The Dominican Republic

 

 

Playa Bonita, Las Terrenas

People & Place
Going from a South American capital city to a Caribbean one involves a shift. Like Lima, Santo Domingo has blocky colonial buildings and pre-victorian homes with graceful balconies, but the differences are significant. The colonial buildings are made of blocks of coral and fossilized sediment such that you can find shells in the walls. The balconies in Lima are wood, carved in a Moorish-influenced Spanish style, while Santo Domingo has balconies of wrought-iron much like the French Quarter in New Orleans. No surprise when you consider their neighbor, Haiti, and that the Spanish and French influences literally split the island. In Santo Domingo's colonial zone you can see that Spanish-slave-French influences have been mixing for 500 years. Indigenous influence is missing here in the DR, having been immediately exterminated whereas in Perú natives were "merely" subjugated. So Peruvian indigenous culture has persisted, particularly in the Andes and the jungles, along with black Peruvian culture (slaves) and Peruvian creole (coastal mulatto)…it's just not quite as fully blended as it is in the DR, the only officially mulatto country in the world. It's not taboo to talk about skin color in the DR; glancing at the 6 siblings we are visiting reveals a spectrum running from very fair to caramel to dark black.

Our first day, Yudi and Francisco suggested getting a guide to tour the Zona Colonial, something new to them. The old town sits behind walls with canons pointing out towards the sea and deep river. It holds the New World's first permanent fort, chapel, stone house, hospital, etc. It is easy to picture the conquistadores (and their wives) walking the cobbled streets, recreating Spain as best they could, carving a foothold in the coral and palms. A large part of this work was done by slaves brought over by Columbus on his 2nd voyage, the natives being too weak or sick with old world viruses. Santo Domingo is the funnel through which much of the New World's problematic history came. Indeed, it was way-station for Pizarro (Perú), Cortez (Mexico), Ponce de Leon (Puerto Rico, Florida). If you know the ride Pirates of the Caribbean, then you have a good picture of Santo Domingo. Indeed, the pirate Sir Frances Drake famously pillaged here. The tour was great and we sat afterwards having supper at outside tables on the main colonial plaza, Yudi singing along exuberantly with the strolling musicians that approached us. Driving home, we wound through streets made even narrower by the domino tables and groups of people sitting in the street outside the corner markets.

Food & Drink
Japan has it's tea ceremony, Ethiopia has it's coffee ceremony…the Dominican equivalent is much less formal: Presidente beer served in little plastic cups. Whenever possible, we stop and refresh ourselves with a few bottles and, if the bottle is well-frosted, everyone will murmur 'bien fria" (nice n' cold). We wrap the bottle in a paper napkin and keep each other's beer cold by refilling every 5 minutes or so. In Constanza, our family's hometown in the highlands, there is actually a guy who sells his own craft beer by the plaza, with funky art on the wall. But the Presidente ritual seems unshakeable.

seafood mamajuana

I am a fan of rum: good, cheap and plentiful in the DR. So I was pleased to enter a shop specializing in Mamajuana, the Dominican tincture of dark rum, wine and honey. Bottles are filled with a variety of barks and leaves, anise and cinnamon among them, and then topped off with the liquid. A well-seasoned bottle can be enjoyed fully, then refilled with rum and 24hrs later enjoyed again. There's a variation known to be particularly good for the libido: mamajuana with mariscos (seafood) instead of bark. I tried a shot taken from a bottle full of tentacles and wrinkled mollusks. It was surprisingly pleasing.

Like eskimos who have 30 words for snow, Dominicans have uncountable phrases describing the various ways you can eat beans and rice. Their stews are rich with meats and yams and yucca, and plantains come in many forms (my favorites being "tostones", where slices are fried fresh like chips, and "mofongo", a mash with onion and bacon). Chicken abounds, but we also enjoyed a platter of steak, grilled pork chops with chimichurri, and fine blood sausage. At the beach, we got fresh fish that we BBQ'd with lime. Fresh coconut water is sold on the roads, expertly opened with a few good whacks of the machete. If you pull up at certain roadside stands, men will come up offering you sizzling samples of chicharrón balanced on the end of their over-sized machetes. If you are convinced, they will throw a skillet over the wood fire and hack off portions from the roasted pig, heating the cracklings and serving them to you with yucca. Different areas seem to specialize in different things; on our way to the beach, we stopped and sampled cheese hanging in balls from the rafters; on the way down from the mountains, we stopped and sampled Dominican arepas (cooked corn meal…unlike the Central American version or Mexican polenta, it was very smooth, sweet or salty versions, cooked into giant loaves the size of your bed pillow).

Music
Within minutes of arrival in the DR, one seems to be surrounded by bachata music (the endemic Dominican "country" music) and, very possibly, dancing. The whole world of Latin music is popular, but bachata seems to be born into their blood with danceable rhythm, rolling and tinkling guitar work, and romantic lyrics of love and betrayal. Our friends and family there will take any opportunity to dance, switching partners happily, even leading us gringos through the basics (uno-dos-tres-pause).

Basi sings mariachi

One night, we joined the other adults at a place that hosts a mariachi sing-along with a live band. The family's dad, Kino, still lives up in the mountain village of Las Auyamas, and is famous for his love of Mexican mariachi. The kids all have strong memories growing up, Sundays with Kino drinking and blasting the mariachi until morning. So at the sing-along, Yudi and her brother, Basi, get up and sing and dance, calling Kino and holding up their cel phones so it can be heard back in Las Auyamas. On a side note, mariachi is not just in the DR…Jen has come across people in Perú with a deep affection for mariachi and by the end of the evening I found myself wondering how I could grow up surrounded by it in Los Angeles and not have paid it any notice.

