It's a wonderful LIFE !!! Santiago de los Caballeros

Great start...............  looking forward to reading the installments.....LOL

Good start.  This will make an interesting read.  Keep it up

Bob K

Glad to hear that!

You have to promise to tell all but the true, because some of us can read very well Spanish and get updates from the News sources too.

Cheers.

Drtuttle this is his thread and he can tell his story his way.

Nobody is arguing about that planner.

PART 2

I realized I was hungry and ventured out to find food. What? No Subway or Taco Bell? I saw a vender putting stuff away on a cart across the street and yelled, “tango hambre!” He replied,    “no tengo comida senor”. Well that was kind of the first night there in Santiago. I retired for the night; I might add that I found my earplugs very convenient. The morning came about 4:30 AM as I heard the sound of a rooster bleeding through the earplugs and the white noise of the AC. “My God”, I thought, “don’t these people ever sleep? In reality some do and many don’t. The motel had a common dinning area and no assigned seating, so I pulled up a chair to the already assembled group and ordered, huevos revueltos, jamon, papas rallaras, (grated potato) pan de trigo tostado sin mantequilla, mermelada de cerezas, y claro que si, café. After breakfast I headed back outside the hotel and started toward town. Like flies they descended on me. From every angle and direction they swerved, honked, accelerated, and sometimes waited for me as I tried to cross streets and navigate the wilderness like topography they call streets. They call them “motos”. They are typically 90 – 120 cc motor cycles. It was like a scene out of National Geographic, where the herds of Bison are franticly trying to get away from the lions. As one passed by me the driver had a 2 year old child on the gas tank in front of him, and behind him was the mother. Oh, and between him and her, she had her baby in one hand and her hand bag in the other. The driver would reach around and steady her as he swerved in and out of the mesh of battle scarred transport cars and taxis. Like an out of tuned orchestra they sounded their presence and gave acknowledgement to other drivers and their signals. They were all on the same page. This to me became evident as somehow miraculously they managed to squeeze and progress like an out of sync swim team. Beyond belief, I sat down, pulled out my camera and began to shoot video of this amazing event. That was the only way I was going to survive this place. To me change does not mean I am right and they are wrong,,,,, it is change. This place truly has my attention. Quickly I have learned my frustration is from within myself. They are not trying to make me feel frustrated. After an hour of ducking into shoe stores and jewelry stores and getting many second looks, I decided to head back to the hotel. There I asked about the possibility of someone needing some work done. Ha,,, “siempre hay trabajo senor”, he told me. Then he let me know that I would most likely be donating my time. I was fine with that. I just wanted to see more of this place. The next day I met a gentleman who was trying to start a daytime youth center in a barrio they call, Rafey.

Great read with my coffee this morning.


And thank God there are not a plethora of Taco bells, McDonalds, Pizza huts, and such around. I don't miss them for one nanosecond.

Keep them coming.

