I wanted to write some more people portraits, sketch some more snapshots. My list of subjects is long. Fascinating people. Lovely people. Industrious and innovative people. Precious people. Beautiful people.
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Important stuff that I wanted to write. But we are back home in America again. The land of the free and the busy.... The land of opportunity. So many opportunities! Way more opportunities than one can possibly grasp.
Schedules fill up. Problems demand solutions. New encounters happen. More writing topics step into the spotlight. Before the memories go too dim and my skin is once again pasty-white, I simply must tell of a few more people and places.
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The colmado
Particularly in poor neighborhoods, the colmado is the hub of Dominican life - within walking distance and providing the essentials for daily existence. When you don't have transportation, your colmado can be your best friend. Ex-pats are often shocked to discover what all can be obtained at the local colmado - fresh bananas, cold Coca-Cola or Naranja Rica - which is delicious orange juice, all kinds of staples, sugar, coffee, bread, rice, pasta, onions, garlic, candles, canned goods, soap, toilet paper, napkins, big bottles of water and maybe even a chicken. What more could you need? Ooh, and platanitos! I was so happy to find platanitos, those salty fried platano chips that I love so much.
When we lived in the country twenty-three years ago, we depended on our local colmado for fresh produce and daily supplies, so as we were settling in this time, we were thrilled to discover one within walking distance of our new home. Although I regret that I never learned the name of the little grandma who ran our colmado, I did learn to love her. I remember noticing her the first day we went there - a tired-looking little old lady, but on subsequent visits I began to see how beautiful she was. I looked forward to seeing her each time. Selfishly I relished the way her eyes lit up to see me; it made me feel wonderful and special and important. Yes, I know; she was probably just happy to see the wealthy American customers, but my life was made richer by seeing her every few days and I can only hope that we blessed hers as well.
(Late update: When we went back three years later we found her - AND I discovered her name!)
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Boulangerie Marseilles - a.k.a. the French bakery
Because we did not have internet access at our home, we quickly learned where we could get wi-fi. The French bakery was one of those places where I could connect with my world back home. Happily there were lovely pastries that we could buy to help pay for our free wi-fi. Sometimes we could even get pizza there. Even with lots of fascinating people coming and going, that spot became a haven for me, a little oasis in the sea of raucous noise and activity and cultural overload. I cherished the welcoming smiles of the two lovely ladies who worked there, Michaela,the affectionate French mademoiselle, and Zoila, the young Dominican woman. What dear, precious, wonderful people. I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get to see them again.
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There were so many. Beautiful precious people - ready to serve us or sell us something everywhere we went. I fondly remember the uniformed wait staff at Vista Mare, the classy resort overlooking the bay, Mariela and Oscar who served us at La Playita, the young waiter at Bahia Azul in Samana who would ask about my husband if I happened to come in alone, and the gregarious young woman who helped us celebrate a momentous birthday at La Taberna Mediterean. I wish I could have found more ways to connect with them and somehow to bless them, but I am grateful to have been privileged to encounter them. And yes, we gave generous tips.
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Resourcefulness
I fear that we Americans may have misjudged the Dominicans. I remember hearing them referred to as less than stellar - in their intentions or their intelligence - and I am a little embarrassed about such perceptions even while I can understand how they were formed. True, very few of them are well-educated, and yes, they seem to be out to get what they can from any foreigner. But during this time in-country, I guess I began to see them differently.
Early in our time there, we met Michel (Miguel, Michael) of Chez Michel, one of the little tourist shops in Las Galeras. He had a prime location, right on the main corner in town where the moto-taxis lined up awaiting business, but I can only wonder how much money he would make on any given day. He carried a variety of items that sun-seeking tourists might buy, but he also had several paintings around the perimeter of his shop - inside and out - leaning against the walls. Lovely paintings they were - of Playa Rincon and other local beaches. He seemed pleased when I recognized the ones of Playa Rincon. Then I noticed his signature in the corner and asked if he indeed had painted them. He admitted that he had and rather humbly replied "You got to do something" - with the emphasis on SOME thing.