Santo Domingo
We stayed with Yudi and Francisco, me sweltering in the heat, waiting for late afternoon when going outside starts to make sense. It did not take long for Carter to be running around with the other kids, no doubt aided by his Spanish. He got along particularly well with Basi's son, Marcos, one year older than him. Carter liked the cannons at the Zona Colonial and the next day when we went to a kid's museum, situated in a 500-year old mansion, with displays about energy, dinosaurs, recycling, the human body, Dominican culture and local history. A frozen yogurt afterwards at an American-style chain was much appreciated by all. Another night we went to a new family park featuring all sorts of stuff, even a couple endangered Dominican iguanas. Santo Domingo, like Lima, seems to be working towards more and better public spaces. We passed an area along the ocean cliffs of the malecon packed with people doing a giant outdoor zumba class or using public exercise equipment.

Las Terrenas
Our departure for the beach was delayed when it turned out that the grocery we were at apparently has a fraud rating so bad that the Visa rep on the phone had never seen so low. Even with me verifying my identity on the phone, the rep informed me that any further attempt at that store would result in the cancellation of my card. Finally, loaded with groceries and luggage, we caravanned out of the capital, cutting north on the new toll-road that cuts what used to be a 4hr trip in half. Our route cut through palm-oil plantations and a verdant set of hills before dropping us into an area of long, flat rice paddies with flocks of white egrets and cows. We stopped to wait for another carload coming from the west and for gas, which meant we could refresh with beer and, since the music was good, a quick dance in the parking lot. A cheer heralded the arrival of the rest of the clan and we drove up over the hills to our beach town. The house we rented was a hot, 15-minute walk from the beach…but with a pool and a view out over the palms and ocean, it was great. The pool was almost permanently occupied, except during a couple outings to the beach. The beach is postcard perfect. A narrow strip of sand, with shady palms leaning over, and water so clear you can count your toes. We spent 3 days like that, with the stereo blasting bachata nonstop. Carter pointed out that the coconut was a new experience for him, and he counted other firsts: a chameleon changing colors in front of his eyes, a shooting star, huge bats, piggy-backing on a motorcycle in true DR style (3 people at once), a midnight lightning storm, and touching a bug with two bioluminescent spot glowing in the dark like bright green alien eyes.

Las Auyamas
We loaded up and cut west across the island, making for the highlands where the family originated. After some starts and stops, we left the main highway and proceeded to climb up the winding hillside. 15 years ago, when I first made this trip, the road was still a death-trap of gravel ruts and drop-offs. Now paved, the road allows beautiful vistas and the environment changes from lowland jungle palms and creepers to grassy hills and aromatic pines. Las Auyamas sits in a wooded green bowl, walking distance to the town of Constanza. Homes are mostly modest cinderblock boxes, though on the low end there are still shacks of corrugated tin held down by stones and on the high end there are now vacation cottages not too far away. When Jen lived here in her 20s it was decidedly more rural, the family home still had a dirt floor and an outhouse. Over the years, things have changed, but not all that much. The house is tiled, there's an indoor bathroom and, while we were just there, crews were actually installing street lights and grading the dirt roads to be paved. Still, the grading equipment would occasionally have to shoo a cow off the road. Sipping coffee one morning at the little house some of us visitors had rented, Jen and I watched a man taking his horse and hand plow to his fields (hint: put the blade of your hand plow into an old tire…this makes it much easier for the horse to drag it along until you get to your field).

Carter went feral, running of with Marcos and another cousin, Alex. The sword fights seemed to go on for days and they were up in the trees for hours at a time. It's the first time Jen and I have experienced Carter not wanting to be with us; he even rode in Marcos' car whenever possible. I'm sure we'll resent it eventually, but at that moment it was nice to have a little freedom. Las Auyamas is so small, really just a couple of crossing dirt roads, and everybody knows everybody…perfect for young boys. I swear, once I simply wondered out loud about Carter's whereabouts and the next thing I know, word of mouth has spread and the boy comes rolling up on the back of someone's motorcycle.

We spent a day running errands around Constanza, preparing for a big mariachi/taco party at the house. We still found time to go up to the valley viewpoint, or stop for some beers. In the end, the "big" party was all the same family members, the mariachi karaoke we'd planned never materialized, and tacos weren't served until midnight. But the ladies were dolled-up and the bachata was infectious and we danced late into the night. Actually, Jen and I went to bed at 3am, but several people stayed up dancing. I am not exaggerating: the party only ended at 10am when the power went out and killed the music. When I wandered back to the family house late morning, I was served a breakfast of tomato slice on bread by one of the ladies still wearing her outfit from the party.



We departed Las Auyamas by way of a longer, scenic route that rode atop the spine of high hills, heading north. Views were wonderful, though Jennifer was feeling the effects of the party and not thrilled to be on a winding road. I noticed several blonde mulatto families, even some redheads, and Yudi told me that the area was so long isolated that it was known to harbor some very old genetic rarities. We dropped down into the vacation town of Jarabacoa ("Always Springtime!"), where several rivers come together. At a riverside hotel down a back road, we sat and had fresh fruit smoothies and lunch to the sound of rushing water, while Carter and Marcos took their sword fight to the bridge or out on the rocks. 

The next (and last) day back in Santo Domingo, we found we had little time (or energy) to do very much before our scheduled flight. Yudi went out and while standing in line at the market, decided to call around for massage appointments for her and Jen. Nothing was available, but a freelance massage therapist overheard her, carrying her cremes and oils no less. Next thing you know, they show up in the apartment and Yudi and Jen are getting great massages and exfoliating sugar scrubs for $15 each. That, and Darlene's fabulous stew at Basi's house, sent us on our way back to Lima, relaxed, and with full stomachs.