Bob K

Part 3
It has been awhile since I entered some reading material about my venture and new journey here to the DR. I concluded with my arrival at a barrio they call Rafey. I will let you locals look it up, and or you may already know about its position here in the DR. The shock of the conditions and culture took me off guard for a day or two. After I began to paint on the house that i was assigned, I began to get a more panoramic view, both culturally and physically of the immediate area. It was interesting that one could obtain a transport to downtown and withing a few minutes be surrounded by inconveniences one second and totally up scaled to modern conveniences withing a few city blocks. After a white knuckled trip into the barrio, I was convinced I would not be eager to drive here in the DR. By the second day of painting in 87 degree weather, some afternoon showers and a ton of humidity, I decided that this was far better than the sub zero and wet weather I had lived in the NW section of the States. I have spent time in Victoria BC, and the inside passage in the Canadian influence also. The warmer weather of the DR, even though muggy, sticky and warm, began to give my arthritic body a feel that had been missing for a number of years. On day three I noticed a group of ladies had gathered for their weekly "dia de la ropa". They rented a couple of plastic washing machines. These are about 40 lbs. and have a small agitator on one side and a small spinner on the other. They had like 6 different 5 gallon buckets and all their clothes separated into color assortments. Whites, dark's and well you know..... They had the "Bachata" music cranked up, and away they went into this work, dance and exercise program all inclusive. Their white teeth and smiles really did grab my attention. They were working hard, yet somehow, had found a way to make it a ritual that they seemed to really enjoy. My guess is they have no choice. Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of one particular lady look my direction. As the day passed they began to wear down and by the end of the day, much like me, they were ready to call it a day. While cleaning up, one of the ladies walked over to Able, the man in whom I was working for, and asked him about me. He looked up, smiled, and said, "no se". "El me llamo, y quiere trabajar. " I dont know.  He called me and wants to work.. They exchanged a few words, and then he asked me if I was hungry. "Tienes hambre?" "Claro," I replied. I was starving. He informed me that the ladies were going to combine their resources and prepare the Friday evening dinner. He suggested that if I wanted to have some meat with the dinner I could help with that. So, I gave him about 250 pesos and he gave it to one of the ladies, who gave it to a young girl, about 9, who ran off toward a colmado, and I mean running fast. Being far from prepared to mingle with people and having worked 8 hours outside, I was not feeling real good about my appearance or the fact I hadn't shaven that morning. Maybe it is safe to say, I was embarrassed about my appearance. One of the ladies approached me and asked me, "Quieres banar?" I was hesitant yet replied, "Claro". So she lead me into a little house with a tin roof, pulled aside a curtain and showed me the "bano". It had a shower curtain, so I entered and then removed my clothes. This I did without a plan. No towel, no dry clothes and no water pressure. There was a 5 gallon bucket on the shower floor that had water in it. So I just started getting myself wet. There was soap, so I soaped up, then used my hand for a while to try and rinse, finally I just kind of put the bucket over my head and somehow manged to get rinsed off. This was in December, and let me tell you, the water was cold. No, she had no hot water heater. Very few in the barrio do have this luxury. I was in the shower, clean, and no towel and no one around. Seeing a razor on the window seal I quickly shaved and got that out of the way. Now what?....I kind of said, "Hola?" waited, and then a hand reached into the bano with a towel. I said, "Gracias". "De nada", said a female voice. Then I started to look for my clothes and they were gone. My wallet had been in my pants, and I started to panic. "Pantalones senor?" "Si," I responded. She handed me what I am sure she though were big enough for me pants. They were like 5 inches to small. She also handed me a long sleeve shirt and some flip flops. I managed to secure the pants with my belt and let the shirt hang down over my waist as to conceal my predicament. As I emerged from the bano, I was surprised to see at least 6 or more women quietly sitting in the sali sipping their coffee. They make about 2 half cups from each round, and loads of sugar. They all looked and me and said. "Que guapo", I felt like a buffoon. They knew what was next and kindly surrendered my wallet with smiles and warmth that I knew was genuine. Not wanting to appear eager to check the content of my cartera, I excused myself once more into the bano and did a quick evaluation of the contents of my wallet. Everything was intact. The gentleman, who I had been working for, somehow had disappeared. The women began to ask me all kinds of questions. This was the first time for many of them to be face to face with a man from another country. They were kind of shy, yet interested in why I was there. Finally I suggested that I was looking for a cultural experience. Una experiencia  cultural. They laughed, and as if on que said, "LA BODA".
They explained that a couple was getting married that weekend, and it might be interesting to me to see a dominican festival.. so I agreed. They also explained that my clothes were drying, as they had washed them for me, and that they would be available the next day when I returned. Looking back, they had already, without much planning, positioned themselves in my stay, by leveraging my clothes!!! ha!

groby, not an uncommon experience in the poorer parts of the DR.  To me, that is a major component of the true Dominican culture.  Wonderful, ain't it ?   You are very lucky to see it so soon after your arrival.  Some people never see it even when it is right in front of them. Carry on with your posts. They are invaluable to the newbies &  to the long time ex-pats.  Thank you,..... From the Tinker.

Agreed, great experience with what I believe is the larger percentage of the Dominican people. They are kind, gracious and share what they have.

