Rich Port

Hello

There was supposed to be another blog post between this one and Cheese but the wifi died and I forgot to save the word document and accidentally deleted it when I had the chance to recover it. So that one, which detailed how sad I was that I was trapped in the Dominican Republic and unable to leave, no longer exists. Sorry. It was rather poetic and sad but now I have something happier to write.

I AM IN PUERTO RICO

I AM IN PUERTO RICO

I AM IN RICH PORT

Yes, that is right. I made it, finally, into this country. Well, semi-country. Hard to say what Puerto Rico is, since it is practically a country, and practically a state and I was welcomed back into the US even though this is more like a US protectorate. Or something. Anyway, the point is, I am here in San Juan.

And that feels wonderful. Come the morning I am going to walk to the beach and check out the beach. I am going to visit the Old Town. I am going to do something cool. I might even look into jobs and apartments for a few days. I saw a studio apartment for rent a few blocks from the hostel.

The crickets or something are chirping outside. It is a rather pleasant sound. The sounds here are much nicer than the sounds were in Santo Domingo. That might just be that it is night but not really because night at the hostels in Santo Domingo were LOUD. This is not loud. This is quiet except for those crickets or birds or whatever they ares.

Most importantly, I feel happy. Happy to be moving again. Happy to have a cool place to sleep, which is really just the top bunk of a four person dorm with two of my bags on the ground and the third up here with me, as I will probably sleep with my laptop. Not out of love, mind you, but because that is the sort of thing I would do. Saves space down below and keeps it safe.

I would recommend hostels to anyone who does not mind being forced to interact with other people while staying in their rooms. There is a kitchen to make food so I do not need to pay for overpriced restaurant stuff, there is a table where I can eat, chairs where I can meet other people who happen to be from all over the world, and the price is super affordable. By super affordable I mean like ten bucks a night affordable. Pretty cool, huh? And there's wifi and for five dollars more they will even wash my clothes. This is living. I like it.

I'll be here until Saturday then I am returning to Minnesota for the holidays. At that point I have a decision to make. Either I apply for a DR visa and go there, or I buy a plane ticket to come back here sometime in January. Or I try for both, apply for a visa and if I do not get it by the end of January I come to Puerto Rico anyway. We'll see. Life is what life is. I will take what I can experience and call all the experiences good ones, whether they are harsh like losing a passport or joyful like walking down a quiet nighttime street in San Juan on my way to buy hot dogs.

Puerto Rican? Wolf

Cheese

This really is quite the experience hanging out at my boyfriend's house by myself. The same sort of thing happens every time, usually more than once. For example:

Man/Woman/Teenager/Kid comes to door. "Saludos...Hola...etc"

Me: "Hola."

Other Person: *stare* *think: Oh, it is the Rubia. Isn't there anyone else? "Donde esta (where is ...) (insert names of everyone else in the house)

Me: No, no esta aqui (Nope, they are not here)

Scenario One

Other Person: *Hands me thing*

Me: Now what?

Other Person: Already gone.

Scenario 2

Other Person: Explains something in incomprehensible Spanish that they were here for, and walks away.

Me: Huh?

I cannot say that I am not amused. This is all very amusing. I never really know where any of the people are either. So I cannot redirect anyone. And I did at least know what to do with the cheese today.

Then I explain what happened when somebody gets back, but of course I do not know the names of these random people and the words in this house are not the words I learned in other houses (strange diction thing) so I just start saying everything I can and hopefully the point gets across. This is how one gets a reputation as a Rubia with very amusing Spanish. So I really cannot blame people if they are a little disappointed that it is just me in the house.

*****Part 2*****

That was just a vignette. Really I am going to write in this blog about how I am going to Puerto Rico, blah blah blah. The blahs are not because it is boring but because I literally have no idea what is going to happen there. I changed my mind about my plans halfway through this vacation and I am keeping on going to Puerto Rico to get the lay of the land for a week, then I am going back to Minnesota.

After a week with the lay of the land, I should be able to say more definitely if I want to live there or not. If not, I am going to do my new plan B, which is to get a DR visa and live here for a year. If I do not get my DR visa and do not want to stay in Puerto Rico, I will move to my new plan C which is to move to Florida or Arizona. Or maybe New Mexico. Wherever I see the most job opportunities in the sort of fields I am looking at. And the cheapest housing with the lowest crime rates.

Worst case scenario I can always go to China for a year or so and teach English. Or South Korea. Or any other country I set my sights upon. But I have sort of lost my interest in teaching English as a career path. I've had my adventures abroad and now I want to settle with my "real work". Writing. There are other countries too where I may not need a visa. I can always run off and live in one of those. Really, my life is what I and the Immigration Officials choose to make of it.

That is both incredibly liberating and incredibly terrifying, all at the same time. I keep standing on high places and feeling like I have wings and if I just jump, I would fly. Except the wings are in my mind and I am not going to literally fly anywhere except in airplanes. So I refrain. But I cannot shake the impression from my thoughts. And one day soon, I will actually have a place to settle down. I think that is my deepest ambition at the moment. To unpack my suitcases and call a place my own.

Perhaps the day will come when I forget that feeling altogether, and happily live suitcase to suitcase. But if that happens, first I want my magic Mary Poppins bag.

Wolf

From Caribe Tours

Oh the joys of crappy internet connections. I am currently exemplifying how one’s plans can be made, changed, rewritten and acted upon very quickly. Not only have I left one friend’s house with intent to visit my Pantoja family, I now am waiting for two hours in the nicest bus stop in Santo Domingo (which is not saying a whole lot) and trying to see if I can get the wifi to connect. No such luck so far. Odds are against it happening, but if it does, I will post this.

Anyway, turns out that I was unable to visit with my Pantoja family really because my host mom had to go up to the Cibao region for her aunt’s funeral, and it was just the host dad there, but he was leaving in a bit, so I stood out in the courtyard with a guy who used to be deeply in love with me on the other side of a clothes line, where he was washing clothes. He did not look at me and I tried not to look at him. It was very awkward. I wanted to get out of there.

So, instead, I just stood there until I felt like I had stood there long enough and caught a series of public transit options to the Caribe Tours bus stop. I will be here for the next two and a half hours because that is just the way it works. I fear it will be bored but it could be worse. I would like it better if there were a wheat free option in the cafeteria, but the ice cream was locked up, so I ate a couple of gummi worms and am holding out for a meal in Samana. I do remember that there is ice cream next to the station there, so maybe I can treat myself to a snack while waiting for my ride back to my friend’s site.

There is one good thing about being gluten intolerant in a country like this. You really do learn how to ignore the desire for food and just gnaw on a banana or something until better food comes along, like a cup of ice cream. And ice cream is so wonderful in this hot climate. I STILL have not gotten my helados bon and I am determined to remedy that as soon as possible.

It was very nice visiting a volunteer’s site and doing volunteer things. Maybe I am trying to live the life I could have had vicariously for three weeks. Maybe that is why the urge to find the guagua to Barahona and leave for the south and live there is still so strong. I cannot shake it, no matter how hard I try. And I am trying as hard as I can. When the heart wants something badly enough, it has a way of steering the head around to its way of thinking, and that makes doing the rational thing extremely confusing – because the irrational becomes rational and the rational becomes undesirable.

Puerto Rico is my future. I have no idea how or what I will do there or what will come of this, but I will not let myself decide to leave Puerto Rico for Barahona until I have at least made the attempt at shaking off the desire to live there for a year, applying for a visa, all that.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know how I was doing, and to pass a bit of time here in this bus stop. It is what it is.

Wandering Wolf

Do Not Look Back

Nor should you read the next post after this one, when scrolling down. It was going to be a post but then I changed my mind and really just wrote about nothing.

Sometimes life is like that. We get ready to do one thing and then we turn around and do something else. As for me, I happen to be living that very moment right now. I am in the Peace Corps office, where I have a sore ankle where I kicked off some skin, and I came here in a taxi from the Caribe station because the rolling duffel bag was heavy and that was how I kicked my own ankle out, and that had not been my intention. My intention had been to walk.

The upside is that I have a package from home which had been intended for a "I am sad in Los Patos" gift but will now make a great "starting out in Puerto Rico" package. So far, the director of security and the director of the education sector have both given me some very impressive double takes. Clearly my appearance is not expected, but it shouldn't have been. I left three months ago, and I just have told some people that I am "Passing through" and have come for my package.

Actually, I am hovering in the lounge right now. The volunteer lounge. It is a safe place because I look like everyone else except instead of my face on a badge I have a plain red badge which I received in exchange for my passport at the front door. Wifi is nice. I missed wifi. Then there is a party tonight. I may go to the party. I may not. I do not have a costume. I will go as myself, a Traveling Minstrel/Poet/Singer/Storyteller currently on viaje por La Republica Dominicana.

