tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87055438948141163582024-03-12T22:16:58.446-05:00¿Donde esta Colleen?My adventures with the Peace Corps in the Dominican Republic.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-24294492431574199632008-05-18T13:51:00.002-05:002008-05-18T13:58:44.691-05:00pa'lante presidenteJust a quick note about politics. The Presidential elections happened on Friday, May 16, with the three candidates:<br />Leonel Fernandez - purple party<br />Amable Aristy - red party<br />Miguel Vargas - white party.<br />When discussing politics with a dominican, your best bet is to simply ask, "what color are you?". The political season has been quite entertaining, but I am glad that it is finished. Leonel won, so will serve another 4 years in office, time to finish is beloved Santo Domingo metro project. During the season I saw food thrown out of trucks, was handed a "mini pharmacy in a box" by a political party, saw representatives from one party purchasing the ID cards of voters that might not vote for their candidate, endured many, many loud rallies and trucks passing with music and political messages and danced to the Leonel song produced by the beloved group "Omega". I also managed to collect a few flags that hang proudly in my bathroom.<br />Peace Corps has us on "standfast", meaning we cannot travel right now due to post-election celebrations. Apparently they are known to get violent.<br />As far as voting goes, one must go to their birthplace to vote, hence election day was a holiday and people still tend to be traveling. Many do not vote due to the distance they must travel. Political parties sponsor transport, but only if you'll vote for their candidate...<br />ah politics...Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-59574111068656618572008-05-18T10:12:00.003-05:002008-05-22T07:45:50.648-05:00DMPs and threatened birds<div>When being interviewed for Peace Corps, I tried to justify my qualifications to work in environmental education. “I was a Girl Scout… I’ve camped, played in the woods, done arts & crafts with shells & leaves,” I said. Amazingly, that was enough for Peace Corps. In the infinite wisdom of developing countries and youth, they realized that as long as I could show kids to enjoy nature, I could teach them something, so therefore I became an environmental educator.<br />So I try to utilize what I learned in Girl Scouts (thanks mom!). The best strategy: take kids to somewhere natural and cool and let them enjoy it, while adding to their knowledge of their surroundings. I dreamed of a Peace Corps experience of living on the ocean—walking the beach and snorkeling, then trekking off into mangroves to explore. Instead, I am in a very crowded and trash-filled barrio. There are a couple trees… but mostly there are motorcycles and construction sites. However, it has recently drawn to my attention by some muchachos that “Hoyo Claro” (Clear Hole), a technically-nationally protected area is within walking distance of our barrio. One only has to trek about an hour on a rocky path/ road, with me sometimes jogging in my Chacos to keep up with muchachos in rubber flip-flops missing a heel. The thing is, muchachos pause along the way. To rest? No! To impress one another with their slingshot abilities. The craft of slingshot making is known to any real Dominican little boy. A piece of wittled wood, some innertube rubber and a little piece of leather and wallah, a weapon.<br /><em>One day I came home to find Yelsi, an 11 year old crying and on his knees (a common punishment, like having to stand in the corner). His crime? His family hadn’t had meat for a few days due to money, so he took advantage of the many roaming chickens and killed one with his slingshot, defeathered it and brought it home to mom. Mom recognized that the chicken had an owner, so Yelsi was punished for stealing. They ate the chicken for dinner.</em><br />Back to the road to Hoyo Claro. Being mostly brush and some pastures, birds roam freely and frequently in the area, and the boys enjoy shooting them. Just to shoot. I’ve made a fuss about it when I go with them and try to teach reverence for life. Usually they respect me enough to stop shooting, although after leaving birds alone, they recently aimed for cows, stating that they couldn’t kill them, it was just fun.<br /><em>On a recent trip to Santo Domingo I paid a visit to the Sub-Secretary of Protected Areas and Biodiversity in an attempt to locate some information and make contacts. A secretary gave me a posted of “Threatened Endemic Birds of Hispanola”. Great! I can add it to the environmental posters in my house and use it as a teaching tool. Day One of having the poster a muchacho came in to check it out. He named a few birds then shouted excitedly “I killed one of those the other day!” A few days later a few other kids were examining it – “Oo.. that one tastes really good.” “Fulano captured that birds and sold it for 100 pesos yesterday (USD$3)” Oye!</em><br />Hoyo Claro: So one arrives to this natural swimming pool. It’s beautiful and the water is cool. (The eastern part of the DR is covered in porous limestone rock. When it rains, the water is absorbed quickly, hence the lack of rivers in these parts. Instead, the water joins subterranean rivers which sometimes emerge into wonderful freshwater springs like Hoyo Claro).<br />The kids immediately strip down into their Dominican Man Panties.