on contrasts

If you hadn’t gathered this from my last post, returning to Santo Domingo felt at first like coming home. But as much as this place is familiar to me, I am still experiencing culture shock. For instance, Santo Domingo is a very challenging place for a North American feminist. And my feminism has grown and evolved so that my reactions to various things are different now than they were in January, when I was last here, or other previous trips. Also, I am much more conscious of the fact that I am settling down here, that this is where I will live for almost a year. For that reason, I have found myself more on my guard and concerned about how I will establish myself here than I was on previous, shorter trips to the country.

I also don’t remember it being quite this hot and humid here. Maybe it has to do with the time of year, but I have never been so constantly sweaty in my life – and that includes all time spent in Williamsburg. I mean the type of humidity that seals unsealed envelopes (it happened). I mean the type of humidity that renders showers completely pointless. I mean the type of heat that makes my clothes feel like they just came out of the dryer when I get dressed. I mean heat that makes my toothpaste hot when I squeeze it out of the tube. It’s disgusting.

And then there’s the noise. Those of you who know me may chuckle at the thought that noise might bother me, of all people. Truthfully, it’s not so much that it bothers me (yet), and the blend of roosters crowing, dogs barking, trucks backfiring, motorcycles nearly crashing, people yelling in Spanish from ridiculous distances, and at least five different songs blasting out of doorways at any given moment has always been an endearing aspect of Santo Domingo. But whether or not it bothers you, you’re bound to be acutely aware of it. It makes the calm (already decorated!) space of my apartment – my room in particular – all the more like a welcome sanctuary after fighting my way through streets that can sometimes feel like, well, pure chaos. I’m reminded of the graffiti I saw scrawled on a wall in the city a couple of years ago: esta no es una ciudad; es una selva – this isn’t a city; it’s a jungle.

Santo Domingo is rife with economic contradictions as well. Here in the Colonial Zone, you see a lot of juxtapositions – a Lexus SUV with tinted windows cruising past old women who lie on the side of the street, begging. This is how Santo Domingo can play with your emotions. One minute I’m at a raging outdoor son (a style of music similar to salsa) concert, dancing along with the huge crowd before a live band. I feel so pumped, so connected, as everyone smiles at each other and these adorable little girls in front of me, who are barely old enough to have basic coordination, attempt to dance. The next minute, I’m seeing a ten-year-old boy digging in trash cans for bottles and I get this sickening feeling in my stomach.

All of the above are things I was aware of and had experienced on my other trips to the Dominican Republic, but no matter how many times you see it, you’ll still feel a jolt when you return to this place after being away. That’s what they call culture shock. I have to admit that I didn’t anticipate it, since this is, after all, the fifth time I’ve been here. That and my relentless Tribe work ethic have me already grinding when it’s only day 3 here. Which explains my exhaustion. I can’t help it, though! Ironic, isn’t it, that when I am finally doing something completely academically independent and am truly my own boss, I push myself even more than William & Mary professors do. Ironic, maybe, but certainly not surprising.

On that note, I’m taking the day off to do some much-needed grocery shopping and also RELAX.