Here is my plan. I will continue traveling through the country, visiting with friends, and all of that. Then, I will go to Puerto Rico. No clue what is going to happen to me in Puerto Rico. Something. Hopefully something cool.

Or hot. I really want to live somewhere hot.

Libre Wolf

Washing Clothes

Hi

In a bit I really want to wash my clothes. It is a simple enough wish but hard to accomplish. Apparently this morning there was no water. Then I just heard now that there is water. But I do not know for sure. So I will do my best to get this water and I will wash my clothes in the bucket and be happy because it is freaking hot right now and I really want to get wet. Washing clothes is a wonderful way to get wet.

I am also trying to put together the rest of my viaje in this country. In a few more days I will be traveling again and tomorrow I will do a mini bit of traveling, which is the second reason I really want to wash clothes today. That, and I don't have many clean ones left. Haha.

So, I think I will leave this blog post here and try my best to figure out whether or not it is possible.

Blog Post 1

Once again I find myself typing out a post in the dark. Which is to say, I am sitting on a bed in a dark room with the electricity out, except I cannot find my internet stick in my bags so I am typing this into Word and hypothetically I will post it when I go to Barahona this afternoon. Or this morning. It is raining outside, or at least it was pouring a minute ago but from the fact that the chickens and birds are now louder than the rain I do not think it is quite as bad.

Some of you are no doubt wondering how this trip has gone so far. All I can say is it has gone as wonderfully as I had hoped, and there are enough good parts that I can disregard the fact that I have literally been craning my neck around corners when passing by certain places where I know certain people are possibly at, just so I do not have to see them. As of now I am down to just avoiding one person and that is probably for the best, no matter what someone hinted at about time changing people. Time does not change people quite that much. Would Caesar have wanted to chat it up with his old pal Brutus if he’d survived the Ides of March, even if the other people in their circle of friends had described his change of heart as eloquently as Shakespeare’s monologue? I doubt it. Knives in the back hurt. A lot.

But that is unimportant. I have other Rubicons to cross, and I cannot be bothered with the one I already built a bridge over. What matters now is that the bright Caribbean sun shines down on me every day when it is not raining and the sparkling river is as fun to swim in as ever and the turquoise Caribbean sea still churns its white waves against the white rocks near the vast green mountains. This is where I am. This is what I am doing:

Get up. Hang around the house, maybe read a book. Well, probably read a book, chat, wait for breakfast, nibble at food, brush teeth, sit on porch, read more book, chat some more, hang out, maybe watch TV if there is electricity, eat lunch. After lunch, go to river, chat with old friends at river, swim in river, chat some more, go back to house, visit with old host family, do whatever, see volunteer friends from neighboring communities, eat dinner, watch more tv if there is luz, walk around Los Patos a bit, maybe read more book if there is luz (light) and hang out with the family here until I go to bed at some point in the night. It’s really quite relaxing. I know it probably sounds boring but I’ve never had a vacation quite like this one before. It’s different not having a schedule for my days.

And it is very different from how things were during the diagnostic, which was much more packed than the average volunteer’s diagnostic. For one, I am avoiding the school where I spent hours every day and the Center I was supposed to be reopening like they are centers of plague. I went to the school my first morning to give the map of Los Patos back to the sub-director, who’d given it to me during my service. It was made by a volunteer but really it belongs to the community. So I darted into the school like a polar bear plunging into the water after a seal, delivered the map, and fled. Then yesterday when I stopped by the sub-director’s house I apologized for my abrupt and probably rude behavior by explaining that I was scared somebody would ask me when I was going to be working in the Center or coming back to the school. It wasn’t unreasonable either. Kids have been asking me that ever since I got back here.  I do not want to answer. They don’t like it when I say never. But that’s the only answer there is.

Tomorrow I’m going with some friends by motorcycle to a place called Bahia de los Aguiles. Apparently it is the most beautiful place in the whole country, a real eye opener, a beach alongside a desert located on the other side of the southern bend of the DR. It’s only an hour or so from Los Patos. It should be pretty fun. One never knows what time one has. I’d planned on going there at least a few times during my service but I never did during those six weeks so I am going to do it now.

Oh, and speaking of motorcycles, one of the good friends of my neighboring volunteer told me he did not want to see what would happen if I’d been able to live here on my writer’s salary. Just because I said I would buy a motorcycle of my own and start driving it. I think I’d look great cruising down the main highway in my sporty black helmet when I go to visit my neighbors or whatever. Apparently, though, that thought is rather terrifying to him. Wonder why. Haha. I’m sure I’d learn how to drive one without smashing into everything on sight. Eventually.

Now it is pouring again and the chickens have gone silent. Probably hiding. Oh DR. I remember you and your rainstorms so well. Some things really do not change. I’ll never forget the sound of rain beating down on tin. Even though this particular house has a cement roof, there is still tin over the chickens out back, and it is their roof I am  hearing while the lluvia beats its raindrops down upon them. Wonder if I dare go up to the chicken farm again. The farmer was a really great guy. Very friendly. But it is outside of the town, up on the mountainside, and I am not allowed to stray beyond the boundaries of the town without a guide. When I was a volunteer I planned on doing so eventually, when I gathered groups of kids or teens to go with me, but that is out of the question now.  That future does not exist.

So, that’s how things are going so far. I’m sticking to the good like glue and making every effort to avoid the bad. I have a lingering suspicion that she is avoiding me too. It’s not like nobody could find me if they tried. Probably the whole town knows by now which house I am in, and she always had a knack for knowing what I was up to the moment I did it. Perhaps she disbanded the surveillance once I was “banished.” Either way, out of sight, out of mind, and I would much rather spend time with the people I once considered my dearest friends. So I am. J

Wolf of No Country

Lobolius

PS: Better yet, I found the number of my internet stick so I am posting this from the bedroom. Perfecto. :)

Reflections upon a Shaft of Sunlight

I took a walk this evening at the setting of the sun. As I neared the park, I saw it.

I saw the shaft of sunlight hitting the yellowing leaves and my heart leaped for joy and in that instant of beauty and perfection I knew...I knew I would not stay away forever. One day the goddess would beckon me and whisper, "Come home, my daughter, it is time for you to come home."

Yet my wings have been itching and my flights are set. I cannot stay here, not now, not with my wings beating furiously every time I think of travel, and my heart set upon seeing those I know and treasured as friends. Not when I yearned above all else in the universe to revisit the Place Which Was, and which can never be again.

So I asked a simple plea of the goddess in that moment of stillness and perfection.

I asked for one last chance. My wings were shot and crumpled with pain after the First Disaster and I crashed bleeding to the ground, wounded and dazed for a month, before I could rise and walk away. And now my wings have mended and are thrashing madly, desperate to fly once again, but I have been patient. I have waited.

Patience, after all, is one of the keystones of the Druid way. The year's wheel turns season by season, moontime by moontime, and we can only live within that circle, we cannot change it to go faster or slower at our whims. I will take advantage of the flocks of migrating birds, like the little prince did, and I will make my escape.

Even he went home again, for he missed his rose. And he took with him his sheep, and the words of a fox.

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye."

Hunting Schema

Hello Readers

Once again I am turning to you, as I did in the very first blog, from my home in Minnesota's Lake Country. Sometimes a dream gets deferred, forgotten, misplaced, vaguely remembered, and then, when tragedy strikes, it comes back to us clear and bright. And bit by bit, we find a way to make that dream come true.

This is a journey. My life is a journey. I am sitting quietly, peddling my written word as my wares, and preparing to take the greatest leap towards my oldest dream.

I remember when I was a kid, I knew I was going to be a writer. It was one of those things that we just *know* when we are little. Then I grew up, still thought, oh hey, I could be a writer, then gradually it became, well maybe, and then, I don't know, and then I was going to do this, or that, or anything else with my life, except I really did not know what I wanted to do with my life, so I was just going to go into the Peace Corps for a couple of years...maybe afterwards I'll have an idea...etc.

As you all know, Peace Corps did not last a couple of years. It lasted four months. Then I was forced to make up my mind, quickly, of what my next plan would be. A two year process ended up being solved in a couple of hours, and over the course of nearly two months, became a workable plan.

First step, which I am on now, is to earn money writing and selling written things to whatever will pay me for them. This has included transcriptions, articles, paid forum work, and Search Engine Optimization work. Nothing grand, but nothing too shabby either.

Step two, I am taking a vacation in the Dominican Republic. Just going to do it. Have fun. Enjoy what I should have enjoyed for two years in a few weeks. Do it with the freedom of a tourist and the friendships and connections of a Peace Corps volunteer. I figure after everything, I owe myself that much kindness. So I am taking the first, long-term, international vacation purely for fun in my life. No doubt that will produce plenty of blog material and I will resume my journals.