Great post.  Yes the Dominican folks can be in a class of their own.  Love um

Bob K

Part 4
At the end of part 3, I referred to the fact that my clothes were now hostage to the Dominican Republic culture, or at least a pending issue regarding my certain return to the barrio of Rafey. If you are following my blog of sorts, you might be curious about my reference to a particular lady who had made her house my center of continued interest. Don’t worry, I will address that particular issue as the time seems right. I had survived my first cold shower, not to mention the lack of a shower head, just a ½ inch plastic pipe extending a couple of inches inside of the concrete block that formed the shower stall. The next day I returned to the barrio, and of course my freshly washed and dried clothes were presented to me by a special senora, with an awesome smile on her face. I let my mind drift for a second or two as she handed me the carefully folded clothes. Soon I was to be introduced to another fact of life in the DR. Yes, you guessed it, no electricity; for hours. The interesting part of this is not the fact that there is no power, however, it is what happens to the personality of the barrio when it goes out. At first it’s like a mass exodus of busyness. There is this almost eerie presence that begins to transform the ambiance of the barrio. First is the silence of the loud bachata music that has been streaming from the over-sized speakers, (bocinas). Then you notice that the TV’s are quiet. There are not many, if any, inverters in the barrio. Again if I may, like Bob K says, you have to plan, plan, and plan. After being initiated to the curse, I quickly learned more or less the schedule, (horario) of the outages and began to form a plan. When I first experienced my first electrical outage, I had bought an electric osculating fan for the senora of the house. She had never had one of her own in her life. This fan followed me wherever I went inside of the house. At dinner, just sitting and while showering, this fan rarely was far from me. When the power went off, I was actually panicked. Growing up in Medford Oregon I had learned a few things about heat and living without the luxury of AC. They were quite curious as I took a towel and got it wet, then wrung it out really good and of course wrapped it around my neck. Next I took a clean cooking pot and put a couple of inches of water in it and put my feet into it. Ahhhh, I leaned back and crossed my arms as to say, “What’s next?”  If you know about Rafey, it is the lowest point in Santiago. It is where the water and sewer treatment plant are located. Yes, it is close to a river. Yes, there is a lot of vegetation and yesssss, mosquitoes. By fixating wetness to my body I was now a live walking talking mosquito refuge. After a few nasty pecks from these fellows, I took refuge under the netting that the senora had as a cover for her bed at night time. They call it a mosquitero. Of course I have learned to bring Cutters repellent with me when coming here to the DR. Well, so much for my survival skills regarding the heat.  After a few hours of the heat beating down on the tin roofs, many exit their casas and set up a plastic tables on the street, along with make shift tarps to provide some sombra. From cards, to dominoes and chit chat, they find even another way to pass time without the overhead of doing so. Well, a little overhead, the blue tarp. This is a built in savings plan if you want to see it this way. However, if you don’t have money to save, well this mindset is a far away concept most likely never even considered. Many times in the last hours of the power outage, the kids and their parents are struggling to keep it together. Tension and emotions are at a def-con level just shy of total chaos.  Yes, even in the barrio, they have adapted to electronic devices that are provisional for keeping kids and adults occupied and offer a buffer of space to keep tensions in check. Knowing that the outages are coming, there is ice in the little freezer, no milk in the fridge, just the soy stuff that is on the shelf. You buy your produce in the morning from the little truck that comes through the barrio a couple times a day. For me, now I have this little blue pool in the back patio. I keep my head somewhat prepared with the repellent and find a way to read and or converse with others who may have joined me. You always make sure your cell phone is fully charged as often as you can. Candles are a part of the décor in your living area. We have a couple of older smart phones that are used only to play music or games in a pinch. Cooking with gas is great, because you never need power. After purchasing a microwave, the senora quickly learned how to prepare food ahead. Now that she has a fridge, she can cut her food preparation time down and this allows her to do other stuff she never had time for. It is my observation the average woman or man who lives in the barrio and needs to cook their meals, spends about 3 - 4 hours a day in doing so. They don’t buy prepackaged stuff, so everything needs to be either cut, rinsed and separated before being cooked. From the first place where I was introduced to the DR, to where I live now is a great improvement. Maybe because of my financial situation I am reluctant to venture out of the barrio, or maybe it is the adventure and connectivity to the culture that keeps me here, I am not sure. One thing I know is that I wake to an incredible cup of coffee every morning. The ambiance of the motos, musica, and the fact that we are not isolated by glass windows and sound proof doors, gives me a connectedness one could never imagine existed. You learn that nothing is about you. You do learn that everything is about survival and finding that inner peace knowing you’re a part of a world many will never find, yet they dream about it,,,,paradise.

Keep them coming

Bob K

ah Groby, you have had the great fortune to learn the secret to peace.  The greatest possession  a man can own is himself.  Not having to maintain the things that so many surround themselves with, it affords the poor man the luxury of growing himself.  (both genders implied).  It is near impossible to laugh, sing & truthfully communicate with others when constantly needing to protect "Things."  . I grew up in the only"slum" in Westchester County New York. 100 hundred yards from the Hudson River.  The New York Central Rail road separated us from the water. The rest of the town was middle & upper class. Such a small town we had only 52 kids in our senior class.There were no secrets, but distinct social classes.  we, like those in the barrios, made do with little. Even so, it took many years for me to appreciate those early years. I was ashamed of our poverty & could not see the benefits it had bestowed upon me.  Please keep on with "It's a wonderful life"..  It is surely so if we slow down our pursuit of material wealth.  All along the wealth is within ourselves & our relationships with others.  Carry on.... carry on !!. .

