Trains, Planes, and an Autobús

Travel: And why I want to learn how to travel like a Dominican.

I had to make a quick trip up to the States for a work thing.  When I say quick, I mean I was traveling longer than I was there type of quick.  In order to try and get a deal, this trip consisted of multiple layovers and a train. Although I love a train just as much as the next teacher for kids with Autism, the train created a very long two days of travel back to the Dominican Republic.

On the way home, flying my last connection from Miami to the D.R. the plane was filled with two predominant cultures, North Americans heading to the beach and Dominicans.  As we were approaching Santiago the weather turned on us.  It is the rainy season here in the D.R. which means the weather is predictably unpredictable.  The plane started to shake and rock and when I looked up I counted no less than 4 rosaries in my row of 6 passengers.  A 4 out of 6 rosary ratio is certainly an indication that God had been notified, and we were gonna make it.   We circled Santiago for about a half-hour with the English-speaking pilot overhead giving us the updates, next translated by the Spanish-speaking flight attendant.

Pilot:  I am sorry folks, but the weather is not cooperating.  It looks like we are going to need to land in Santo Domingo.
English-speaking Passengers:  AUGHHHHH!!!!
(The aughhh came because Santo Domingo is on the clear other side of the island and we were getting in very late at night.  This is beyond an inconvenient travel situation, and the English speakers knew it.  A long terrible night was coming.)

Then the Spanish translation came.

Flight Attendant:  I am sorry folks, but the weather is not cooperating.  It looks like we are going to need to land in Santo Domingo.
Spanish-speaking Passengers:  CLAPPING AND CHEERING!  Smiles and high fives all around.
(Because this means they are going to LIVE!!  I know this because the sweet older man sitting next to me went on and on about how excited he was to be alive!  And now that he was going to live he was not going to take any form of transportation besides his bicicleta (bicycle), and if he couldn't get somewhere without his bicicleta, he was just not going to go.  He was my favorite.)

We landed in Santo Domingo and shortly after 1am they loaded us all on an autobús for the drive to Santiago.  It was certainly a long night, but it was not terrible... at least for one of these cultural groups.  There was a notable difference on the bus that night, which was impossible to miss.

The North Americans heading to the beach:  They were pouting and yelling at whoever they could find to yell at wearing anything that slightly resembled an American Airlines uniform.  This included an unsuspecting janitor in uniform, who happen to have the late shift that night.
The North Americans got into Santiago at 4am.

The Dominicans:  Prior to getting on the bus they had picked up some of those duty-free beverages, turned up the latin music, and made some new amigos.  There was dancing in the bus aisle, jokes told with their whole bodies, and a community of women who helped ALL the children.   Not one baby was crying/ not one mom exhausted, because among the 30 Dominican women there were plenty of fresh arms, cookies and new toys from the States that were likely meant for another kid but got opened for the current kid.
The Dominicans got into Santiago at 4am.

Same arrival and yet not even close.