Passing Through with Roots
On our vacation to the Dominican Republic last
month, in less than a week, my husband and I hit
Punta Cana
Isla Saona
Santo Domingo
and Santiago
My mother-in-law, next to her silk cotton tree.
Aside from being beautiful and fun, Punta Cana was special because it was basically my husband's first time experiencing his own country as more of a "tourist". He's been to Dominican resorts before and has even led tour groups to all day excursions but it was a very different experience for him and for me too, in a way.
You don't hear the airport and plane announcements translated back into Spanish like you do when you fly to Santiago. The passengers look more like North Americans ready to vacay, not relatives returning or visiting their families. You run into the Duty Free shop much sooner than in Santiago, it is more in your face as if to say, "Welcome! Buy something from us already!" Swarms of friendly, eager salespeople approach you, pitching their vacation packages and taxi services. And there are none of the mountains that we're so used to seeing in El Cibao.
Punta Cana
Isla Saona
Santo Domingo
(Well, this isn't Santo Domingo yet, but our road trip before we reached the capital, us eating first)
and Santiago
My mother-in-law, next to her silk cotton tree.
Aside from being beautiful and fun, Punta Cana was special because it was basically my husband's first time experiencing his own country as more of a "tourist". He's been to Dominican resorts before and has even led tour groups to all day excursions but it was a very different experience for him and for me too, in a way.
You don't hear the airport and plane announcements translated back into Spanish like you do when you fly to Santiago. The passengers look more like North Americans ready to vacay, not relatives returning or visiting their families. You run into the Duty Free shop much sooner than in Santiago, it is more in your face as if to say, "Welcome! Buy something from us already!" Swarms of friendly, eager salespeople approach you, pitching their vacation packages and taxi services. And there are none of the mountains that we're so used to seeing in El Cibao.
I experience the
Dominican Republic as a mix of a foreigner and as someone with roots. I don't remember the first time I was sent there, but it was definitely in 1979 when I was 2 years old in order to get baptized. Almost every childhood summer of mine was spent in Santiago with my grandparents. A lot of my family there has either died or is living here in the U.S. now. Marrying Jovanny has inadvertently blessed me with a lot of in-laws who live in DR.
"They're tourists. Like you." grinned one of my new nieces.
We were on the road on our way to the Cofresí resort in Puerto Plata one weekend, and at one point driving behind a truck full of young tourists in the open back. Blonde, braided hair, pale, tanned, and sunburnt skin, wearing backpacks, T-shirts, jeans, and worn in dirty, sneakers- clearly foreigners in the middle of an adventure.
She wasn’t 100% wrong. But she wasn’t 100% right either. I don’t identify with them at first glance. I do not fully “let go” like someone who’s vacationing there, ready to forget their problems with a “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” mindset.
My DR summers as a child had me both bored out of my mind as well as having the time of my life, filled with fun outings to Puerto Plata and Sosua beaches, pools in el Centro, my grandparents' farm in Sábana Iglesias, and going for Helado Bon ice cream about a block away from their house in Los Jardines.
I would familiarize myself with mosquitoes' patterns, pinpointing the exact second to do away with them with a swift clap. I learned that rubbing alcohol softens the sting and that sleeping with a mosquitero is very helpful unless it already has a hole.
When I was around 9, I found a razor while staying in the Sábana Iglesias house and impulsively used it on part of my leg to see what would happen. I thought it was only going to be a trim and was shocked that all my hair disappeared in that area even though I did it lightly. Now I had to commit to the entire experiment and shave the rest of my legs. I mention this to say that I was often left to my own devices there. There were a lot of long, quiet moments but I didn't always recognize them as "boredom" until another cousin from Corona came with me one summer and complained about it. She was the youngest of a few siblings, growing up in a full house. I was an introverted, only child for 13 years so I seriously didn't always "notice" the boredom. Or I did, but was so accustomed to it. I'd sometimes occupy myself with quiet, visual things- like pouring over precious, old black and white photo albums, in awe of my mother as a child and a teen. I would regard my grandparents 1950's wedding portrait hung over their bed and the flowers that rested on the train of Mami Ana's exquisite wedding gown.
Sometimes I'd help snap and soak beans with my great grandmother, Mama Miminga. On Sundays I was dragged to Catholic mass in my best dress, trying to make sense of the Spanish sermons, thankful for the life-size industrial fan cooling us off. I had to sit out Communion time, looking on as the majority went up to receive their crackers and wine. Shows like Sábado Gigante and Rosa Salvaje were an evening staple in the household, as well as American shows, sometimes dubbed in Spanish sometimes kept in English. My grandfather Daddy Juan had me pluck out any gray hairs I'd find on his head as he watched TV on his rocking chair. He'd yell loud rooster crow sounds in my ears for fun, which I hated. My grandmother Mami Ana took me along with her to visit relatives and her friends and sometimes I'd make a friend or two along the way, close to my age, forming our own little language exchange program. That most likely was what started my fascination for language translation and interpreting.
In June of 2009, pregnant with my daughter and flying with my two year old son, we spent a few days in Santiago. We visited my grandmother’s mausoleum in Sábana Iglesias and I placed the Julia Alvarez poem Woman's Work inside, since I felt that conveyed her heart more than any other poem I've ever come across. In the yard of the old Sábana Iglesia house, I saw my mom's tomb shaped like a cross and was annoyed that they spelled her name Ivette instead of Yvette, the way she always spelled it.