I am enjoying your story groby.....

Part 5
In leaving off with the idea of finding “paradise”, it would seem a distant possibility for many, especially when it is glamorized the majority of the time. Leaving the term “independently wealthy” on the table for a bit, and being honest with ourselves, what does the term mean; really. To some, they think that if their investments have enough return for them, they are IW. Some think that to be IW is to own everything they have. Yet, are they really totally IW. Well unless you can make water, create air, and literally be the “creator”, of everything, we are never really IW. Maybe it was the fact that compared to what challenges I faced staying in the Northern Americas, or settling for a more economic climate here in the DR, I came to understand IW. It is not attachments. The climate conditions of the Northern Hemisphere isolate us from developing a close connection to those around us. We have needed to live in a tight house. We have needed climate control mechanisms in our homes, AC and heat. Here in the DR, it is not unheard of to go a whole year without really needing a blanket to sleep with. You can go without hot water. You can live without going to a store to buy food. You can get by on no electrical power for hours, or even days. You just might have to meet some people in order to do this. You might have to learn another language in order to survive. You might need to walk more than your use to. You might have to wait for stuff longer in the stores. Have we spent a fortune yet, doing the things I just mentioned? The DR provides a vast genre of opportunity for ALL positions of IW. You can have an ocean view villa on the beach, with a golf course out your back yard. Then you could live in a barrio, and still feel like a king. My journey here was not because I felt inclined to demonstrate some pre described illusion as to what living abroad is perceived to be. Maybe we do create our illusion or dream to what would give us that one glimpse of paradise. While sitting on the little patio of my little place in the barrio, I don’t need to look around too far to see potential projects or possibilities’ within arm’s reach. Letting go of the urge to dive into those little projects, and just realizing that it does not matter to most; could be a sign that perhaps there is a paradise. Maybe the fact that I don’t have the attachment of perceived success lets me bask in the knowledge that there is something to be said about letting go. Looking around the barrio, I can’t see really very much, that would cause me grief if I needed to let it go. The senora of the casa was almost dancing and crying when for the first time, she witnessed how a can opener worked. It cost me .88 US, to provide her with this amazing demonstration, all be it the next one with a toaster? Well, let’s just say we went through a whole loaf a bread before the excitement slowed down. Toast jumping out of a toaster? I just sat back and silently let my eyes water and smile at the same time, yet, taking time to glance at the little machete that had been used to open canned goods, then to the scars around her fingers from too many slips while utilizing her DR version of a Leather-man. Life in the DR can be exhilarating and provide healing physically, financially, spiritually, emotionally and mentally. How this happens for each individual is up to them. It depends what dynamic is important to them. I appreciate what gyps401 suggested about wealth and relationships. They both are at our fingertips. Both could cost a small fortune or would it? It depends what sacrifices we bring to the table of IW. Would the DR provide this? Of course. All I am saying in this interlude of my main read is that in order to experience “A Wonderful Life”, you have to contribute something to it. It will not come and find you, even if you move to the Dominican Republic.

Another good thought provoking post.  Thanks

Bob K

Ah Groby, you speak that all too rare language, the language of reality. It warms the very cockles of my heart to know of a kindred spirit!  I thank you for it & for taking the time to pass it on to the unwashed amongst us. It doesn't take someone of great intelligence to see how life can really be enjoyed. However it does require one to possess the ability to change perspective & to experience the value of change.  Your point of view is welcomed & needed in our society.  Not just here in the DR, but everywhere on earth. The pampered life only benefits the recipient, never to the others around him. Please continue to give us your thoughts.   Again, I thank you. I shall PM you soon.   By the way, "James" is one of us.