Step three is where I throw myself into the current of my fate and hope for the best. More specifically, I am moving to Puerto Rico. Details still TBD, but I may either select a pleasant looking town on the west coast of Puerto Rico I've had an eye on or a suburb of San Juan. There, I will find a job, an apartment, a vehicle, etc. I'll work to pay my bills during and write what I can and what pleases me by night and on weekends. I intend to do this as long as Puerto Rico pleases me. If it really pleases me I might not leave. If my writing work really takes off and I can support myself on it alone, I may consider other moves, but for now I am keeping my sights low and attainable. I haven't the heart for a second failure so soon after the first.

So, if all goes well, in two months I will be a Dominican Wolf again for a bit, and then a Puerto Rican wolf. Or should I give up the wolf act altogether and say I've become a chameleon?

Lobolius
The Minnesotan Wolf

Shifting Ground

Dear Readers

Yes, I am writing to you from this fabled platform once more. No, I am not in the dear Dominican Republic, a country which has quite brazenly stolen my heart and captured my dreams...as all those who read my facebook should know! I am in Minnesota, my travels on hiatus, and my brain spinning like tires in the mud, while my life struggles to find purchase and move forward.

I won't quit. One thing I've learned in life is that a person quits first in their mind, then in their behavior. I won't let my mind quit. I'm going abroad again as soon as I get the pieces in order. To decide anything else is, simply put, quitting.

I choose not to discuss here what happened to me, and that is a deliberate decision. It was dumb, it was thoughtless, it was cruel, it was a chain of mistakes which I couldn't see until they blew up in my face and sent me out of the country. Or maybe I saw them and chose to look away. Hindsight is 20/20, but the past is the very quagmire I am trying to escape from. See paragraph 1.

How do I plan on going abroad? Well, it dawned on me at the Miami airport that all I'd ever wanted was to write and travel, and I still have my hands, I still have my ambition to travel, and I still have as much writing skill as I have ever possessed, which only needs work to hone it into something money earning. Why not, I asked myself, just put the pieces together and patch a new life for myself out of what I have wanted most all along?

There was no reason not to. The funny thing about a dream being broken before your eyes is that if the despair doesn't break you, the anger makes you stronger. It is as if I can think clearly about what I need to do in order to achieve my dream of becoming a travel writer for the very first time. It's always been one of those dreams, floating at the back of my head, but I never was totally serious...oh wouldn't that be lovely, I thought.

Then came Los Patos. There were days there when I almost saw myself living there, writing, soaking in the sun, looking at the beautiful Caribbean sea. Then Los Patos was torn away from me, and I didn't know what to do. Two years of my life, pre-planned, worked towards, which I had been so eagerly embracing--GONE. Dead. Vanished. Stolen. Call it whatever word you like, that dream was no more.

So, as I picked up the pieces of that dream, nearly crying from the agony of my loss, I made up my mind. One, I was not going to let the loss overwhelm me. Two, I was not going to give up my dreams of travel, I would just have to rewrite them a bit. And three, I was going to throw myself headfirst into the current and become a travel writer. Even if first I have to do whatever form of work gets me paid. Ha. Not quite whatever, but I would sell my writing skills and keep food in the mouth and shelter over the head.

That's what I'm at right now. For the sake of the whole shelter and food thing, I am also planning on peddling my skills as an English teacher, possibly in Ecuador, but that is only a stepping stone on the broader road, which now I seek. It will be mine, if I have the courage to claim it.

Lobolius
Worldwide Wolf

Quotes of the End

Not like this is the end. This blog is about my journey, and even though my journey through the Peace Corps will end prematurely, it is not the end of my road. Like all adventures where one does not see the end, the ending came unexpectedly, but I still am more than I was when i went into this, and I will be more after my next one and so on and so forth.

Failures are made only by those who fail to dare, not by those who dare to fail.Lester B. Pearson

The Highest Ambition

To do something, however small, to make others happier and better, is the highest ambition, the most elevating hope, which can inspire a human being.
John Lubbock

When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person realize his dream.  Paulo Coelho

I bought the alchemist in Spanish yesterday. Of all the things I wished to take away, it was that book.

Do more than belong: participate. Do more than care: help. Do more than believe: practice. Do more than be fair: be kind. Do more than forgive: forget. Do more than dream: work. William Arthur Ward

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. Anais Nin

Don't wait until everything is just right. It will never be perfect. There will always be challenges, obstacles and less than perfect conditions. So what. Get started now. With each step you take, you will grow stronger and stronger, more and more skilled, more and more self-confident and more and more successful. Mark Victor Hansen

and most importantly

Courage is as often the outcome of despair as hope; in the one case we have nothing to lose, in the other, all to gain. Diane DePoiters

I will not despair, but I will admit, at this moment, I am at the edge of the known, the edge of my dreams, and I do not know what my next will be. I had not anticipated this, but sometimes the most difficult decisions are also the right ones, and I made the right decision. I shall not say more. I have said more, perhaps, than I should, because despair is a dark feeling, and I have battled it like Gandolf and the Balrog. It shall not pass. I shall continue with my story.

At this point, I will pause in my journey, recooperate, and emerge stronger and more determined than ever to do what I must do. I just don't know what that will be yet. Part of my heart will always linger in Los Patos, but the past is the past, the future is the future, and I will prevail.

Thank you to everyone for your support through this difficult time. 

Dominican Wolf

Questions, Camps, and Rocks--A Volunteer's Diagnostic Activities

Hello Readers

Miss me? I've been so busy I've practically missed myself. Today I have a meeting at 10:30 with some teenage girls who are going to help me run my questionnaire and map making projects this week. Very important work, because this is the sort of information on which projects are formed. I'll be sure to buy them cookies. The colmado store down the street is going to love me by the time I finish two years.

When it comes to my project all the people assigned to me as my project partners are very hands off, which means I have turned to my teenage host sister for help rounding up her classmates to aid me in my project, and when it comes down to it, maybe I don't mind so much. It gives me a chance to be independent and formulate my own project, even if it also means that the story of what they want me to do changes almost as soon as I finish speaking with one person and begin speaking with another. Still have to find a way to coordinate this better.

I may not get a literacy program this summer after all, but I have a green light to form a camp. A camp would be fun. I could do that for like a week or a few days or something and really gauge which kids would be most interested in some of the side activity projects Peace Corps has. And I'd have an excuse to get together and meet more families and parents, which can only be helpful in my long term work.

And I'll be hanging out in the library working with community members all summer for three days a week. I've mentioned to a few people interested in English classes that I would be willing to do a little bit of that, informally, during those days.

The diagnostic phase has been a lot of things, but I cannot call it boring, not now anyway. I get up, I get working, and then in the afternoon I walk and visit and play in the river and talk and visit and sit on the beach and talk and visit and then I come home and eat at my two houses and really have a great time. I've also found a new pastime while sitting on the beach. You dig a little hole in the rocks, and then you take a larger rock and you throw it into the hole to watch the smaller rocks go flying. Or you can build a pile of rocks and try to see how many big rocks you can stack on top of the rock pile before they slide off. Very popular games here.

Maybe there's some truth to the Peace Corps insistence that the diagnostic is the time when you make or break your feelings towards your site. Every day I feel a bit more connected to the people here, meet new folks, discuss my projects, and build up my future little by little. Give me until August, and I'll be as well-known and popular as the beloved previous volunteer, and I can steal his legacy.

Coincidentally, I also heard that he might be coming for a visit in August. haha.

Dominican Wolf

La Patosa

Hello Readers

Patosa: a woman from Los Patos.

Once more I find myself without power and a dying laptop battery. I've got 9% to type with before it goes so I will just type what I can and if I don't get it posted I'll post this when I have energy again. Haha.

What have I been doing? Oh, nothing much. Played some Dominoes yesterday and learned a bunch of names and houses and interconnections between people, because this community, like small towns the world over, has about five or six degrees of connection between every person. Classy, hm? And now I'm one of them. Even classier.

This afternoon I'll be meandering to the river to help out with some girl's clubs that the other volunteers are bringing to my site to play in the river. As always, should be quite entertaining.

It's been raining a lot. Especially at night. Last night there was tons of rain. And lightning and thunder and wind. I just hang out in the dark house, listening to people speak in rapid and blurred Spanish, and laugh when I barely understand them but am highly amused by their hand gestures, which accompany stories I can sort of understand but not really. Especially when those gestures are made by the light of flashlights and candles. Sometimes I wish I knew how to tell ghost stories in Spanish because that would be really appropriate.

