Three women in a row

Last night, I dreamt in French. I can only imagine that this means my brain is trying to place where I am, and orient itself to its new location. Hopefully it figures out soon that French will only get me so far, and it will open itself up to Spanish.

So imagine us now, three women, all in a row, walking up and down the streets of the Zona Colonial. Three women, Alexis in the lead, Maggie in the back, and me in the center, walking with our eyes wide and our heads turning every which way, trying to orient ourselves. This was us all day long, trying out different streets and searching not necessarily for anything specific but just to search. In some ways, our exploration today was a lot like what my brain attempted as I slept: a certainly inefficient, somewhat repetitive, partially useful exploration of our new surroundings. We went out first in search of breakfast, then in search of supplies, and then once more for a delicious dinner. With breaks in between to rest our sun-soaked bodies, our walks allowed us to take in the colors of the houses, the sounds of catcalls and blasting bachata, and the sights of the massive colonial buildings. With many places closed for Sundays and with my slowly developing Spanish, it was hard to know what it was I was taking in.

"What's that?" I asked, when our breakfast table at the Parque Colon suddenly became a front-row seat to a military exercise. All at once, the hundreds of young men in white shirts and blue pants, who had been casually chatting and resting in the shade, ran suddenly across the park, fell into formation and begin running drills.
"What's that?" I repeated, when we stumbled upon the Monumento de Fray Anton de Montesinos. And though a forward gentleman offered to tell us everything we wanted to know, we declined and decided to learn later at our own time, at our own price.
"How do you even say, 'What's that?'" I asked, determined to get myself settled, although everything is too new and too unfamiliar to stick just yet.

I'm reminded of my first days in Paris, when turning every new corner was like a magic trick: a new place revealed itself, and only then could my brain understand that this place existed. And, like a magic trick, with repeated viewings what seemed magical became typical, and what seemed fresh and bright seemed like home, and I can only hope that our little corner of Santo Domingo might become that way for me, too.

But for now, we will be the three clearly American women, strolling quickly down the streets of Santo Domingo. Alexis sets the fastest of paces, ready to dive into any adventure. "Don't let me think about the Spanish, just make me do it. If I think too hard, I'll forget," she says, and helps us get what we need. "Don't mind me," says Maggie from the back. "I'm just taking it in," she says as she watches a game of chess on El Conde, and explains to us that she doesn't need to know how to ask to play, because "Chess is a universal language." And here I am, somewhere in between the two, wanting the words but also the willingness to dive in and become a part of the great city that is around us.

Tomorrow we begin our Spanish studies. Maybe then my brain, and the rest of me, will be more prepared to dive in.

El Conde restaurant at breakfast

The view from breakfast