Amundsons

Rumor has it that Carnival has been happening every February in the Dominican Republic since 1510.  The African slaves brought into the New World were permitted once a year to mix some of their pagan celebrations with Spain’s Christian traditions resulting in... well it was just a really fun street party.  Any street party is only as good as its street food, as far as we are concerned.  Carnival did not disappoint in the fried mystery meat department. Then there was that Chulitos, a rolled-up finger food that was made out of yucca and stuffed with meat and cheese  The streets are filled with dancing, music, and traditional characters such as the Lechón.  These guys hold these látigo (giant whips) which they fling around landing with a giant crack, which apparently purifies the energy- and terrifies the 40-year-old white ladies. Along with those whips they also wield vejigas, which are inflated cow or pig bladders at the end of a rope.  If you get hit by one of those

Typically, culture shock sets in about 2 months in.  It’s when the honeymoon is over, and the “This pineapple is glorious, I could never eat anything else” suddenly becomes, “oh more pineapple....is there anything else?”  The cute and quirky differences become annoying, but the danger is when it becomes “this is wrong”.  We are academics who knew this was coming.  We were ready.  It came and it is passing, and we are still in love with this beautiful country.  Well, all except one issue that I just can't seem to get past: the driving.  The American in me can not understand the vehicles on the roads here.  I literally saw a motorcycle last week with a WASHING MACHINE strapped to the back of it speeding down the road, I saw it because it PASSED us on the CURB.  The amount of babies riding on motorcycles simply wrapped in a blanket in their mama's arms, and the free for all at every intersection as the cars and giant trucks play chicken with each other, is like nothing I have ever

So here is the deal.  The older you get (generally a few decades past teen-angst) you start to realize just who your parents are, what they have done for you, and how much of your life is due to their hard work instead of yours.  In the realm of parents, Jake and I both recognize how fortunate we are, even if one of our dads thinks it’s ok to lay on the beach with white athletic socks under his Birkenstocks (yeah, look close- my siblings are not surprised).  They may not all be on the top of their fashion game, but all four of them are winning at generosity, gusto, and grandparenthood.  In January, my parents came down to stay with us, and we did all the things.  It was near the beginning of our time in Santiago so we were just starting to figure out this city, which meant we got to do it together.  They are both fluent in Spanish, which was really helpful as we discovered our sense of place and how to use a subjunctive in Spanish (BTW, I think you need to explain it again Dad). 

When you land in the Dominican Republic you get a tourist card for 30 days.  Ours expired a couple weeks ago, and with it expired our excuse to begin conversations in English. Our Spanish is still a hot mess, but the burden is now on us to communicate, not others.  Our option to only travel by taxi expired with our tourist card.  It’s nice to travel by taxi, you don’t get lost.  Now we get lost.  Our right to give a pass on the beans and rice for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich has expired.  Beans and rice sustain the people of the DR, they now sustain us.  Sure, we are still The Gringos (Americans),  but when you live in the DR for more than a tourist card, you get the opportunity to become “someone’s” gringos.  And it’s pretty glorious.... We are Juan’s gringos.  He brings us our fruits and veggies, right to our door. In Spain, there were small fruit and veggie shops all over the neighborhoods.  When we moved to Santiago, I couldn’t find them anywhere and wasn’t sure how we could