Hi,
As reasonably attuned city folk we’re accustomed to the animals, and the animal sounds, that one might find in an urban setting.
In a place like Takoma Park those sounds run the gamut from barking dogs and yowling cats through chattering squirrels all the way to the shrill and insistent squawk of a pileated woodpecker. One of my seasonal favorites is the mockingbird.
The male of that species picks a favorite perch up high and for hours each day sings its heart out for no apparent reason. In Takoma the steeple of the Adventist church in the town center is a good spot.
It’s a whole different matter here in Las Galeras, where we are no longer simply city folk.
The day might begin with the crowing of a particularly astute or remarkably stupid rooster who is perhaps anticipating the setting of the moon or the coming of the dawn, I don’t know which. Every other chicken on the campo has to mumble or call out a reply: “shut up,” or “yippee another day,” maybe a simple “, que passe, Clem.” I dunno. As I said, we’re city people.
Or the first animal sound of the day might be the familiar and sodden “thwap” of the frog returning home after a night on the town.
Either way, that first sound is soon followed by all the animals of the neighborhood, both domesticated and wild, captivated and free-range.
For starters we’re talking about cows, pigs, cuckoos and dogs, bleating sheep, gobbling turkeys and a braying jackass.
Come to think of it, those sounds don’t seem so different from those in the “other” Washington.
At 7:15 AM, mas o menos, we watch the cattle egrets fly to the fields for their morning shift. Just as predictably they fly the reverse route 12 hours later. I haven’t figured out what the several herds of cattle are up to, ebbing and flowing up and down the dirt track that is the road to la loma and our house. There is no discernable purpose to their movement, which is only occasionally governed by a small boy on a burro, a cowboy with a snap-popping bullwhip, or a really old guy who infrequently ambles after the herd like a half-remembered afterthought.
As often as not, the cattle are moving off and on this little hill untended and apparently of their own volition. This morning I saw the young burro skipping down the road happy as a lark, with no person and no big burro to be seen.
Speaking of happy larks, our mockingbird has been back for the past 6 or 8 weeks, singing for hours on end several times a day. He begins early and is at it now.
I think that I’ll bring a microphone and record the ambient sounds of life on this small mountain for a couple of hours. It should make a nice background when it’s cold in DC.
The hummingbirds are fattening up for their trip north and are nearly ready to set out. The whales have mostly left already, and Denise and I are beginning to think of doing the same.
It’s becoming apparent that certain projects will remain incomplete at our departure.
Again, not unlike DC.
Bill
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Tags: Dominican Republic, Las Galeras, Living in the Dominican Republic, Retire, Retirement, Samana
It turns out that there are 26 species of snake to be found on the island of Hispaniola.
My previous research had confirmed that none of the 26 are poisonous, and the few snakes we’d actually encountered appeared to be friendly in a slim and green non-threatening tropical sort of way.
So that’s what I communicated to Heather a few weeks ago when she inquired about the “snake situation” while visiting.
And then we gave it no further thought until one evening when Heather interrupted her trip to the bungalow and returned to the veranda asking if she could exchange her small flashlight for the heavy aluminum Maglite flashlight.
This is the sort of flashlight that State Police use on windswept and rainy nights and that Wackenhut security guards strap on as a matter of course in lieu of a sidearm.
Without actually saying so, Heather indicated that she was interested in the flashlight-as-weapon function as much as in what additional illumination as it might provide. Thus armed, she departed and returned almost immediately, announcing that there was “a really big snake” on the path that was also her route to bed.
I didn’t entirely dismiss her report, but I’ll confess to discounting it substantially.
The only snakes we’d seen heretofore were small, green, and tropically non-threatening, friendly-like and etc. so it seemed unlikely that some monster lurked nearby with us completely unaware.
In an effort to be reassuring I regurgitated the results of my previous research: “…there are no poisonous snakes in the Dominican Republic.”
She invited me to join her for a look.
I still have no idea how long this creature might have been, since we were unable to see either its head or its tail, twined as it was in the lava wall outside the bungalow. I can tell you that what I imagine and hope to be its’ middle had the girth of my calf. This was indeed a big snake.
“That looks like a boa,” Heather said, not quite accusingly. I tried out a contemplative response, “Hmmm.”
“That looks like a boa,” Heather repeated herself, ignoring my failed attempt at nonchalance. “Nah,” I thought to confidently dismiss the possibility although in truth it did resemble a somewhat more brown version of the boa constrictor familiar from visits to many US metropolitan zoos and from innumerable nature programs on PBS. (You know the sort: “The Hungry Boa Constrictor Will Now Unhinge Its’ Jaw and Ingest the Suffocated Springbok Before Going Digestively Dormant For a Period of Six Weeks.”