That phrase stuck in my mind for the duration of our time there. "You got to do something." That spoke to me of hustle. Ingenuity. Creativity. Resourcefulness. I thought of Michel's comment when EvaLisa tried to persuade us to let her cook lobster for us. I remembered it when Carmen delivered hot fresh loaves of "pan de coco" to our door early in the mornings before she headed off to work in town. I couldn't help but wonder how early she and her aunt must have gotten up to have the bread baked this early. I thought of Michel when the young women at the beach cafes began fighting over us and our business. "I met them first; I invited them here" after riding to town in the same gua-gua with us. "No, I met them earlier - at the cove." That little spat reminded me of taxi drivers at the airport aggressively trying to get our business.
With my earlier perceptions, I might have been annoyed at them for pestering me and trying to take advantage of me, but now I was seeing them differently. I began to comprehend that "You got to do something" to feed your family. To buy clothes for your kids and maybe shoes for the older ones. To put gas in your motorcycle - if you were lucky enough to have one. To pay the gua-gua driver for a ride so you can get to work. Yes, there were those who begged for money - a few of them - but most of them tried to offer a service. Even the annoying little boys who accompanied us to the blow-hole behind our house, even they had a scheme. Well, first they just flat out asked for money to buy shoes, but when that didn't work, the ring-leader began to sing for us - getting ever louder and more obnoxious. Did he think we would pay for a song and dance? Maybe, but we didn't have any money on us that day. And I have to admit that I was mostly just annoyed with their tugging on my hand and stroking my arm. But was there a spark of ingenuity or maybe desperation?
There were the vendors at all the beaches - renting you a chair and an umbrella for the day, selling hand-woven bracelets and hats and sweet treats, signing you up to go on their boat tour to somewhere exotic for a few hours. Everywhere we went, somebody had a plan, some venture they were trying. As I typed those words, I heard "everybody has a scam" in my head - which is the way we often think. But maybe, just maybe they were simply trying to make ends meet.
I heard Michel's words when Jose Luis came to the swimming pool on Sunday morning with a HUGE lobster that he wanted to sell the Americans. We already knew that he was a hard worker; we saw him trudge down the beach every morning hauling his boat motor on his shoulder and set out into the ocean for a day of fishing. We watched him come in each evening - often with a big catch of squid or mahi-mahi. You gotta' do something - and he did. Every day. And yet... Somehow, for some reason he was willing to take a few minutes one morning to help us out. We were heading to the city that day to try to get a cell phone. He talked to us about the best place to go and what we would need. He helped us catch a ride and he handed us off to the gua-gua driver with instructions to take us to the cell phone office. He was our neighbor and he cared for us even though there was no money in this deal.
There was also the day that Michel helped us out - actually more than once - and refused to accept any money because "you are our clients" - which almost felt more like "you are family."
I remember hearing missionaries talk about falling in love with the people of their adopted country. I don't remember that being true of me before, but something has changed this time. I suppose much of the change is in me; hopefully I am more open and accepting now. Perhaps some of it is because I was not as stressed this time as on some previous visits. Whatever the reason, I have to count this as one of the best parts of my winter. To have learned not only greater respect for the Dominican people, but to really appreciate them and enjoy them... what a gift! My life is so much richer because of them.
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I think I want to remember Michel's line. It could come in handy even in our culture of ease. Maybe the next time I start to complain about something... Maybe instead of griping about it, maybe I could remember "You gotta' do something." Maybe I could be part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Now there's a novel idea. Or maybe I could start to notice things that need to be done, people who could use a hug. Or a helping hand. Or a generous tip.
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How about you?
Do you need this reminder?
Is there SOME thing that you gotta' do?
Is there something that you need to do to make your life better?
Or maybe you could do SOME thing that would bless someone else.
You gotta' do something.
