all of the women are ‘working,’ I’m starting to think Marta was on to something!
Definitely an entertaining 4th.
Highlights of the afternoon: getting drunk with all the guests, eating great bbq’ed food, getting taught yet another drinking trick by an 80 year old grandpa from Las Galeras, and sounding off 3 different national anthems and 3 rounds of happy birthday.
Now, I noted previously that David and Marta are here for business. Las Galeras has a gorgeous beach that has not really yet been tapped by tourists. If one couldn’t tell by now, David also has a bit of money, to say the least. However, he is pretty frustrated because since he’s been here people have been ripping him off left and right, and the money simply isn’t where it used to be. And time is going by and he is still getting ripped off. And he is obviously a fluent Spanish speaker and a businessman. But, because he is not Dominican it doesn’t matter. As a non-native, it’s like he has a big ‘Gringo’ tattooed on his forehead. Cindy has explicitly stated similar stories time and time again and similar frustrations because she, too, is going broke here. Well, when the incoming mayor of Las Galeras (term starts in August) and his two pals showed up (invited? Uninvited? Unclear) and were given ample food and liquor, David’s already quite toasted Dario, also a Spaniard and hotel hopeful (although Dario is doing everything completely illegally—starting with the land purchase, the walls he’s putting up around his property, the sewage that will flow right into the ocean and so on) and David started railing to the politicians about how it was all unfair, etc. etc.
The point of this side story is simple. My friend Paola complained sometime back about how she hated being treated like a gringa even though her mom is Cuban and she speaks a real good Spanish. She found it offensive and could not believe that as a fellow Spanish speaker she’d be treated like the rest of us kids from the U.S. Apparently, if you’re not Dominican, good luck. Well Paolacita, I hate to say it but I (and really Becca) told ya so.
A second and final anecdote I learned that afternoon that also came from a side discussion about how us gringos always get swindled. Once Marta told a frustrated Cindy that there is one important thing to remember about Dominicans: the men are thieves and women are prostitutes. Lemme tell you, after personally getting robbed in Miches a few weeks ago by some punk with a knife and after seeing enough local bars and joints where the literally all of the women are ‘working,’ I’m starting to think Marta was on to something!
Definitely an entertaining 4th.
Getting to the Farm, and some other things
After Ebs and Cita (dreamily thought about trying for a threesome; a concept that I and probably many a men have oft thought about, probably never gonna happen in my life) both left Santo Domingo for the States, I took a cab to a guagua station and hopped on a 4 hour guagua to the town of Samana not coincidentally on the Samana Peninsula, i.e. the north eastern coast of the country with beautiful beaches, poverty, resorts, motorcycles, and gorgeous green scenery all mixed together. Well to be honest a lot of the country can be described that way...Anyways, from Samana I sat on back of a pickup truck guagua headed toward Las Galeras and since the driver knew the family I was going to, he volunteered to take me all the way to the farm in a little village called Manuel Chiquito himself.
[Important side note: What is a guagua, you ask? Guaguas actually describe many things in this country. For example, like a Sherut in Israel, it can be an intra or intercity mini bus that takes 15-25 people around to general areas and make personalized stops along the way. If it's an intercity guagua, it will be slightly bigger and will take you potentially quite far--like the one I took from Santo Domingo to Samana. If it's intra-city, it's probably a van with an always-open door and some guy hanging out always hollering at walkers by to jump in and go wherever it happens to be heading. If my Spanish was good, then I would love to explore Santo Domingo via guagua routes...
So primary guagua meaning: intra or inner city mini bus that makes personal stops on the way to a planned destination. However, I have also heard it defined as a true bus (like when Elena's fam, Ebs, Cita, and I took a bus from Veron to Santo Domingo and a local gal in the city still called it a guagua even though it was a chartered bus) and even as a guy in a pickup truck or sedan driving as many people as he can stuff into his car around town (like the ones Ebs and I took in Caberete or the guy, Lazaro, who took me to the farm when I got to Samana). Good. With that said..]
I arrived at Cindy and Jose's home and farm at dusk on July 3rd and was greeted with the barks and howls of lord knows how many dogs. Actually, there are eight, and their names are: Mimi, Annie, Shiro, M.T., Sherman, Brahma, Reina, and Little Guy. There are also 3 adult cats (Cinco, Xana, and Leo) and Xana’s 3 babies; the cats are quite anti-social compared to the dogs. Jose was in town drinking with some buddies so Cindy welcomed me by her lonesome with some beer and a curried rice n potato dinner she was just putting back in her fridge. To be honest, she had no idea I was coming as she had not checked her email in some two and a half weeks because it was down for a while, and on my end I had no idea what the response would be when I showed up because she wasn't responding to my emails and her farm was my only plan so I was definitely apprehensive. But she was just like yeah, I figured you might show up last week or this week, and if not then I'd figure that you just weren't coming. Alright, in the game!