Part 6
A Closer Look
It might be interesting for you and me, if I get us a closer look at more than the observations I have mentioned so far. It’s like buying a car. You drive by, you kick a tire or two, then you test drive it. It’s just not the same as having it for a couple of months when you begin to realize all the little, and not so little stuff that bugs you, or at least causes you to second guess your decision, right? For me anyway, this happens quite often. The day I observed the senoras cleaning clothes, I was aware of their buckets, water, clothes and the little machines agitating and rinsing. Maybe there was a lesson in there some place. Could it be that I needed to be a bit agitated in order to cleanse myself of many domesticated ideals and truths that were attached to me? The lights went on. Growth is not pain free or is it instant. Scrub away and you’re bound to get agitated, then soaked with the truth that what once worked, was not working anymore. The fact is, I don’t judge another, or even consider myself as having “arrived”. My life is a work in progress and a lifetime of experiences. My attachments have their own agreements. These are my truths and not anyone else’s. They are profiled for me and define who I am. The reason I am mentioning this is because of some interesting things I discovered when I took off the rose colored lenses and looked at the truth. That evening after dinner at the senoras house, I noticed a coiled up contraption that resembled the umbilical cord of a Tyrannosaurus rex. I saw plastic grocery bags and wire. On one end was a regular plug end of maybe an old hair dryer or something. On the other end was a receptacle outlet like in a house. In between were many, and I mean many short, like 1/2 foot to 2 foot pieces of electrical wire, with various gages represented. These were striped at the ends, tied together and then wrapped, each individual connection with more tight little plastic bags. When they had formed this extension cord to the length desired, they had taken the fuller plastic bags and wove a completed tight and continuous weave wrap over the whole thing. It was unbelievable. What terrified me more was that it was laying on the concrete slap, with water all over the place, and these senoras were doing their whole routine without a care in the world. I gently lifted this coiled up lifeline, and walked into the dining table area where we had been conversing. Holding up this unleashed monster, I asked why they didn’t just go buy a 10 foot cord. When they informed me it cost 500 pesos or around 11 us dollars, they informed me that was 2 days’ pay for a person making jeans in a clothing factory. Also with eleven US dollars they could eat for a week. Somehow an extension cord and safety didn’t seem that important. No need to say that I was now getting a glimpse of something very unique. During my initial time or visit, I also bought a couple of liters of milk, oh of course a used fridge. When the last Friday of my visit came around, I awoke to the sound of a group of women chatting, and yes, you guessed it, they were washing the ropa. Getting dressed quickly and not even considering coffee, I grabbed some juice from the fridge noticing that the milk was now in a couple of plastic pitchers. Yes, I had migrated into the barrio. My curiosity was now interested in their ritual and the finer details of how they did it. As I approached the center of activity, without even looking at me or saying anything, they shifted to allow me to indulge. I lifted the lid of the agitator and looked down into it. It was agitating and more or less moving the one item of clothing around, much like our top loading washers. The rinse side as a spinner just like the spinning cycle we are accustom to. First they would put the clothing into the various buckets and allow them to soak. Then they would take each clothing item and scrub it. They used their finger knuckles to do this. Around the collar areas of the shirts and t shirts they scrubbed harder. After scrubbing they then put the clothing in the agitator, then to a flatter container and rinsed away. After rinsing they took each clothing item and hand wrung it, then to the spinner for the final stage before hanging the clothes for drying. Missing from this scenario were manicured finger nails. They all had worn down finger nails and water wrinkled hands. I didn’t see delegate or dainty in their hands. In truth I saw a road map of a hard life, yet they were totally enjoying themselves. This was truly amazing to me. While they were busy washing clothes, the younger girls were cleaning the houses. Then the Clorox truck came through the barrio and sold the magic stuff that cleans the concrete floors and for a short time all the invisible insects that attach themselves to moisture and anything representing a meal, they disappear. From under the beds all the way to the street they mop and rinse the floors. They wash the metal louvers on the windows, and the senora even washed the iron work I had done in the front. Yes they were already victims of attachments. It is the way that they approached their attachments that was clearly different than my previous life experiences. As I started to leave “ la area de la ropa”, I looked down and began a deep silent chuckle. There on the ground were 4 halves of the previous milk cartons. Each one had on opposite sides a small u shaped cut out. There in its new and perceived safer position, lay suspended above the concrete and water, the lifeline of a simple existence, the “barrio extension cord”. There in front of me once again was a truth. My life is little pieces of energy carefully connected so that the process of existence can continue. Maybe my life isn’t a breath taking master piece, but it is life. Every once in a while, the little ones show up and from dirty hands, dust stained tears on their cheeks, they extend their hands with a few more pieces of cable and plastic bags gathered from a nearby pile of trash. Piece by piece they extend their range of effectiveness in order to preserve the integrity of their home and the stability of “their”, barrio. Their own precious life.