I am also a product of vivere power now. Or so they tell me. Those are the very potent vegetables and plaintains and bananas which constitute the entirety of my diet. I also walk a lot every day, so all the nutrients are going to fuel muscles. I've got very muscular legs and arms. People like to comment on them. They tell me I am very skinny and in good shape because I walk a lot, and it amuses me because in training we were always told that we'd be told we're fat for a compliment, but I've only been called fat once. Usually I'm just told I have strong legs.

And I am also very tanned. The other day I had my arm on a counter near a friend of mine here, and her skin and mine were the same color. She is a paler skinned Dominican, but still, it was quite funny. She told me I was a Dominican now, not an American. I just laughed. Of course, my hair is yellower than ever, and will just keep getting bleached by the sun, but if it were black, I suppose I'd be a true Dominican beauty.

Instead, my blonde hair and nice muscular legs make me an attractive figure on the guaguas. The other day I took a trip up to Barahona and on the ride there and the ride back I had guys practically salivating for me. They were very nice about it, unlike guys in the capital, but I'm not blind. I know what it means when a young man stares desperately at a woman and tries to engage her in conversation. Especially when they start asking if I have a boyfriend. Or a husband. It's quite amusing.

Believe that's all I wanted to share with you guys. Cuidate. (take care)

Dominican Wolf

Mud on the Shoes

Dear Readers--

There is one high praise I will give for Dominicans--this is a culture of extreme cleanliness. The more you bathe the better. And that goes for Peace Corps volunteers too.

So, here's the story.

We'll begin yesterday, when I was visiting House 2. I have two houses because I live with one and sleep in that one and officially live in it, and I have House 2, where I am the adopted daughter of the Dona. In House 2 I spend a lot of time, eat some meals, and sit in a hammock.

As I said, this is a fastidious culture. So, I've become very conscious of whether or not I am clean or dirty, I clean my fingernails several times a day and am always checking my body for mud because it rains a lot and I often get muddy. I was sitting on the front stoop of House 2, when I noticed that my arm was dirty. The Dona was washing some clothes nearby and there was still water running from the hose into the ponchero, which is the large bucket used for washing clothes.

There were no clothes in the ponchero, and as I said, my arm was dirty, so I took the hose and washed my arm, and then I washed the other arm for good measure. I thought I was being covert but naturally, her keen Dona eyes spotted that I was trying to wash myself with a hose. I was then taken into the house, handed a towel and soap, and she told me it was okay, I could use their bathroom to wash up.

It ended up being a great experience. My first glance was for their bucket, but there wasn't one, so I looked up and they actually had a pipe sticking out of the wall! Running water! I took the soap I'd been given and scrubbed and scrubbed and let the running water hit all the parts that I just can't reach well with the bucket baths. I felt so gloriously clean. It was wonderful.

Fast forward to the evening. Have I mentioned that there's been a lot of rain and mud? Well, that means my tennis shoes have gone through a lot of rain and mud. I've also hiked up mountains, through beaches, and along dirt paths in them for three months. You can imagine the state those poor things were in.

Ah, this too is a problem! I've watched people scrub their shoes clean, and have admired the experience, but had never done it myself.

Yesterday, people started dropping hints. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. I felt embarrassed. My shoes were dirty! Muddy! I was a horrid person because I let my shoes become dirty. There was only one solution.

"Yes, I know my shoes are dirty. I really do need to wash them. What do I do?" (ie: the helpless gringa defense. Save me Dominicans, for I know not what you do.)

Enter Grandma Dona of House 1. She just came back from Santiago last week and she is a marvel of Dona power. Since her arrival, clothes have reappeared from the dirty laundry, rice tastes delicious again, and things get clean.

Together, we scrubbed, bleached, washed and rinsed those tennis shoes until they were a brand spanking new white color. Then the shoe laces received the same treatment. Problem solved. I've seldom felt so proud of a pair of shoes in my life. Now they are hanging on the clothes line, and I can again be a proud human being with clean shoes.

Maybe these stories bored you. Too bad. I am in the Peace Corps and cultural exchanges is what I do.

Dominican Wolf

Missing my Site... =(

Dear Readers

Took a trip up to the capital today. Tomorrow I have to get my green card. This means I've spent a cheerful day passing the hours in the Peace Corps headquarters. Bought some ice cream and checked my mailbox--no letters. Sad day. But, happy day, visited with a bunch of volunteer friends from training!

Eventually I may swing up to Pantoja again, to visit my host family there, but I am giving it time. Sounds like the guy I dumped is feeling like shit and miserable, so he needs lots of time to forget me. I could feel bad about this but in a way I am just letting it slide. Time will heal him far more than I could at this point. Things happen. I've changed and my heart changed with me.

This is a mistake I regret, and one I will not make again. I know my facebook posts have been cryptic and a little schitzo, but really, things are very smooth going in the site with the guy. I'm just frustrated with myself because I know I need time, but there are moments when I am ready to start up with the one person right now, even if I shouldn't and even though I WILL NOT. So yeah. That's that. He is unbelievably patient, or unbelievably in love, or a little of both. He's willing to wait for me. In the meantime, I spent time with him as a friend. It makes me very happy, and I teach him English and he explains as much as I need explained in Spanish, multiple times if necessary, so all is well.

I've been in the capital not even half a day and I already miss my site. I miss the quiet, broken by the occasional roar of a motor.  I miss knowing people as I walk down the streets and calling salutations to the Doñas. I miss visiting the river and talking with the restaurant owners. I miss the roar of the waves crashing into the beach, over and over again, so loud I can even hear it during quiet moments at the house. I miss the wind which blows off the sea and the heavy greenery in the forests and the mountains. I think it is fair to say that even if I am holding back my heart from men, I am unreservedly giving it to the land around me. I can only think of one place in the world I love more, and that is my home in the pine forests of northern Minnesota.

At this rate, I hardly know how I will leave in two years. My friend has told me that when the last volunteer left, the entire town threw a party for him and he sobbed all night. I could believe it. I've never met him, nothing more than stories and a single photo from the volunteer magazine last spring, but he sounds like the sort of volunteer every volunteer dreams of being. He knew everyone, he built cool things, he had the total respect of an entire pueblo, and he gave his all to his work. I cannot even imagine what it will be like to build a life for myself over the course of two years, and then have to say goodbye.

For right now, I am constructing that life. There is no time to imagine deconstructing it. I'll be starting up week after next, when the school exams are finished. Need to get the Center up and clean, remove all the dead bugs and lizards and cobwebs and dust, and then start up the literacy program with the high school students. We'll be teaching kids who are about to repeat third grade. It's good work, and I am pleased to be doing something constructive. I feel once I begin working I can start to have a more steady grasp of my life in my site. And I have to run the diagnostic. That will be an activity all its own. I'll need to talk to my co-teachers about it. They can help, or know people who can help.

This is the Dominican Republic. There is always time, just as there is always space on a guagua, or more rice, or another mango. Sometimes I forget and become impatient, but in time, I may become less American and more Dominican about time. Who knows. That's for the future to know.

Dominican Wolf

Happy Corpus Christi

I actually had no idea there even was such a thing as Corpus Christi until very recently (as in this week) but it appears that today is Corpus Christi. It is a day without work here in the Dominican Republic, so rather than observe in the school and trek up to the main city in Barahona I'm sitting in the house, amusing myself with qualquier cosa and blogging.

For those who are also ignorant, let me share a bit of cultural knowledge. A long time ago, there was a nun who had a vision that there needed to be a day celebrating the Eucharist outside of Lent. She spent the rest of her life campaigning for that day, and after she died, the Pope issued a Bull saying that there should be a feast day of Corpus Christi. That's today. In Catholic countries the world over, today is a very special day. Including my new one.

So, anybody wondering what I've been up to lately?

I've done some pretty intense parent-engagement activities, conducted non-participant observation activities, am planning participant observation activities, and yesterday I learned more details about my primary assignment and ran follow up checks with other members of the committee.

All of which is a fancy way of saying I have climbed a mountain with a parent who was so flattered by the fact that I wanted to take pictures of his chicken farm that he took me up a mountain so I could take more pictures of the mountains and the sea, and have greeted way more people than I have names for (all of whom seem to have my name down pat) and sat in the school watching lessons, and have decided to take up a teacher's repeated offer that I teach his class for an hour, and yesterday I had a meeting with my boss from the Peace Corps and went down to the river later and chatted for a few minutes with a committee member who wasn't there.

Oh, and I've got keys to the library!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, about the assignment. I'll be working this summer on a bit of diagnostic activities, obviously, and also there is a group of girls in eighth grade who'll be aiding me in a tutoring program at the Centro. Yay! And doing other things in the Centro. Small, enjoyable activities, and cleaning it up a touch. There's going to be a clean-up day there with community people. It needs it. Poor place has been shut down since last July, nearly a year by the time anything happens there now.

