Selling Limes

July 23: I woke this morning in a small, hot cement room above a plaza 200 miles from my house. Already at 5am hundreds of men were busy buying and selling the previous day’s harvest of plantains, bananas, sweet potatoes, yucca, cucumbers, and other crops. We arrived late last night to park our truck full of limes in a prime selling spot, unfortunately located next to 11 other trucks full of limes. It was still relatively cool out when I pried the slated windows open to see the market so full of people, trucks, cars, carts, bikes and mules that it appeared difficult to move through. As always there was music playing but the shops lining the plaza had not opened yet when I walked down the narrow stairs to the street. I was not surprised to suddenly be the center of attention on the sidewalk but I was distracted from the hissing watching the aesthetically pleasing commercial activity. In addition to the trucks of produce there were women with giant bowls of homemade and processed snacks on their heads and men selling socks, cell phone chargers and tiny bags of water to workers carrying more than their weight back and forth between vendors. If you would have asked me before this morning if one man could carry three giant boxes of cabbage on his shoulder, teetering higher than 5 feet in the air, I would have said probably not. There were dark Haitian men, their bodies entirely muscle, leading carts moved by mules that appeared to be starving. Though they were extremely strong I guessed that the Haitians had only been eating as much as the mules. Finding our truck in the crowded, dirty street I climbed atop the mountain of limes to watch my companions sell. For hours, as the sun climbed in the sky they scooped five gallon buckets of limes, passing them over the rail of our truck into old plastic rice sacks, the unit of measurement used in this market. It was an unusually fast day of selling, though we had been at the market for a total of 12 hours, and we walked away with about $450, before subtracting costs. My companions and I then drove the 200 miles back home to get another truck full of limes for them to repeat the process in the same day.

Whirlwind trip to the Motor City

July 7: While I was boarding the plane bound for Miami in the Santiago airport the electricity went out, a daily part of life in this country and though no one else took note I took it as a wink from the Republica, “Enjoy the States” she said.

Seeing the United States from the air before touching down made the transition between it and the Dominican Republic even more evident. Flying above Miami and the surrounding area I saw the familiar grid pattern encompassing every inch of available land, houses with terra cotta roofs complimented by shiny, unmistakably unnatural turquoise swimming pools every few yards.

Flying over Southern Florida the land below turned from a familiar lawn green to a dark almost black and I saw the clouds reflected in the land, realizing then that it was water…sort of…a mix really. The everglades I imagine, stretching for miles. No houses, nothing human. I could only see water reflecting the sky from thousands of feet in the air. Amazing.

After touching down the only differences I really noticed being in the States again (granted I had only made it as far as the Miami airport) was that the electricity feeding the fluorescent light bulbs was unwavering and the smell of fast food was everywhere!

Near the gate of my plane bound for Detroit I wandered unwittingly into what is a trap even for those Americans who have not been deprived of American news and culture for months…the gift shop and bookstore. After about a half hour I finally pulled myself away from the newsstand, having to convince myself that I wasn’t going to buy the new Newsweek – the Darwin/Lincoln Big Ideas issue, David Sidaris’ hilarious new creation, the Barack Obama Rolling Stone, Oprah’s summer book picks, a book about the transformation of the American Army during the last decade and so many other, deliciously written in English, non fictions that I was dying to read! I wandered over to my gate to snack on a little peanut casave bread I had brought along for the ride when I was stopped in my tracks by a familiar red band streaming bits of news across the bottom of a flat screen TV and three letters, C-N-N, thrusting me from basic environmental education and a cool breeze over rolling green hills in the countryside into who John McCain may or may not have assaulted in 1987. For the next half hour or so, until they called the last group to board the plane I was transfixed on the television, jumping at every little tidbit of campaign garbage like our stray cats onto chicken bones. My mouth watered a bit when a guy sat down near me with the first American quality pizza I had seen in nearly 5 months, but I couldn’t even think of leaving my seat to go in search of one for myself. I was soaking it all in and loving every second of it. If I would have had more time I probably would have paid the $9.95 to buy Miami International Airport’s wireless internet for the day and would have sat there in front of CNN surfing the internet until they kicked me out. It was the first time I ever hoped that my flight would be delayed!

While in the States for less than 7 days I saw my family, who bought me all my favorite foods, said goodbye to the old house and hello to the farm my parents are buying, was ecstatic to be in Traverse City during the Cherry Festival, trekked a little through the dunes on the gorgeous Lake Michigan coatline and was honored to be the maid of honor in the wedding of my great friend, Sonia. I guess I have to grow up now that I'll be 25 this year and all my friends are getting hitched! More pictures to come!

My friends are getting married!

May 31: A couple of my friends from high school had been planning to get married in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic since before I received my Peace Corps assignment here. I was excited to be able to make it to the wedding and so Cecilia and I took the opportunity to leave the countryside and head to the cushy American resort to partake in the festivities.

Months ago when we arrived in this country the warmth of the people, even more than the weather, cushioned our entry into this foreign culture, but as we approached the grand gates of the Melia Caribe Tropical Resort the culture and all that we’ve come to know shattered around us without us noticing. The presence of foreign units of exchange (many of which are dollars) has clearly changed both the landscape and the people here. Within the high guarded walls there were hints of the country that receded out into the landscape; the beer was El Presidente, all of the workers spoke Spanish and every once in a while there was a meringue song contrasting the American rap, but the energy was different. Outside the walls of the resort Dominican towns, houses, public transportation, music and food do not exist for kilometers…there is only sugar cane, Haitians cutting it and vacant land.

Though I am still new to this country my perception of Dominicans is a very positive one, they are warm and generous. I would think that years of serving rich tourists would only make a person’s disposition even more friendly - possibly artificially, but friendly nonetheless. This was not the case with the reception at the resort and it was the first sign to Cecilia and I that although we were still on the island, we were no longer in the DR we knew. I must say though that seeing friends, the extremely gorgeous ambiance, the hot shower, the salmon dinner and the unbelievable non-existence of mosquitoes made for a phenomenal mini vacation!

It was not until we boarded a guagua with all the doors and windows open, the fresh air blowing across our faces, the sound of merengue percussion and the friendly cobrador watching over us, making sure he knew exactly where to let us off, that I realized how much I have become a part of this country already and how much of this place I have adopted as my own.