You have a gift of script.  Keep them coming.

Ok I need to go take a shower with no agitation

Bob K

Excellent posts, I look forward to them.

Groby, please put your thoughts into a book.  It would tell more about the culture & the people of this misunderstood country than any tourist publication.  If potential ex-pats don't understand & embrace it all, then perhaps they should consider some other country to live.  I have no patience or empathy for the holier than thou, arrogant, supercilous (sp) idiots who think because they have more, are more.  I commend you for your journey & wish to read more.  Kindred, si Senor, si.

Thank you for your posts. Great reading. I lost my rose colour glasses long ago working in places like India, 2 years, Bangladesh, 2 years and now Africa, 3 years. No matter what country I was in, I always found wonderful people who would give the shirt off there backs. I never really thought about it the way Groby57 does, so I thank you for opening my eyes even wider. I still have a lot to learn.

Part 7

Pride and Heart

In my last deviation from my main read, I mentioned attachments. Even in the DR, they do exist. Even the poorest of the poor have them. Being down here, all I can think about is what life is teaching me about managing my attachments. Maybe some don’t understand what an attachment is. It is anything in your life that requires attention; love, frustration, happiness, hope, peace, tranquility, hatred, envy, and the list goes on. The noise in the barrio, IF I focus on it, and then start personalizing it,,,,, well I might just say, pack your bags. Why is this dynamic present here and not where I have lived? Maybe because we have had the resources financially to address compulsive anger and frustration. Some buy stuff, others seek mood altering medications, others bury themselves into their work. For the poor here in the DR, there is not that luxury to indulge, in order to pacify that itch. They listen to their music, they dance in the streets, they shout, they laugh, and we hear all of it. It is loud; it is late into the night, and many times early in the morning. I found it amazing that even in the barrio, there can be 3 to 6 lottery stations within a city block of each other. I personally now know a local person who makes loans on the street for up to 300% for just 5 weeks of borrowed money. It is a hardship that many are willing to do in order to survive. On the street corner down from my place I see both men and women getting home from work. I know that my soon to be wife makes .69 per hour. She does not want to quit her job. I want her to, yet she says that if something happened to me, she would never be able to get her job back. They are tired, then many of them go to the institute to study and improve themselves, and many never get that upper tier job that they hope to get. The image of going to school keeps them appearing motivated and making progress. The native Dominican does have pride. Even if it is sweeping the dirt floor or weaving the beads into the little ones hair to dressing smartly, they do care about their image. My pareja, well I think she has what we would call, OCD. Obsessive  Compulsive Disorder. Even though our little home has a broken down concrete kitchen counter with the corner chipped off. She has everything in order and does not go to sleep unless it is perfect. I laughed when I saw that she had taken a hammer and just broke the corner off, and then she tried to put some epoxy mortar compound to finish it off. What would my reaction have been here in the states? She has a grandchild and fears he will strike his head on the concrete corner.  Here, I just chuckle silently and look into her tired eyes and see sincere dedication to her desire to exist. Although there has been much dialogue about relationships with the native Dominican here in this forum, I have chosen to let my heart lead me where it will. My constitution of truth within myself has allowed me to not be motivated or discouraged from dialogue without merit. Like I write, I know my agreement, and I know myself. In silence I know of a treasure not worthy of even trying to explain or convince, its mine, not to share. Would and could I hold the DR responsible for fogging my thinking, or giving me cause to regress to the unsettled and restlessness that brought me here in the first place? This is why I write and try to make sense of it. In closing, the thought of a sabbatical from this script has occurred to me, yet somehow, I feel I would be selfish if I didn’t at least recognize my need for refocus and perhaps a better understanding of life, at least here on this awesome island.

Great Sunday morning read.  Not many people have their heads "screwed" on correctly nor actually spend any time thinking about their "real" lives. 

You are a breath, no a Zephyr , no a breeze, no a wind, ok a gale of fresh air.

thank you for your continued blogs.