There's going to be a lot of fundraising plans needed for things. For this, I may need to call in my business volunteer contacts. Hehe. And the community needs to feel more invested in the building. There are always possibilities. And my boss told the committee member showing us the Center how I'd reacted when she told me about the library. He was pleased. I thought it was funny how she remembered that too. It is certainly a moment in my life that I will never forget as long as I live. I wasn't exactly subtle and I wanted it so badly I did not wish to be subtle because I was afraid subtly would be lost. Hence the wide-eyed, desperate begging for the library project. Shameless.

Ah, there went the electricity. Dang. This is the price of paradise.
Dominican Wolf

Adventures of the First Week

Dear Readers

All this week I've made the quick trek up to the school for observations. It's been fun. For one thing, I can speak Teacher in Spanish, so I can actually hold conversations there at an intelligence level above that of a twelve year old obsessed with clouds. Despite that, I cannot understand Dominican Teacher Speak Speed, but at least in the afternoon classes, everyone is very understanding. Yesterday I burst out laughing because over the course of a conversation the only words I had really comprehended were Blood, Leg, and Parasite. They were spaced out enough that they were probably unrelated but taken together they were pretty funny.

Then, of course, everyone is like, what's so funny? And I actually told them so they could laugh too.

And everything I've been told about No Dancing, Be a Nun is complete BS. I've been ordered to get up and dance at the school to prove that I really do know how to dance bachata. Not like in front of crowds or anything but the teacher attitude towards being in the classroom is much more lax here, so frequently my observations entail sitting in a chair, on the sidewalk (sientate! My most common command, it means Sit!) and chatting with teachers, or listening to teachers chat. The other day I was there, and was asked if I really knew bachata, and one of the teachers who had already forced me to prove my bachata dancing prowess said yes, I did, so some music was put over a phone and yep, I got up and danced.

I just tell everyone it is because I am a Dominicana now, not an Americana. People seem to think that is very funny. I survive by laughter. If not for my ability to create humor with my crazy situation and lack of Spanish prowess, I think I'd be miserable. Peace Corps is not easy, not by any means. Day after day of constantly speaking and listening in a language I barely have a handle on, the high expectations the community has of me, (contrasted with my lack of Spanish!!!!) and too many guys surrounding me like lovestruck puppies.

Speaking of lovestruck puppies, I also have a real lovestruck puppy. The family dog follows me to the beach and the river every day now. He won't let me out of his sight. I feel kind of awkward about this because he is not my dog, but everyone asks me if he is. I just enjoy having some company when I take my walks that does not try to speak to me in Spanish.

The other high entertainment I've been experiencing is with my guitarita. That tiny little guitar has won me some friends, and possibly another love-struck male. People are trying to teach me how to sing 24 horas, which is a very romantic and beautiful song by Frank Reyes. That also is cute. Instead I just start singing in English and nobody knows what I am singing about. It is fun, especially when I am feeling frustrated by things I cannot describe in Spanish so I start singing about them in English and people only know to compliment me on my singing, without having the slightest clue what I am really talking about. The best was when I was singing about how I hated bucket showers and my host mom said it was a beautiful song.

What else? Well, what if I were to tell you that I am often given commands like a dog? There is the ever present command, SIT! and then there is Come! And then there is Bath!

And it might amuse people to know that I have been presented to the mayor. It was an odd experience. I told him who I was, what I was doing, then I was given the third degree on how powerful he was and how great he was, and then he told me welcome to Los Patos and I said thank you several times and bolted. With dignity, but I bolted. I can see why people might not like him much.

I think that about covers it. I've now had a full week free of those crazy tigueres and their crazed cat-calls. The only time I am ever bothered is by tourists from other parts of the country and I am learning to recognize them on sight.

Dominican Wolf

Update

Hello Readers

Going to type this fairly quickly because the electricity is out, again, and my computer doesn't have a whole lot of battery power left. Just wanted to update everyone on a few interesting things.

Interesting thing one: the speed of gossip in the Dominican Republic is very impressive. No doubt it is this way in small towns the world over, but this is my first time living in one and experiencing it. This is how I can come back from the river, the day after I explain to my Dona that I have feelings for a guy, and suddenly my project partners are giving me fist pumps because I have a Dominican boyfriend. I never even used the word boyfriend, in fact I carefully avoided the word novio because it is very strong here, but that's how the story is going around the town.

Interesting thing two: I think I've lost my phobia of eating fish with the eyes still attached, or else I was just very hungry this afternoon. I was certainly hungry, and I was tearing into this extremely bony fish that barely had any meat, and got quite excited when I saw a hint of flesh I could eat. I dug and tore at it with my fork and finally exposed this succulent morsal---and it was an eyeball. All I felt was a vague disappointment. I really wanted more fish meat. Maybe one day I will eat an eyeball but that day is not today. Eventually I found the other eye. They were both stuck to the skull.

Interesting thing three: Schools. Ai Ai Ai. There's some very interesting teaching practices here, or maybe I should say there are some very interesting non-teaching practices here. Not to complain, but I will just say that at one point today I ended up leading a class in a bunch of clapping exercises because I was afraid if nobody intervened there might be some eyeballs on the floor.

 Interesting thing four: Come visit me. My site is beautiful and there is so much to see and do. But wait until after I finish my first three months. Then I will have a charming little house of my own.

Dominican Wolf

Hasta la Mañana: A few scenarios

Greetings and Waits.

Greeting: Today I hung out in the lounge with my fellow volunteers at the Santo Domingo office. Pretty darn cozy. It was so welcoming to be there and *know* that at long, long, long, long last, I am a volunteer. I feel there are more differences between the day of being a volunteer and not a volunteer, than there was of having my birthday. Normal enough, I guess.

Greeting: Everyone has told me that my site (described below) is incredibly popular among the volunteers. Today, I learned that that is very true. Many times, my name and site introduction was followed by some sort of wow, cool, hey, I like that place, I've been there. Hehe.

As a side not, apparently I've been bragging. But can I help it? I mean, I'm not trying to brag. Here's a sample of how I have been bragging.

Person says. "Yeah, I'm not getting very much cell service. I have to go to a certain tree."

I say, "Yeah, I was having the same problem. So I had to go to the beach because my signal was better there."

Everyone in earshot: "Stop talking right there."

Me: "What? It's true."

"Just stop."

Me: Sigh. *shuts up*

Greeting: Met a fellow Vermillionite! It was quite the coincidence. I happened to be wearing one of my old USD shirts, because it was the most comfortable shirt that I still had clean in my closet of the few I'd left in Pantoja.

Vermillionite: You are from South Dakota?
Me: No, but I went to school there.
Vermillionite: Oh my gosh, I am from Vermillion!
Me: No way!

Turns out we know a lot of the same locals. Which is cool. The Vermillionite had even studied International Studies there for a year.

Now for the waiting.

Waiting: Come the morning, or sometime tomorrow, I bid adieu to Santo Domingo. And I give a fond hello to my new home, that lovely land with prime cell phone reception on the beach.

Waiting: Until I can look out along the beach road down the south, gaze upon the turquoise sea, see the curvy mountains nearly reaching the water, and thank whatever twist of fate gave me this place to live for two years.

Waiting: For the next three months, when I get to know that community much better. For the time after, when I know who, what, when I'll be working with. Some things are clear, others are not.

What matters, then, is the now.Tonight, I'm in a hotel in Santo Domingo. It is what I call the lap of luxury: wifi, shower, and a television we are listening to in English.


Dominican Wolf

Last Post as Trainee

Dear Readers

Today, May 15, 2013, I cease to be a trainee and I take my oath of office as a Peace Corps volunteer. It is a really exciting time for me. Tomorrow I am going to spend a day in the capital with the other volunteers, and then Friday I grab my stuff from the hotel downtown and ME VOY!

I am so happy today. But oddly enough, in my last few days in Pantoja, I finally came to accept this place. A nice neighbor guy, being able to speak more with my family, and being more comfortable traveling in what passes for transportation here has all helped.

Two more days in the capital. Then off to my beach!

There's a lot to do and achieve there in conjunction with my partners in the community. Friends to meet, a library to restart, a sala de tarea to run. All is going to be challenging and beautiful.

Need to go.

Roman Wolf

I asked for a library and got a BEACH

I asked for a Library, I got a Beach

That about sums up my site. I can stop typing now.

Haha.

Just kidding.

My site has a beach, a very lovely beach, filled with small, white rocks and also some larimar, which is a precious stone very common in the southern DR coast. It is blue and very pretty. The Caribbean Sea is in sight of my house, and it is the most gorgeous turquoise I ever have seen in my life. And I’m a Minnesota girl. I know water.

It also has mountains! Big, huge, green mountains which look like a baby version of the Andes. The mountains kiss the water, quite literally, because when you stand on a clump of giant rocks on the beach you can look north and see how the mountain swoops down to the coast and touches the water. It is the most stunning sight I have ever seen, aside from the view as the waves slowly crest upwards towards shore and become white monsters striking the rocky, sandy dunes alongside the sea.