At this point, my credibility with Heather was approximately nil in the snake department. This was evidenced by her silent dismissal of my latest assurance before bidding me goodnight and continuing on to bed. Which I thought was a pretty brave thing for her to do, don’t you? I mean, what the snake may have lacked in poison it more than made up with big.
I returned to the veranda and my BlackBerry for further research and discovered that, yes, there is a Spanish Boa Constrictor on Hispaniola. I suppose that could explain both his boa-like appearance and his swarthy complexion. It also caused me to amend my pat assessment the snake situation.
I also noticed that Heather quietly continued to carry the big Maglite between the house and the bungalow for the balance of her visit.
Bill
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Tags: Dominican Republic, Heather Wilton, Las Galeras, Living in the Dominican Republic, Retire, Retirement, Samana
…is good news, I suppose.
We just plug slowly away: paint a little, gaze out at the ocean a little, cook a bit, read some, prune a bush and then before you know it, it’s time for a hand of cards and then off to bed. None of this has gotten old, excepting maybe the single pair of shorts designated to be the official painting clothes.
It hasn’t rained here in a couple of weeks and as a consequence things are beginning to get crispy and the road dusty. I’ve even taken to watering some of the more fragile plants on occasion.
In addition to the dry season it is also the season for humpback whales to calve off the coast. We can see them sometimes from our front porch, broaching the surface, spouting, rolling and such, although it’s impossible to make out the details of individuals at this distance.
I can see the end in sight for re-painting virtually every surface in our house. Remember the roof?
We’ve had friends over for dinner a few times since Denise returned and it’s always interesting. Denise is mastering the preparation of fish and is quite pleased with herself. As am I, I might add.
I’ve set up a few informational interviews for when we return and may try and pick up a project of 2 on a consultant basis, just to keep my hand in. We’ll see.
We’re looking forward to seeing you all in May. Hope that all’s well with you and that the end of Winter is in sight!
Bill
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Tags: Denise Hanna, Dominican Republic, Las Galeras, Living in the Dominican Republic, Retire, Retirement, Samana
Hi,
I’ve come to realize that learning a new language can involve a great deal of concentration and a fair amount of effort, or not much at all–it’s just like using English in that regard.
And, just like communicating with English, paying attention seems to be the most important part. It’s easy enough to develop lazy habits when the language is common, the relationships are apparently well-defined, and the topic is seemingly commonplace.
Try that in Spanish, especially with another non-native speaker who is fluent in a 3rd language and the assumptions that are implicit in casually using any language quickly surface–just as they do in a good exchange in native English. I think that is because, in a foreign language–especially one that is foreign to both speakers–people seem to instinctively grant each other a broad latitude when ascribing meaning to each others’ utterances.
We’d do well to do likewise in the native tongue.
An unanticipated benefit of this linguistic largesse, para mi, is finding shades of meaning and even novel implications in what my friends and colleagues say and even in my own utterances.
This is not surprising when you think of it. Language, after all, is a tool used to think, not just talk.
Experiencing a concerted and mutual effort to create and share meaning in Spanish is the complete antithesis of your basic unblinking conversation in English with some il- or mis-informed Yahoo who daily adjusts his or her linguistic filters or changes the angle of his blinders so as to continue talking and listening comfortably, albeit wrong.
It’s even worse when it dawns that perhaps YOU are that Yahoo, in much the same way that Walt Kelly’s Pogo confronted the enemy within: “…I has discovered the enemy and he is us.”
Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking about words this morning.
Maybe I’ll devote a little time to thinking about the “…and Such” part of the subject after lunch. But now I’ll paint for a few hours.
It’s always a good day when you can paint for a few hours.
Bill
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
“Cafe,” of course, is the Spanish word for coffee…
Tags: Dominican Republic, Las Galeras, Living in the Dominican Republic, Retire, Retirement, Samana
Hi,
Make no mistake about it, once you leave this little village everything takes a full day.
Go to the bank in Samana or for a Spanish lesson and by the time you stop for lunch the day is gone. Or go to Las Terrenas for lumber, or paint or groceries at the Supermercado Lindo and you’ve made the commitment of a full day.
As a consequence, you make a reasonable effort to combine missions: go to Samana AND to El Limon; go to the pharmacia AND the ferreteria, the bank AND the lumber yard.
Come to think of it, a trip to the lumber yard pretty much requires a trip to the bank first.
So you carpool, you check with neighbors to see if they need anything on the planned route, you schedule multiple stops wherever practical and you pick up hitch-hikers. (My rule of thumb is to pick up only a single man, and women only in groups of 2 or more, for reasons that I trust are obvious.)
Take this past Monday as an example.
The original and well-conceived plan was to pick Denise up at the airport in the afternoon, accomplishing little missions in several towns along the way to El Catey.
Meanwhile, HER plan was to arrive at El Catey on the flight from San Juan at 3:10 PM, having begun her own all-day odyssey at National Airport in Washington, DC at 6:00 AM..