After eating and chatting with Cindy and the recently arrived Jose, they helped me set up my air mattress on sofa frame and mosquito net, gave me a couple of sheets and a pillow, and I passed out until the dogs started barking in the middle of the night. And then I fell asleep until they woke me up. And then I fell asleep until the night’s heat woke me up. And then the dawn’s light woke me up. And then the dogs started moving around and eventually barking and then Sherman started jumping on my bed to play with me through the mosquito net and then, yes, it was 7:30am on a Sunday morning and I was wide awake for my first day in my new 'home'...
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Yes!
Gil Troy's Jerusalem Post blog entry is almost hammer and nail how I argue my view on campus.
Indeed, in my opinion being Pro-Palestinian and Pro-Zionist is a good thing!
Indeed, in my opinion being Pro-Palestinian and Pro-Zionist is a good thing!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
A Serious Man?
מה זה להיות בן אדם רציני?
היתה תקופה שהייתי יושב עם הכל החברה באחורי האוטובוס..יושב ומטפנן ומסטלבת בלי רצינות או כבדות, רק צחוקים. לא יודע מתי התחלתי להפוך את התנהגותי או אם זה אפילו היה משהו שהתכוונתי לעשות. אבל בפעמים האחרונות פתאום לא הרגשתי את הצורך או הרצון לשבת איתם ולדבר על כלום. ת'אמת היא שלא אכפת לי כל כך לדבר על שטויות.
אבל זה רק חצי מהסיפור. בצד אחד, בא לי לשבת לבד ולקרוא ספרות או מאמרים אקדאמים שקשורים למזרח תיכון ..יש באמת רגש שאני מבזבז ת'זמן שלי, שחלאס, הגעתי לתקופה שאני כבר לא ילד--שאני גם צריך וגם רוצה ללמוד כדי להיות בן אדם אם השכלה רחבה. בצד שני, אני עדיין גבד שעדיין רוצה להתמזמז עם בחורות.
אז הסיכסוך? למצוא את הבחורה שרואה אותי כאיש אינטלגנטי (היא גם חייבת להיות אינטליגנטית כמובן) שמוכנה לקבל אותי אם רצינותי, וגם רוצה לעשות חיים. יום אחד, אמצא אותה: נקרא ספרים בימים ונצא בלילות...או... אם אני באמת בן אדם רציני, נקרא בלילות גם
...
היתה תקופה שהייתי יושב עם הכל החברה באחורי האוטובוס..יושב ומטפנן ומסטלבת בלי רצינות או כבדות, רק צחוקים. לא יודע מתי התחלתי להפוך את התנהגותי או אם זה אפילו היה משהו שהתכוונתי לעשות. אבל בפעמים האחרונות פתאום לא הרגשתי את הצורך או הרצון לשבת איתם ולדבר על כלום. ת'אמת היא שלא אכפת לי כל כך לדבר על שטויות.
אבל זה רק חצי מהסיפור. בצד אחד, בא לי לשבת לבד ולקרוא ספרות או מאמרים אקדאמים שקשורים למזרח תיכון ..יש באמת רגש שאני מבזבז ת'זמן שלי, שחלאס, הגעתי לתקופה שאני כבר לא ילד--שאני גם צריך וגם רוצה ללמוד כדי להיות בן אדם אם השכלה רחבה. בצד שני, אני עדיין גבד שעדיין רוצה להתמזמז עם בחורות.
אז הסיכסוך? למצוא את הבחורה שרואה אותי כאיש אינטלגנטי (היא גם חייבת להיות אינטליגנטית כמובן) שמוכנה לקבל אותי אם רצינותי, וגם רוצה לעשות חיים. יום אחד, אמצא אותה: נקרא ספרים בימים ונצא בלילות...או... אם אני באמת בן אדם רציני, נקרא בלילות גם
...
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
One Day...
...I'll find it in me to write a gem like this little Buena Vista Social Club ditty:
Dos Gardenias
Dos gardenias para ti
con ellas quiero decir
te quiero, te adoro, mi vida.
Ponles toda tu atencion
porque son tu corazon y el mio.
Dos gardenias para ti
que tendran todo el calor de un beso
de esos que te di
y que jamas encontraras
en el calor de otro querer.
A tu lado viviran y te hablaran
como cuando estas conmigo
y hasta creeras
que te diran te quiero.
Pero si un atardecer
las gardenias de mi amor se mueren
es porque han adivinado
que tu amor se ha marchitado
porque existe otro querer.
Dos gardenias...para ti
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rublV5LQ5Ds
Dos Gardenias
Dos gardenias para ti
con ellas quiero decir
te quiero, te adoro, mi vida.
Ponles toda tu atencion
porque son tu corazon y el mio.
Dos gardenias para ti
que tendran todo el calor de un beso
de esos que te di
y que jamas encontraras
en el calor de otro querer.
A tu lado viviran y te hablaran
como cuando estas conmigo
y hasta creeras
que te diran te quiero.
Pero si un atardecer
las gardenias de mi amor se mueren
es porque han adivinado
que tu amor se ha marchitado
porque existe otro querer.
Dos gardenias...para ti
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rublV5LQ5Ds
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