No, I do not have pictures yet. I had some mental complex about not taking pictures on my first visit to the site because I wanted it to be pristine and free of touristy implements like cameras. Plus, I do not even have internet in Santo Domingo so I would not be able to post any until I get back and can befriend the Italians who own a restaurant with wifi. Hehe.

Don’t worry Italians, I’ll buy some Kola Real.

And have I mentioned the river? Because it has one of those too. A wide, shallow little thing that happens to be the shortest river in the world. Very shallow. Not even a foot deep. With rocks. Sharp rocks that can cut a foot of the unwary person unfamiliar with the way current can seize a floating human being and drag them along said rocks. I know. I have the cuts on my foot to prove it.

One of my project partners owns a restaurant along the river. That’s the most touristy part of the town because Dominicans come from all over the DR to visit my site’s river. And the beach of course. So I have a splendid excuse, when running or strolling along the beach, to swing by the river and visit either with him or with his friends and family who are usually there. It is awesome.

As for the town. It begins right along the beach and extends back and upwards into the mountain. My Centro (with the library! And the homework center! And the office!!!!) is a bit up the mountain past the school, so there is a small climb. So far I’ve only taken it via motorcycle with my other project partner, who was showing me around. No doubt I will climb it frequently in the months to come.

Now that you know what the appearance is of where I will live, I can describe what I will be doing in order to live in this town just south of paradise. (Although if the people talking knew what they were talking about, they would have named my town that!)

Three years ago, this really cool volunteer came to town and had a mission to get a library in it. He started the library, the homework center, an internet center, and a basketball court, all while building some latrines. He also got to know everyone that I have met so far. So as far as I am concerned, he was pretty awesome. Then, like all volunteers, he left. And the follow-up volunteers (a married couple) suffered health problems. And left a month later. People don’t really remember them.  Once they left, El Centro closed.

There were a few other things going on and I have not had time to dig out the full story. I know the mayor was not supporting the library either. And there was no money. I’ll need to uncover the data during my diagnostic.

Anyway, now I am there. My mission is to restart El Centro, including the library and the homework center, teach Spanish literacy to children, and work with teachers on improving literacy teaching since there probably will not be a follow-up volunteer after me. (I am the follow-up.)

First, I have three months to learn what there is to learn, and adapt to life under the tree. A later blog post will describe the tree. It is very important. But I think it belongs more in a post about conducting a Community Diagnostic in the Dominican Republic.

My Posting

Dear Readers

Today was THE DAY. The setting this morning: sixteen education trainees anxiously awaiting word of where we were going. Our jefe, Ann, walks in with the stack of red manuals containing the answers. We stare eagerly like starving dogs in the calles. She tells us that she is just going to give them to us because she knows that we want them.

I listen anxiously for my name. Sarah Paulus. Los Patos de Barahona.  ( Lows Pahtoes day Bah Rah Oh Na).  I take the manual and the first thing I do is look on the giant map for Los Patos, and found it in the very southern part of the country, along the eastern fringe circling the Carribean Sea. Barahona is the region, and Los Patos is a little community perched on a mountain.

Supposedly, it is GORGEOUS! A mountain goes right up to the edge of the sea, and the rocky beach is at the bottom. Nearby is a huge national park, filled with trees and beaches and iguanas, and a giant salt lake. And mountains. Lots of mountains. The Sierra de Bahuroco. My new mountain range.

As for the project, a bit of history first. In 2010, a volunteer went there to start a library. He worked on it for two years, and finished with a completed library but the site needed a follow up volunteer to make sure it was all going to be used. In 2012, the follow-up volunteer came, but left within a month due to medical issues. For a year now, the library has waited its volunteer. Me. Yay!

I will also be working with the local elementary school, and supposedly there is a pre-school there too, in the school, but it is also supposed to be in the same building as this library...I'll see the layout tomorrow. This could be very interesting. I will be doing literacy work in the schools with the younger kids.

As for how I live, we'll see. Electricity is fairly scarce, the first volunteer had a side project building latrines, so it will be latrines for me, more than likely, and I will need to bring along a water filtration tank, but I will need to grab it tomorrow, forgot to take it from the Cuerpo de Paz today. Also, it is a high risk area for earthquakes, hurricanes, and flooding, so I will always need to have a three day supply of food and water on hand, or at least a three day supply of food. Pure Peace Corps readiness. The safety and security person mentioned that in the south it is not uncommon for bridges to give out after a major storm, cutting volunteers off, which is why that will be so important. In that situation, I'd have to hunker down in the community with the others and wait.

So happy today!!! This will be the greatest adventure of my young life. And in one week, I will be 24 years old. So many changes, so little time.

Roman Wolf

Part II April 28

Ok, going to continue this blog post from a nice porch near my house. This is what I refer to as the Volunteer's Internet House, because on a weekend I can always swing by and find volunteers to hang out with. There's a lady who used to be a host mom here, and since she couldn't have a volunteer this spring, she offered her porch to any volunteer in need of wifi. It is great. And slightly more peaceful. As a reader of Part 1 will see, home can sometimes get a little crazy.

In the last week, I have really gotten the hang of different projects. I have delivered the presentation to teachers in Spanish, and designed a really cool trash pickup project at the school. Unfortunately, after coming down with a nasty case of gripe, (cold/sore throat mix) I lost my voice the morning of the painting project so I motored there, dropped off my supplies, and silently wished everyone good luck. From the pictures posted to facebook, it looks wonderful although I will not actually get to see the finished project until Tuesday.

That Friday, I also learned just how much I benefit from having motors at my service on my street. I'd barely left the house before the motor drivers saw I had my helmet in hand, and one of them revved up its engine to come get me. So I did not have to walk far that day.

There's also been time for fun. I'm getting pretty good at the bachata dancing. The Dominicans certainly are very amused by my dancing, although I am obviously not at the skill level of a Dominican. Dominicans look like they can dance as soon as they can walk, and maybe earlier. There are certainly small children who are much better dancers than me.

That's bachata however. Dembo is another matter. It is a very sensual and rambunctious dance. I cannot do it for the life of me. There's a certain butt flick, and a stomach twist, and leg shakes which I can crudely imitate but am either too thin (sorry Doñas!) or too Americana to manage.

Another bit of fun. I actually passed the Swiss level of the Friv chase game. It's an online gaming site filled with random flash games. There's one that is very popular in both my host families, where you play a character getting chased by everything from German women holding beersteins to bulls, and have to jump obstacles without getting caught. The Swiss level is on a snowboard, down a mountain, chased by a masked man in skis. You have to make the jumps over the mountain crevasses and rocks and such. Very fun.

And last but not least, I have tons of free books downloaded from Amazon.com kindle. I have read Gulliver's Travels, the Secret Garden, and am starting to read The Time Machine. Reading the Time Machine reminds me of The Big Bang Theory, one of my favorite TV shows from in the States. I am also reminded of that show when I see the cable van because it has the characters from Big Bang Theory painted on the side.

I believe I am finally satisfied with all of my updates. All the best,

Roman Wolf

Less than a Week

Hello Readers

Feeling a bit in two directions today. For one, I do not really want to leave Monte Plata. I have enjoyed my time here very much, and I love hanging out with Las Chicas. I have my own band of motorcycle drivers who have been trained not to bother me with Americanas!! and instead leave me in peace when I walk past them. In short, everything here is as I hope it will be a month into my own site.

However, since I do have to leave, I kind of cannot wait until I do. You see, I've done all this work getting settled in and loving a pueblo, only to have to leave it all behind me in another week. Once I get to my real site, I will be able to do all this again, except I have to start from square one. I am very glad to have had this chance to learn *how* but yeah, now that it's almost done I just want to get on with my life here in the Dominican Republic.

The one thing I do not want to do is go back to Santo Domingo. I DO NOT like Santo Domingo. It is a dreadful, dreary, miserly place filled with traffic and noise and smells and crazy people who drive like maniacs and guaguas packed with three layers of humanity. I so much prefer the rest of the country.

In one week and one day, I will know exactly where I am going. It is going to be a bit of a surprise where, since I absolutely do not wish to know that information until I receive it, but I am so eager to know. Sometimes I wonder if this is how it is when a person has a baby. Oh yes, I want to know what gender the baby is going to be, but oh how I long for the surprise! Not like I'll know. Somehow I do not see myself being the sort of person to settle down and raise a family. It's just not in my genes. I am Jean Luc Picard. My brother is Luis Picard.