I’ve mentioned El Catey previously and in very favorable terms. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I’m unconsciously encouraging you all to come visit (“Look, it’s only a short hop from Puerto Rico and then you’re in Paradise. Here, have a cheese burger.”).
This International Airport is only an hour and three quarters from home and now makes it possible to get here from the US in one day. Heather has proven that this can be done, although duplicating her feat is still a bit iffy.
I’d planned to begin my Monday by restoring a measure of pre-construction tranquility to our home and then, all efficient-like, hit the baker and the bank in Samana, check in with Ramon on the way out of town and exchange dollars for pesos; take in a spot of lunch in El Limon, and proceed on to the Supermercado Lindo, the greengrocer, and the Sherwin-Williams dealer in Las Terrenas before a timely meeting with Denise’s flight from San Juan.
In theory and with no hitches this should be possible in the time I’d allotted.
Life in “the Other Washington” has taught me to prepare for bumps when implementing plans, especially those dependent upon the actions of others. In just a few months in La Republica Dominicana I’ve learned not to be surprised when presented with bumps that are very different from those that we’d anticipated, planned for, and even looked forward to. Good thing.
On Monday I carried a little American currency to do business with Ramon, even in the event that the Banco Popular was unavailable. All else, except meeting the flight, was optional. Good thing, too.
After confirming the flight (“yes, the airplane from San Juan will fly today”), I set out. At the first stop the baker had no goods, no flour; no propane: “maybe tomorrow.”
The bank had a line that was impressive, nearly equal to the standard set by the Tacoma Park branch of the Bank of America. In the interest of keeping to the schedule, I relegated banking to a project for another day.
Ramon is a different story. This guy seems to live behind that counter. He’s always open, always seems happy to see his customers, and is always very efficient. He’s generally receptive to a little negotiation regarding the rate as well. (The sinking dollar, by the way, means a larger wad of pesos in the exchange. This fact is eclipsed, however, by rising prices on staples. This works a real hardship on people who earn their living within the confines of the Dominican economy.)
I had a quite simple and very good lunch in El Limon and a so-so shoe shine comprised of a little soapy water and a wealth of good intention. The kid was both diligent and energetic but the shoes are probably beyond the restorative powers of even Kiwi polish, let alone a little dilute detergent.
(If you can take another aside, I want to know: where’s that kid in my neighborhood at home? He was everywhere when I was a kid. Most of us, I think, WERE that kid–and the other kids in the neighborhood were the competition. And we learned to compete successfully. Isn’t that how it was for you? But I do digress…)
Anyway, it’s nice that I had a good lunch, because that was about when things began to unravel in earnest.
I’d forgotten about the mid-day shut-down at the grocery and arrived to the shutter irrevocably rolling down with no prospect of rolling back up before 3:00 PM. I had better luck with the paint store, which was both open and had what I wanted. The vegetable stall was an unqualified success, including the best corn on the cob we’ve had in several years.
I made it on to the airport, now arriving an hour early. According to the arrival/departure monitor the flight was on-time, or delayed, or either on-time at different times or delayed to different times, depending on which arrival/departure monitor one looked at, and when one looked at it. Sort of dynamic scheduling, although I’m not at all clear what forces were controlling the information. If I were the sort to take such things personally I’d be inclined to say they were demonic.
Eventually, the flight landed 15 minutes in advance of the most recently advertised arrival time. But, no Denise disembarked..
After the plane was emptied and then serviced and loaded and then departed the gate someone returned to the customer service desk to take a passenger’s report of missing luggage and mine of the missing wife (“Donde’ esta mi espousa, por favor?”)
Santo Domingo, as it turns out.
Delays at JFK had caused her to miss the San Juan connection to El Catey. Since the next flight from Puerto Rico to El Catey is not until Friday, American Airlines flew her to Sto. Dom., taxied her to a hotel for dinner and a good night’s sleep, and then taxied her 5 hours to Las Galeras the following day! That’s pretty good shoe polishing, in any industry.
By the time I realized that all of this was in play and returned home it was nightfall. For the day: I’d picked up a couple of quarts of paint, a few vegetables, a tank of diesel, and a little information about Denise’s whereabouts..
She arrived no worse for the experience at around noon the following day, having made the trip on the not-yet-completed new autopista from Santo Domingo.
Like I say, everything takes a day, some things take a little longer.
Locating her luggage, for instance.
Bill
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Here’s a look at El Catey. Flights from the US through Puerto Rico were a short-lived phenomenon.
A typical street scene in Las Terrenas. Actually, I don’t know how I managed to get a shot without 15 vehicles belching smoke and 50 or 60 pedestrians blithely inhaling it.
Tags: Denise Hanna, Dominican Republic, Las Galeras, Living in the Dominican Republic, Retire, Retirement, Samana