So when my new niece lumped me in the same category as those adventorous gringos in the truck, I smiled, shook my head a bit and said, "yeah but I'm not like that." I couldn't bring myself to go into all the explanations as to why I felt more than someone who is just visiting and passing through, though. I doubt it would have convinced her otherwise anyway. Her impression is her impression, what can I do.
We were on the road on our way to the Cofresí resort in Puerto Plata one weekend, and at one point driving behind a truck full of young tourists in the open back. Blonde, braided hair, pale, tanned, and sunburnt skin, wearing backpacks, T-shirts, jeans, and worn in dirty, sneakers- clearly foreigners in the middle of an adventure.
She wasn’t 100% wrong. But she wasn’t 100% right either. I don’t identify with them at first glance. I do not fully “let go” like someone who’s vacationing there, ready to forget their problems with a “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” mindset.
My DR summers as a child had me both bored out of my mind as well as having the time of my life, filled with fun outings to Puerto Plata and Sosua beaches, pools in el Centro, my grandparents' farm in Sábana Iglesias, and going for Helado Bon ice cream about a block away from their house in Los Jardines.
I would familiarize myself with mosquitoes' patterns, pinpointing the exact second to do away with them with a swift clap. I learned that rubbing alcohol softens the sting and that sleeping with a mosquitero is very helpful unless it already has a hole.
When I was around 9, I found a razor while staying in the Sábana Iglesias house and impulsively used it on part of my leg to see what would happen. I thought it was only going to be a trim and was shocked that all my hair disappeared in that area even though I did it lightly. Now I had to commit to the entire experiment and shave the rest of my legs. I mention this to say that I was often left to my own devices there. There were a lot of long, quiet moments but I didn't always recognize them as "boredom" until another cousin from Corona came with me one summer and complained about it. She was the youngest of a few siblings, growing up in a full house. I was an introverted, only child for 13 years so I seriously didn't always "notice" the boredom. Or I did, but was so accustomed to it. I'd sometimes occupy myself with quiet, visual things- like pouring over precious, old black and white photo albums, in awe of my mother as a child and a teen. I would regard my grandparents 1950's wedding portrait hung over their bed and the flowers that rested on the train of Mami Ana's exquisite wedding gown.
Sometimes I'd help snap and soak beans with my great grandmother, Mama Miminga. On Sundays I was dragged to Catholic mass in my best dress, trying to make sense of the Spanish sermons, thankful for the life-size industrial fan cooling us off. I had to sit out Communion time, looking on as the majority went up to receive their crackers and wine. Shows like Sábado Gigante and Rosa Salvaje were an evening staple in the household, as well as American shows, sometimes dubbed in Spanish sometimes kept in English. My grandfather Daddy Juan had me pluck out any gray hairs I'd find on his head as he watched TV on his rocking chair. He'd yell loud rooster crow sounds in my ears for fun, which I hated. My grandmother Mami Ana took me along with her to visit relatives and her friends and sometimes I'd make a friend or two along the way, close to my age, forming our own little language exchange program. That most likely was what started my fascination for language translation and interpreting.
In June of 2009, pregnant with my daughter and flying with my two year old son, we spent a few days in Santiago. We visited my grandmother’s mausoleum in Sábana Iglesias and I placed the Julia Alvarez poem Woman's Work inside, since I felt that conveyed her heart more than any other poem I've ever come across. In the yard of the old Sábana Iglesia house, I saw my mom's tomb shaped like a cross and was annoyed that they spelled her name Ivette instead of Yvette, the way she always spelled it.
So when my new niece lumped me in the same category as those adventorous gringos in the truck, I smiled, shook my head a bit and said, "yeah but I'm not like that." I couldn't bring myself to go into all the explanations as to why I felt more than someone who is just visiting and passing through, though. I doubt it would have convinced her otherwise anyway. Her impression is her impression, what can I do.
Besides, in a lot of ways I am just a visitor, and I especially felt this as I was riding in the car one evening last month and looking out the window. I took out my phone and jotted these notes down. It reaffirms how much New York is my true city and my true home:
A foreign city speaks to
me, it's there to speak to me aesthetically. My city, not so much. I'm already
heavily invested and embedded in it. I can tune it out or scan and single out on what I need
to focus on, it doesn't have to look any special pretty way to me, a
foreign city presents itself to me. I look at it differently. I am not so smart in it.
So sure, I am honestly a foreigner in any other place outside of NY but in DR I definitely have my share of memories and roots intertwined.
*********************************************
Someone recently asked me what I charge for Spanish to English translations! I've never done it professionally nor am I certified yet. I said that I'm very flexible with rates and she said great, good to know :) Man, I should really hop to that goal already, shouldn't I...
So sure, I am honestly a foreigner in any other place outside of NY but in DR I definitely have my share of memories and roots intertwined.
*********************************************
Someone recently asked me what I charge for Spanish to English translations! I've never done it professionally nor am I certified yet. I said that I'm very flexible with rates and she said great, good to know :) Man, I should really hop to that goal already, shouldn't I...
Comments
Post a Comment