For now, this adventure in the Peace Corps is all I could ask of it. And as long as I am here, I am going to branch out a bit from my usual personal thing for a bit of a political one. I know this is a controversial subject but I will not make any non-objective statements about it, just going to paste the link and let people read.

http://www.peacecorpsconnect.org/2013/04/legislation-urges-health-equity-for-peace-corps-volunteers/

Rape is a problem in the Peace Corps. There's usually a case or two in the Dominican Republic each year. If a woman gets pregnant she basically is kicked out of the Peace Corps because "it is not medically feasible" to keep her in service. Just going to make that statement and leave the rest alone.

I won't leave you on this sad note however. I will leave you on a much happier one. At this moment there are four gals on the bed counting me and three of them are staring curiously at this blog because it is all in English and they only know a bit of that language. For them, however.

YOU ARE CRAZY
TU ESTAS LOCA

They understand.

Roman Wolf

Post-Charla

Hello Readers

A short update tonight because I am really in need of some beauty sleep. Last few days have been gruelling and I do not see them becoming more relaxing for three more weeks.

On Monday the Meriño group gave a group of twelve teachers a presentation on how to create, communicate, and implement a more effective system of rules in the classroom. I am in a group of very fluent Spanish speakers, and am the only one with lower than required Spanish, so I felt like the gloomy casual runner trying to keep pace with Usain Bolt and other world-class Olympians.

Despite that blow to my morale, I feel I did a very nice job on my speech. I just decided to work strictly within my abilities and not do a thing to veer away from what I knew I could do. So, I had my entire speech written out on a couple pieces of paper and memorized the whole thing. Then I could look up and give a very nice presentation, but still be able to check every now and then to make sure I was going to say the correct conjugation of a given verb, or get all the syllables into the ever-gory imperfect tense of a nosotros. Demonstrábamos. Most of Spanish is easier than German, but every now and then there is a word so long after it gets conjugated that I might as well be speaking in German again.

The good news was that after our presentation, the teachers were very motivated to create the chart we made for classrooms. Students can each have a little clothespin and they can move up or down the chart, and if all the students are on the "bien" side at the end of the day, there can be class-wide rewards. It is very neat and efficient and the teachers seemed to love it.

Today I went to watch another group give their presentation. They did a great job too. We are all going to be very effective and engaging volunteers once we've had our three months to settle into our communities, drink the coffee with gobs of sugar or tea (since I really do dislike the taste of coffee and can only endure it when I have it with too much sugar), and blather. I really want to have all the speaking practice I can get for those three months. I'll just need to befriend some children and their Doñas. Then I can speak in Spanish all day long and maybe within a month or two I'll be able to do it without feeling like my brain has melted by the end of the day.

Almost done with my Bob Marley tunes. I think I will sign off and get some sleep. Adios Amigos!!

The Dominican Wolf

The Tantalizing

Hi Readers

Not a whole lot more to report over last week. It went by in a total blur and now somehow it is Saturday already and I am about to start a brand new week in Monte Plata.

The highlight probably was visiting with the business volunteers at a really sweet hotel. I now know the cry of the peacock, and probably the only thing I like less is the crowing of a rooster. It sounds like a baby yowling while its feet are being burned off. Not like I know that particular sound from experience, but if one had to imagine the noise, that would be about it.

There were also cows, horses, geese, and a donkey around the hotel. Very amusing, but that is how Monte Plata is. Think South Dakota. Farm, Farm, Farm, Town. Farm. Farm. (Hotel) Farm. I enjoyed seeing everyone again from the other group. It was a great reunion, even if it came at the price of having to listen to a full day of very serious and rather depressing topics, like sexual assault and how to handle someone breaking their neck on Pico Duarte.

My poor brain hates Saturdays because they are my Speak Only in Spanish Days, as are Sundays. Unfortunately, I am just going to have to get used to them because in three weeks every day will be Speak Only in Spanish day. For two years. It's a bit like being told, here's a lake, start swimming, good, now cross the English channel.

My only consolation is at least I can communicate. Oftentimes for formal things like the workshop my group is giving to the teachers on Monday, I need to have and memorize a speech so I can say the words correctly and in the right tense, but once I have written and corrected that speech, and had somebody with more Spanish look at it, then all is well. Here it is a Spanish professor, in my community I'll just ask my Dona or my Key Community Contact to take a look at it. Good way of sharing ideas as well, since we are always supposed to do that. In the even more Peace Corps build local capacity style, I would not even speak more than a few words, my Key Community Contact would handle the rest. Hehehe.

On Monday, I will be giving a portion of a formal presentation on how to design, communicate, and use effective classroom rules. My portion is communicating the rules. For the purpose of this activity, and since none of the teachers will know me, I am compositing every teacher I have ever seen communicate rules into me. And describing "my" experiences in Spanish. For reasons like this I really hope that I get the post that has been hinted at for me. I won't be expected, at least as much, to come in and teach teachers how to teach because I really have no qualifications to come in and teach a teacher how to teach.

And if a teacher asks me for help in how to teach, since that will not be my primary role, I won't lose nearly as much face if I come out right away and say sure, I'm not a teacher in the United States, but I worked in a school and I at least saw a lot of teaching practices there.

I know people are probably wondering what I keep hinting at, and I have told a few people, but I am refraining from making any grand announcements before I know for certain, in case it is totally different, because then I will have fewer people I need to correct. Besides, I am scared of getting my hopes up for this particular project. I want it that badly, but as long as I keep it rather quiet, and keep reminding myself that it is only a hint that I practically begged my boss to give to me, then I will be less disappointed if I get something else. But I have a feeling it will be mine. After all, passion counts for almost everything in a volunteer and I can feel my passion for this assignment already, and the ways to make it happen, so there is no reason for me not to be assigned there. And my boss knows how much I want it. I was too eager to control my body language that afternoon. Haha. Dancing in place. I was so happy.

 Trust me, it is hard to keep this quiet. But it will be much better if I make the announcement all at once.

Tonight is a Chica Night. The girls are all over, including their Swiss friend, and one of my volunteer friends is coming over. Should be enjoyable. I'll post again soon, my pack.

The Dominican Wolf

A Fortnight In

Dear Readers

I have now been in Monte Plata for nearly two weeks, as of tomorrow morning. I don't want to leave. I love my host family, I have befriended Swiss people and get to speak in German, and there is a totally amazing baseball field where I can go walking or running at leisure. The barrio in Santo Domingo felt like a prison, this pueblo feels like paradise.

I've even befriended a group of motorcycle drivers based on my stunning blonde looks. It's rather an amusing story. There's a pack of them under some trees about a block from my house. I imagine it is rather boring sitting there under that tree day after day, waiting for a fare, and at first, I provided a source of amusement--an Americana walking by. Whoo hoo! AMERICANA!!!

Then, last Thursday, I proved to be more than just a bit of rubia, I came up to them and announced that I was going to Merino, (my school here) while holding a motorcycle helmet. I have often wondered just what I looked like to them, because there was a second or two when they all just stared, before one came forward to claim me for a passenger. I doubt there was any confusion on my accent because I'd rehearsed that phrase over and over before stating it aloud.

Today, I walked past, and one driver pointed me out to the one who'd driven me on Thursday and he was ready to take me wherever I wished to go. Of course, I was on my way home and did not have my helmet so I had to disappoint him, but told them that I was going to need a ride on Tuesday and Thursday. Word is already spreading, I heard him repeating it to the others as soon as I walked away. I was trying not to laugh because the ways of the moto drivers are a very useful thing to learn. There seem to be two things which truly interest them--a 25 peso fare, or something diverting, but the fare is the most important.

In other words, be nice to the blonde women who pay you.

In a month and a day, I swear in as a Peace Corps volunteer, and I will head off to a site, where I will build on all the things I have learned here and live with the results for two years. So I am glad to be doing so well on the mere practice, but it is strange, because we are practicing building the groundwork for two years worth of networking when we are only here for five weeks. In some regards, I don't care. If I am in the vicinity of Monte Plata, ever, I am calling up my family here and visiting them.

My Spanish is still progressing. I feel I have advanced more than half a level in the past five weeks, but my tester felt otherwise, so I am only at at 4.5 and need to reach a 5 by the end of training. Rather frustrating since by a more lenient standard of testing I could have been graded at a 6 (I misconjugated a few irregular preterit verbs and might have used the wrong form of the past tense once or twice, so really, that took me from a 6 to a 4.5??????) but oh well. I am simply trying harder. I have decided, since my host dad always greets me with a dime (DeeMay/Talk to me), I am simply going to take him literally once in awhile and describe my morning using the preterit and imperfect forms of the past tense, in addition to as much daily practice as I can squeeze in elsewhere. So ha, Spanish, I am totally going to rock you in five more weeks. Not to mention I am totally going to master those crazy indirect object pronouns. I've been inserting them deliberately into sentences all weekend. Rather fun, and it does make me sound more Dominican, since Dominican Spanish is all about keeping it short. Give it to me. DaMeLa!

