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. 

Tropical Storm Chantal

We tried to walk to school today, but by the time we had walked two blocks, and saw that already streets were flooding over with water (and it had only just begun), we thought to ourselves, "This can't be right." Indeed, it wasn't. School was closed, and we were stuck indoors, with power coming and going, and rain coming and coming.

To keep ourselves from going too crazy (well, anymore crazy than we already are), Alexis taught us the steps for the bachata and the merengue. We practiced in front of the full-length mirror that our teacher, Alexis, dragged into the living room for our usage. Both steps require simply finding the beat and a lot of hips. Maggie and I need a lot more practice.

We watched sitcoms in Spanish, told stories of students, and watched the rain come down and come down. With the day off, we have few stories but a memory of a day inside, practicing some Spanish together and learning a few dance steps, and watching a ton of "Everybody Loves Raymond" in Spanish.

Photos below from brave Alexis's journey to get us dinner.

Escuchar

A short post today, more of a reflection than anything, about learning languages and learning places.

I know that I'm usually quite the talker, but today was a reminder that some days are meant for just listening. Listening to the sounds of a stranger, driving down the street where you're staying, shouting on a megaphone loudly and proudly, with words and language that you don't understand. Listening to verb tenses from a teacher and the difference in prepositions, trying to override the French rules that my teachers spent years drilling into my ears. Listening to your colleagues tell stories of times before you were born or lived in what you now call your home, while sitting on the balcony, sipping your cold beer and checking out your neighbors' balconies. Listening to your teacher explain that no matter what country her students come from, they all report the same thing: "Government everywhere is corrupt. The best of men fall with the rest of the worst, and hope can be hard to hold onto." Today was a day for conversations, but while I stumbled with contributing, I felt my ears open a little more clearly to the words of my colleagues, my teachers, and all those around me. I could even hear the key turning more easily into the door, with its impossible locks (and so many at that!), my fingers and ears recognizing the clear clicks of the locks sliding into place.

But there's another kind of listening too that I had to do today. I listened to my body. After sleeping poorly last night, battling some combination of uncertainty in my surroundings and a longing for the familiar, I listened inwardly and tried to articulate something out of that unease. The rampant poverty, the disgust my professor expressed in the way things work (or don't) here, the sense of anxiety I feel as darkness falls in a city that I don't know or understand, the developing understanding of where many of my students are coming from, and the constant reminder that I am a white, American, English-speaking, female stranger here who calls attention to herself just simply by walking outside, all of a sudden I felt all of this bubbling in me and thought that I can't take any more in just yet. I need to sit with this first. So I listened. I took the afternoon off, tried to relax, attempted to watch cooking shows in Spanish and breathe. I napped, too. Classic. 

I didn't wake up feeling any sense that I had overcome any of this confusion, or feeling of being overwhelmed. But I did wake up understanding that I don't have to be comfortable all of the time, just so long as I am open to listening.

,

Socio

"Socio."

Yes, we started school today. Yes, we went on adventures to find a gym, and find meals, and discover new streets we hadn't yet walked down, but today's story is not any of these things. I could write about the school (which I will at some point, I promise), or the friendly restaurant owner that I chatted with in Spanish (!) briefly tonight, but I won't. Today's moment was our meeting with Jesús and his Socio.

Last night, the air conditioner in my bedroom started making the most horrible noises. We called Juan, our property manager, and left a message detailing the problem. We emailed the property owner in the US, expressing our concerns, and I shared a bed in a cooled room with Alexis. This morning, we woke up to a reassuring email from our property owner that Juan would be by this afternoon to fix it. We called Juan this morning, and he said he would come by. He didn't tell us that he was bringing Jesús.

Enter Jesús. Seven years old, dressed in a red shirt, denim jeans, a belt and loafers, Jesús entered the room with his father, held out his hand and declared in proud English, "My name is Jesús." That was as far as his English went. But Jesús had an immediate presence in the room. While Juan inspected the air conditioner, Alexis told Jesús he could watch tv. Instead, he began to instruct Maggie on how to use the remotes, and how to find Cartoon Network. When we asked Juan to take us to the grocery store, Jesús rode in the car and talked to his dad. Maggie and Alexis sat in the back with him, and chatted a little, and when we arrived at the grocery store, Juan said he would pick us up in 15 minutes. "Do you want to come with us?" Maggie asked Jesús. He smiled and climbed out of the car.

In the grocery store, Jesús was our guide. He instructed us to get baskets, but later changed his mind and made us go back to get a cart when we had too many things. He refused to let Maggie carry anything, declaring it was too heavy for her. In the beer aisle, Jesús explained the different sizes of beers and told us that different sizes could add up to equal amounts. All in Spanish, Jesús explained how we could get two small six packs, or one larger six pack, or if we wanted to get the largest of sizes, we'd really only need two or three bottles total. When we made our decision, he took them off the shelves for us and placed them in the cart. He insisted on pushing the cart around. Jesús helped with our Spanish, insisted on carrying things for us, and carried himself like a man.

