Claro

It wasn't so much as many cultures colliding, or crashing, or anything quite that serious. But today was more like cultures crossing paths, and stopping to say hello.

At night: Three in a row traipsing through the streets of Santo Domingo in search of the Barrio Chino (ie: Chinatown) in search of plantain sushi (that was not located, sadly), ending up with what is more or less typical American Chinese food. Not exactly what we had hoped, but it was interesting to see what the Barrio Chino was like, although much of it was closed when we arrived at 7pm.

During the day: A one-on-one conversation between myself and my Dominican teacher, entirely in Spanish, about religion in the DR. When the conversation shifted to the more personal level, and I was forced to explain not only Judaism, but also Buddhism and Quakerism to my instructor, it wasn't so much a clash but more that I felt like the cultural oddity that I really am.

"When I was young," my teacher explained, "I thought that all Jews were atheists."

"No, no, no," I replied.

"Explain."

With broken Spanish, I did the best I could to piece together "beginning of Bible," "no Jesus," and "many different types," and "yes, believe in God" so that she got a tiny sense of what Judaism is. 

"So then you're Jewish?"

"No, no, no," I replied.

"Explain."

"My mother was raised Jewish, but she's a Buddhist now."

And so it went that now, facing VERY raised eyebrows and clear concerns, I had to explain Buddhism. Piecing together, "objects don't matter," and "be, be present, be calm," I reassured her that she was confusing Buddhism with voodoo, as she re-enacted a woman in a movie, stabbing a small doll with pins to make a girl suffer.

"It's the opposite of that in so many ways," I replied.

"So you're Buddhist," she asked.

"No, no, no," I replied.

And so it went that now, for my patient and genuinely curious teacher, that I had to explain what Quakerism was. Translating the Religious Society of Friends into Spanish did nothing to help. Piecing together, "everyone is equal," "no war," and "God is in everyone but not literally...metaphorically," I ended up with just, "Christian. It's a type of Christian."

"Wow."

Wow was right. Wow was the moment I realized that I could piece together any of these sentences at all, and the sense that I wasn't doing justice to any of them but it was better than just sitting there shrugging. Wow was also when she asked about my tattoo, and my piercing, and if I had dyed my hair, and when she was told that my parents had been (mostly) okay with all of it, she wowed again.

"Muy liberales, tus padres," she said.

"Claro," I replied. She doesn't know the half of it.

Her questions about me continued. When I told her that I studied English literature in college, she couldn't believe it. "A woman like you, so liberal, why are you studying books and telling stories? You should be in publicity, marketing, advertising, something exciting and loud and....out there!"

I tried to explain just how important telling stories is, and that learning languages for me is another way to try to tell stories, but I grew frustrated with the inability to express my passion with such limited vocabulary, and so I told her that, too. 

"It's so hard to believe something so seriously and not have the words to say it," I said, feeling worn out and out of words.

"Claro," she replied. "But it will get better."

"You're such a contradiction," she said. "Liberal, pierced, tattooed, and....reading?"

"I think here I seem very liberal. You should come to the US. Then you can see really liberal."

After this religious discussion, it was clear what Maggie and I had to do. Claro, we went to church. We walked, and talked about what religious education must be like here, and what we have experienced at home, and how to bridge the gap for our students.

Below, pictures from our adventure exploring the oldest continuously running cathedral in the new world, and then lunch on the Plaza de España. It was so beautiful here today, especially after yesterday's deluge, and so extra photos for those who enjoy that sort of thing. 

So after this beautiful adventure, and delicious gazpacho, and this stumbling-through-my-palabras, what was more Claro? The skies, the fact that I can piece together more Spanish today than I could three days ago, a few more of the streets of Santo Domingo, and that language (if you have it) can teach, and share, and explain, and explore the unclear and unknown.