=D

Roman Wolf

I've lost a leg, but don't worry, I've got this

Hello Readers

No, I have not really lost a leg. Both legs are just fine. The title is just an illustration of the different attitudes towards sickness that I've seen since my gluten reaction.

First, the story. Saturday, my host mom offered me the promised meat that is not chicken, because I told her that I will eat anything that is not bread based and she wanted me to be more specific because she wants me happy, not just satisfied. So I asked for something with carnes, hamburger, and she made me meatballs with my plateful of white rice. My first thought was, aren't meatballs normally made with wheat? Then I figured, oh well, I can trust her, she understands, she would never feed me wheat.

Well, I ate the meatballs and rice and am loving this like crazy, because it's not chicken, when suddenly she comes up to me, all worried, and says that she forgot, she mixed wheat with my meatballs. Oh dear, I think, now I'm going to get sick, why the heck didn't I ask about the meatballs? She was very worried, I dug out my dictionary to explain all the symptoms in the correct Spanish, and she and my host dad tell me that if I lose consciousness, they will take me to the hospital and call my trainer and all that.

I never lost consciousness, I was just dizzy for a day, but then starting yesterday I have had really severe pains in my stomach. At first I thought this was a consequence of the pig hoof I ate yesterday, but by today I was suspecting the wheat because I had other symptoms of a continued gluten reaction, like hypersensitivity to the smell of gluten. In sum, I then called the Peace Corps medical office, was told some meds to buy, the foods to eat, and shared that info with my host mom, who went out and bought the cassava bread and jello for me and even bought me an apple and some apple juice because she knows I like them. Super awesome of her, is it any wonder I love her after just a week?

After my first technical presentation this afternoon, I came home, took my meds, and ended up falling asleep. About eight o'clock my host mom knocks on the door and wakes me up. My trainer is at our house and wants to talk to me. I am a little confused, why exactly is my trainer here? Dang it, I was sleeping! Turns out she heard from my Spanish professor that I am sick and wanted to make sure I was okay, and to ask why I had not explained to her what was bothering me. That had never occurred to me. But she genuinely wanted to know if I trusted her enough to tell her something like that, and I assured her that I did, so she was happy. She and my host mom started gabbing in Spanish about what I needed, and everyone is so concerned about me and making sure I am alright.

Back, then, to the title. You see, I am used to being responsible for my own health. Yes, I am sad because I always have to give away my cookies when we win prizes for things during training, but it is what it is. I do not feel that things need to change solely to accommodate me. Yet, my trainer felt badly because I was not being included and she offered to buy me food when she goes back to the capitol because that's where the gluten free food is. I was like, yes, but I was just going all natural, and they are like, not necessary. You can still eat the food, because you like pancakes, yes? Of course I like pancakes.

And maybe I just did not expect any of this because during the application process, the situation with my gluten intolerance was phrased more like, "What would you do, eat gluten or offend your host family by refusing food?" and I was always like, huh? How can I choose between being sick and offending my host family? I could not even answer that question. Now, here I am, in the Peace Corps, and that is so far from being an issue. Deeply, deeply grateful that it is the case.

This is now the second day I have not used my journal but I am going to go to bed without writing in it. This story will suffice for the record, and I wish to share it. 

Reflections sobre un caminar

Hello Readers

In the past five days, I have seen firsthand what I am going up against in the next two years, or at least a snapshot thereof. I've seen a student crying because he literally could not read and was absolutely terrified of school. I've seen another student unable to write a word down after it was spoken but who had managed to memorized the order, or the appearance, or something, of those same words when he saw them on a piece of paper. I've seen a teacher who clearly wanted to do something about these problems she faced and who wanted me to do something about them or help her. (despite the fact that I barely understood a word she was saying, only the gist, which I do not think I misinterpreted).

The DR is, on the whole, a wonderful place. I just finished taking a walk around my new Pueblo and now that I am not in the city, I can walk with only smiles and the occasional English come-on from a tiguere out to practice his lady charming or the occasional whistle/cat call. Not a single rubia, and there were days in Santo Domingo when I got to five rubias on a single walk. Rubia, for those who do not know Spanish, essentially means blonde chick, and the tigueres (a breed of young male which hangs out on street corners causing low-level mischief, rides motors, and looks for females with near-obessive levels of compulsion) love to shout it at me. When they are not hissing, whistling, or saying some things I prefer not to translate. I've learned "ni esquierda, ni derecho" which means neither left nor right, referring to the need to stare straight ahead and not pay the slightest bit of attention to what's being said of me in either direction.

However, here in the Pueblo, it hasn't happened nearly as much as it did in the barrios and capitol. I love that.

Instead of being harassed, I have other interesting experiences. Just this evening I was out on a stroll and studying the neighborhood, when I first encountered a woman who I'd met earlier in the day, we chatted a bit as we walked and then parted. A few minutes later I was walking down the street when I saw a group of people waving at me. One of them, a woman, looked American and I did not think I knew them, but they acted as if they knew me. So I went up and introduced myself and said I was with the Peace Corps and the older man, who was the American-ish woman's uncle, said I was always welcome at his house. They'd have me there yet chatting but I did not feel up to that with total strangers this particular night so I apologized and said my Dona was cooking supper so I needed to return home.

A bit of a lie, but also the most culturally appropriate one I could think of. To refuse outright would have been rude, but by putting my family relationships first I established myself as a nice young woman who could not imagine hurting her Dona's feelings. IE: a good person. However, as I was walking away I thought a bit harder and I am almost positive I have never met any of those people before. I was simply a stranger walking down the street they'd summoned over to say hello to, and I did the same thing without even thinking about it. I just crossed the street and stood on their porch and visited with them for a couple minutes.

If there is one thing I love about the Dominican Republic, it is that relaxed attitude about meeting people. People just sit on their porches and visit with anyone who happens to come near to them. It is really cool and something we in the United States should do more of. Except in winter of course. In winter it is just too blasted cold.

Another new thing about the Dominican Republic. On my walk I happened to pass down a new street and saw two cows chewing on grass in a vacant lot. This is campo, I thought. Then I thought again of how I might like a cow, except they are too big. I'd love to have fresh milk again though, hence the desire for a goat.

With that cheerful note I will sign off. Tomorrow I am going to visit my host mom's family. They live outside of the town, by a forest and a river near a lot of cows. Or maybe her family has cows. Either way, tomorrow I will see more cows. Should be a great time. Apparently there is a lot of space to play games there. I'd be happy about that, especially since I did not get to go to the farm with my family last weekend over Easter.

Todos buenos,

Lobolius 

Hello

Seems that back home this is April Fools' Day. Hm. Never really gave a thought to it until now.

Today I moved to Monte Plata, and I am practicing community integration and diagnostic approaches. All that is still overwhelming but we haven't really started learning how, only the what. And the what is sheer madness. I really hit the jackpot here with my new host family. Running water in the bathroom, including the shower, internet wifi, and an indoor toilet. Stunning how three simple things feel like I am basking in the luxury.

Also, I seem to have landed in a hothouse of Twins fandom. The oldest brother in this new family lives in Minnesota and is a big fan of the Minnesota Twins. I also saw a car today with the TC logo on the back windshield. Makes me wish I'd brought my Twins hat but I just had so much STUFF to pack for five weeks that I didn't feel like adding another thing on my head. Plus, I was not sure if I would have to wear my helmet to get down the stairs at the SD house. I didn't, but only because the brother-in-law carried my suitcase down those rickedy, narrow metal stairs for me. Had I worn my helmet, it may well have saved my life after tripping. Fortunately, I did not trip, as I had enough hands and arms for all my remaining bags.

As for adjusting, I feel like I am on the verge of being used to this sort of thing. My Spanish is a lot stronger than it was just three weeks ago. I can hold a conversation, discuss things, and make requests for important stuff like recharging my minutes on a cell phone. The local colmado owner saw me a bit later and said that I should always go to his store for my minutes. Guess he likes having repeat customers, but who wouldn't?

And culturally, I am getting more used to the whole "Hi, I'm going to be living with you now" thing. It's always a bit weird, and definitely does not feel quite "real" yet. The human brain is a marvel of adaptability but even the sharpest mind takes some getting acclimated when one is dumped from one country, to another, from one family, to another, to another, to the second, and then to a third.

Tonight, I am simply exhausted. May have to go to bed really early. Good luck, Twins, on your first game. I'll check the score on twins.com and then I may hang with the fam for a bit before calling it a night. Even now my Spanish still falls off when I am tired, but it improves when I drink energy drinks. I learned that last night. However, the improvement in Spanish comes at the cost of a night's sleep, so I think I'd rather study up and expand my speaking skills the hard way.

The Dominican Wolf