Bob K

Groby, you cleared my thoughts & revitalized my goal. I have lost an "attachment"  the attachment of my life as it was before a trans urethal  trans prostate re-section. A very emotionally & physically painful.operation. For the next 5 to 8 weeks I no longer can work out, swim, bend over, drive or take extended car rides  No more wood working, lifting more than 10 lbs, climbing ladders, have a few drinks, ride my normal 50 to 60 miles a week bike rides. No sex for another month, no coffee or spicy foods.  Can't make a few extra bucks doing handy man work, It severely limits working on my garden.. My "attachment" was how I lived my day to day life. This exile from myself caused a depression.  A sad departure of daily joy. You have made me re-think my mental position.  I'm lucky in that "This too shall pass". Then I started to think of all those who never had & never will have the chance to experience some of the joys I've had. But, they have made do with the life their existence has proscribed for them.  Thank you for reminding me, that  for me, it is temporary. The me, my "attachment" shall be restored. The depression has been lifted & I welcome the discomfort as it is an indication of healing.  I'm 75 now & look forward to the next 20 or so. The men in my family average 96 & die of natural causes. Being a full blooded Gypsy has its' benefits!   Groby thank you for the gift that you have given me, the strength to be myself.  But, I sure do miss my Presidente & Barcelo! I now view this as a brief hiatus from myself.  Just a bump on the road of life.

Gypsy 401
You are qualified to to pursue the next level of your life. The road map of scars and the disciplines of abstence of many areas of your personal journey have now moved you beyond your many years of apprenticeship. Your can now be a "Journyman" of good light. Share it. Live it. Love life. Embrace life. Offer hope to the oppresed, and I guarantee you, your days left here on this planet will be filled with a vision and desire for your truths or agreements never once thought possible. Let your words be a beam of light striking the core of others desire to find their own truth. Remind others what is ahead for seeking this incredible journey, and help them forget the foggy past and failures. From the rich to the poor we all need each other.

I really appreciate this thread, Groby keep posting as you are moved to do so. This thread is so real and also very moving!!!! Thanks for taking the time to share this with so many!!!!

Part 8

My name is Greg

Those of you, who have ventured off the Windows layover version and explored the DOS version of the DR, may have seen and noticed the tool of choice for many daily tasks. Yes, you guessed it, the machete. Before I shed more light on this subject, I would like to introduce myself to you that are following my little islands of inspiration. If you use your Google earth map and zoom in on Santiago, you will notice a quite large area of industrial buildings in the Northwest side of the city. If you follow that south then go east just a little, you see the winding river and a jungle area. Of course you also will see the water sewer treatment plant and the prison along with a small barrio around the circumference of the peninsula along the river. Looking just a little more east of the main prison you see a smaller prison, this is the women’s prison, and then if you look due north of the women’s prison zooming in, you see a long white bus. This is where my story begins. The house that I painted, where I met my first native Dominicans, was right there. If you type “Motin en Rafey Santiago”, Riot in Rafey Santiago, you will see video of people milling around, and prisoners leaving in the back of a white pickup. I have spent time on Sundays talking and learning from the people waiting to get into the prison to see their loved ones. Yes, I have stood on the street and spoken with the prisoners who initiate conversation from the vents in the concrete walls. Yes, on request I have played their favorite music at night from a neighbor’s house that has the biggest speakers in the barrio. This is the DOS version of the DR. My experience did not start at a resort at Puerto Plata as I had hoped it was going to be. Fate is a curious creature, and only after 3 different trips to the DR, did I finally get to see the ocean. In reality I work in Oregon of the United States and see the coast and the beach a couple or more times a month. I drive school bus during the school year, and have a gutter business in which I climb ladders and put gutters on the edge of the roofs, all while being just inches from a final fall that could end my dream and future aspirations. Just this weekend while writing 6 and 7, I was trying to get work done over the weekend and still deliver to this keyboard some inspiration that I wanted to share. When I am here in the States, I work 2 jobs every day, sleep 7.5, workout, eat and survive. This is my wonderful life. I love it. It is not boring. It is my existence. In 1992 I was diagnosed with testicular cancer, and took 4 months off to receive treatment. In 1996 they cut a chunk of my forearm off due to melanoma. This is just life. The nuggets of encouragement that I have received from you that have responded let me know there are real people, and you are the reason things don’t unravel. From my heart, I have no objective to criticize or judge another. As I continue to try and reflect on life through a different perspective, I understand all of us have our own story, and in time I will meet some of you personally. This is certain. In the weeks to come or even days, my hope for all of you is that you truly enjoy and take advantage of every opportunity to seek your dream, your life is all you have that is truly yours. In December I will again cross the US to NY, then go south into the barrio where life itself is being sustained by the hopes and dreams of many. Warmth and blessings to all, Greg.

Greg officially welcome.  Quite a story and in inspiration.  I do look forward to meeting one day.