When we got to the check out line, it was clear we had done something wrong. In retrospect, I think we were supposed to weigh the fruits and vegetables before checking out, as I had done in France, but the cashier explained it too quickly for us to understand. Whatever she said, even Jesús looked at us confused, as if to say, "Um, aren't you the adults here?" But once resolved, Jesús returned to being the man.

In the car, Jesús called his father Juan, socio! Socio means business partner, associate, and his father laughed and explained. "Yes, sometimes Jesús calls me socio, you know, like business partner." And today, Jesús was definitely that. He had taken us around the grocery store, and instructed us on toilet paper brands and types of fruits, and he had acted like a grown man the entire time.

Except in the car, in the last moment, when he said so clearly in Spanish that even I could understand it, "This was the best day."

el socio de Juan

The walk to dinner

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

The Arrival

Arrivals to new locations are all about first impressions; in some ways, though, I felt like today's arrival was as much about the start of the journey as it was about ruminating about the finish. With each step, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "But how different will this be, and how different will I be, when my time here is through?" Hopefully, there will be at least a lot less mumbling in broken Spanish.

We arrived right on time, with a flight full of Dominican families, clearly going home for the summer with new babies, a crying puppy, and children anxious to see their families at home. Overloaded suitcases and massive strollers were forced to be gate checked. In waiting for the flight, I couldn't help but notice that our flight crew seemed entirely unprepared for the overwhelming number of Spanish speakers on the flight. The flight attendants asked passengers to help translate important information. I was disappointed that no crew member seemed to speak Spanish, and emergency information would have had to been translated by passengers. Thankfully, emergency information wasn't necessary.

Our property manager picked us up at the airport, and we headed straight to the apartment. He gave us a quick tour of the neighborhood, showed us to our apartment, and took us to a local store to get a fair exchange rate on currency. Without Juan, we wouldn't have found this exchange place. It looked more like a house, with a group of old men sitting around playing dominos, who didn't even look up when we entered and asked to exchange money. I'm told that the more obvious exchange places charge high fees and take advantage of tourists who don't know of such places. I believe it. But without the kindness of Juan, how else would we have found this place? The DR seems immediately like a place where the kindness of generous, sincere strangers can be the difference between a fine vacation and a great adventure.

Over dinner, I asked Maggie and Alexis what they hope to accomplish by the end of this trip. Again, I was so focused on the end when I should be soaking up the beginning, but I'm also aware that for me, beginnings and endings work on each other, depend on each other, and I want to remember just how I felt now when I look back at the end.

Alexis: "I hope to have fun, and obviously to improve my Spanish."
Maggie: "I've already accomplished what I wanted. I've gotten away."
Kate: "I want to be more fearless with my Spanish, because it's the only way to learn."

So although my feelings about our arrival are somewhat caught up in my desires to know we'll accomplish our goals, I'm going to commit to tomorrow as a day to just be here. To just soak up the experience. Buenas noches.

Excéntricas y Neuróticas

Eccentric and neurotic.

These are two words that many, many fellow teachers have used to describe us. While I agree this is true, and I would happily throw in some other important descriptors, I'd like to think that these two words won't drive our upcoming adventure. Yes, we will be neurotic: at any given point, one or more of us will be worried about something. Yes, we will be eccentric: we are definitely more than a little strange, and I can't imagine that any one of us is fully ready for the others. Many of our fellow teachers have told us that they can't imagine a more bizarre trio of women to go to Santo Domingo. In some ways, I hope we prove them all right. But I also hope that we'll prove to ourselves that we are more than just that.

If you're following this blog, here are the cast of characters for the upcoming adventure:

Maggie - Although she shudders when I call her the wisest of us all, ("It's a euphemism for old!"), Maggie does have 14 years at the Dever-McCormack K-8 School under her belt, and years before that in other BPS Schools.  Maggie describes her Spanish language acquiring skills in this way: "One of you is going to have to make me talk."

Alexis - Our school's Speech and Language Pathologist, Alexis has spent the past few months convincing students that they'd love to invite us over to their families' houses. She's determined to make the most of her time in the DR, and is convinced (and I agree) that the best Spanish we will learn will come from outside of the classroom. Alexis describes her Spanish language acquiring skills in this way: "I'm just going to talk all of the time. Even if it's wrong. Just keep talking."

Kate - Your resident blogger, English/language arts teacher, and youngest of the trio, I have the least experience studying Spanish. I spent 10 days last summer studying Spanish at Dartmouth College, but have otherwise devoted my language learning time to acquiring French. This results in me grasping for French first all of the time. I'm open to making mistakes, excited for new adventures, and happy to write my way through this experience.

We depart on Saturday. Real updates begin then.

Many thanks to the Fund for Teachers for giving us the opportunity to take on this adventure!