Bob K

Greg - amazing story!!!!

Wow.please tell us more.I'm intrigued.

Wow.that is incredible.the amount of peace and serenity is what escapes me where I live.I have alot of "things" but I'm still missing the inner part of me.When I was in Sosua I was so simple and happy.Look forward to reading more.My friends in Va just don't "get it".

It takes a special person, mind set, and personality to "get it" here that is for sure.

Many of our friends still think we are crazy 9 years later

Bob K

I'm starting to think the Dominican is a magical island that casts its spell on certain chosen individuals who are able to see and appreciate the beauty of the dichotomy of Dominican life.

Yes it does take a special person to live here.  The DR is not for everyone that is for sure.

Bob K

absolutely true.  Some can learn to appreciate it and love it, others get it from the beginning. And there is a group who just cannot stand it. That is okay too.

Part 9

A Man’s Best Friend

It started out one morning at 4:30 on my first visit to the DR. After having been invited to stay in the barrio, I found that after tossing and turning for hours, trying to drown out the music and all the other sounds, I fell exhausted asleep and slept until the next disturbance and there were plenty of them. My sleep was in time chunks, not continuous. When I awoke in the early hours I often went outside the front of the little house and stared at the prison walls and tower across the street from where I was residing. Sometimes I was a bit cautious as the herd of dogs from the local barrio was still in its' search of anything edible, and my really white legs might have seemed a worthy inquiry for sure. The funny thing is in the cool of the morning the dogs are a bit aggressive and frisky, however by noon until the cooling begins, well you can master the worst of them. They feel like we do, on a 93, humidity 85 percent DR day; lazy and lifeless. They cower and tuck their tail as you approach them when it is hot. In the early morning they are hunters. It took a few days for the local perro community to get acquainted with me, and now they are my best friends. I seriously have no fear to walk any hour of the day in the barrio. These guys follow me and we talk and play and of course I bribe them a bit, why not. Sometimes when i arrive in the transport car, one of them will even pace me from the sidewalk of sorts until i stop and get out of the car. Perhaps the wagging tail, and the eagerness to approach me, has something to do with the knowledge i represent a small treat given, with him and myself being friends.

My white skin is a novelty in the barrio, for many they have never ventured to far from their home. For many I represent the first encounter of an extranjero. The myths and pre-established thoughts of who I represent are quickly settled as I try to understand and listen to their stories. Because of being bilingual, I hear the conversations from the various casas as I pass them on my run about. Some conversations are cute and others horrific. This all contributes to my vision and understanding of how things are in the DR. 

The dogs had moved on and now I did have reason to be a bit jumpy. Peering out into the darkness toward the wall of the prison on the other side of the street, I saw the shadows of 4 men carrying backpacks in one hand and machetes in the other. At first I regressed and brought some negative, dark and troublesome ideology into play. This was not something that I had considered, although we read and see news of horrific events in many places. Knowing that I had been reading the news and had the common sense to realize there had not been reports of some coup or anarchy in the DR, in retrospect I began to calm down. Walking right up to me and putting their backpacks against the front of the casa, I moved inside the door opening and gripped the door frame as to block any attempt to enter, or at least if all failed, to warn the others in the house. Then one of the men smiled and of course he greeted me with an extended hand and wished me good morning. I asked him about their gear and machetes, and he calmly told me they were going to kill a cow. If you go back and look at the Google earth and find my area mentioned, you will see a large open field across the river. This plateau is higher than the barrio, like maybe 50 feet or so. This cow had gotten loose and fell into the river and was crippled to the point it was not cost effective to move it back, let alone get access to it. I had heard the cowbell the day before and really did not put much attention to it. Looking back I sensed a jubilant attitude the day before from the local residents of the barrio. Now I know why. Good things were about to happen.

Before I shed light on the event of this particular morning, I will say that all being said about the dogs, they do have their place in the barrio. One night there was an enormous uproar and almost savage outcry from the dogs. A vagabond camping of sorts by the river had decided to cut through the barrio. He was quickly evaluated by the street posse (dogs) and because he didn’t pass the guest list, he was held captive until someone came and sorted it out. That is how stuff is settled in the barrio. As culture dictates a mindset of its own, this is something that might only work in the barrios of the DR.

Removing pre-established domesticated ideas, and taking a journey beyond what has always been the normal will enlighten and lighten the heaviness of once thought truths, and open up a universe of news ones.

Another excellent post.