<br />There really is no better word for the underwear sported by your average Dominican male. They are tight, have no flap and come in a delightful rainbow of colors and designs. Little skinny boys to big fat hairy men all sport the same brand, though different colors and designs, of the Dominican Man Panty (DMP). <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203182478481287426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmL_046VUXVea26P_W1fBfPw67wcSRv0m5XtrfZNvYmZaYftmLvtcL60VMR8Us7IR_3lga8L_erPRxnDqvZ467j4sjSlj4pFofr2hrD30GpVRj-DGVxWKON3a9AA7ixSVtl04xRcS9uSl/s320/DSC00641.JPG" border="0" /><br />I tend to swim in shorts and a tank top, as Hoyo Claro has a general absence of women. Sometimes a family of ricos will show up in a jeepeta to make a sancocho for the afternoon and drink themselves silly with rum. In that case a woman or two will show, as will the fat hairy men. But the normal populace of Hoyo Claro tends to be the 10 year old muchachos I andar with and a group of 18-25 year old guys constructing elaborate dives from tree tops, showing off their DMPs. I usually swim until I get cold and then watch the muchachos catch crayfish, which they’ll eat raw with an orange that they will steal off of a tree on the way home. We play, eat the crackers we carried along, and then when we get hungry, head home.</div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-73421001508181314702008-04-02T14:34:00.002-05:002008-04-02T14:39:44.661-05:00Easter DayHere's from an email I sent out on Easter:<br />So why didn't those lazy Caribbean bums call home for Easter?<br />We were helping to resurrect some new life. Save an endangered species. For real. We spent the day snorkelling and diving with an expert dude that lives in Fiji but works on coral reefs worldwide to help preserve the reef. He advocates no-take zones, not contaminating groundwater, etc... but also has his own cool project-- he does coralg ardening! So, we gardened on Easter. But in the water. The idea is that endangered corals are grown on these metal racks and when they grow big, we trim them and replant the "stems" onto new racks and over dead reef. Yeah, it's as cool as it sounds. We'll send some pictureswhen we can. This is the website: <a href="http://www.coralsforconservation.com/">www.coralsforconservation.com</a><br />Anywhoo, we just got in from the boat and were able to snag hot showers at Punta Cana before heading home to make egg salad with our eggs that we dyed yesterday. Before the egg salad though, we have toplay a new game that an American friend taught us that involves bashing the eggs into each other, trying to crack your opponents'. Fun.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-33531814691932383212008-04-01T09:48:00.003-05:002008-04-02T13:14:17.594-05:00this is peace corpsBeing a PCV is sitting at a colmado after a day of training on biosand water filters to create potable water for our communities while a little buzzed due to drinking a few Brahma beers because this colmado sells them for 3 for a RD$100, which is a fantastic deal and we’re all broke and talking about what we’ll do when we COS (Close of Service, ie leave the country after our 2 years are up).<br />The conversation I was having with a fellow PCV proceeded like this:<br />“Ya know, going to apply to International Development graduate programs and a few jobs in Africa, then we’ll see what happens.”<br />“Africa, wow, why Africa? You already speak Spanish and I thought you loved Latin American”<br />“I do, I love it here, but I’ve always thought if I am going to work in development work, I should work where I am most needed. Latin America’s got a chance. There are emerging markets here. These people have electricity, most of the time, rice to eat, some healthcare. Africa’s pretty desperate.”<br />“Ok, true, makes sense. Well awesome. Ya... we are working in poverty, but nothing like over there…”<br />“There are people dying of hunger in Africa. 5 year-olds dying of preventable…..<br />(Enter other PCV friend) “Colleen, ready to go get a chimi?!”<br />And so I dash off with my other friend to buy a delicious late-night Dominican street food called a chimi. About half way to the stand I realize that I just left a friend in mid-sentence, talking about starving, dying children in Africa so that I could go buy a greasy treat at midnight, even though I already had dinner. But, new conversations ensue, my chimi is served and I make my way back to my Africa friend while thoroughly enjoying the treat. .<br />A new merengue hit comes on the radio and we all sing along. Then there’s a discussion of the upcoming elections here and how politicians campaign by throwing salami logs out of the backs of trucks (or helicopters) to mobs of screaming, shoving people (and that PCVs have been known to push & shove for their own salami).<br />We eventually make our way back to our accommodations and en route, I apologize to Africa guy for brushing off the intense conversation. I admit that as I walked towards my chimi I felt guilty… He says, “No worries. This is Peace Corps.”Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-3023551923568961192008-04-01T09:46:00.001-05:002008-04-01T09:51:02.798-05:00fish poop & bomb dogs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUA8uOmZp9sgT7nvx3jlbaSwT2STqkq0FgUjL27yxl9uWHBPy70A1b7sP8RS0GOjuok3xQ4nonMgvz09dOu8v_sLoQ33VIPgZuG0TILSvJXUn-jr4fvGPhbUH0HkCqTXWVjQV8fegFLt9A/s1600-h/DSC01587.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184289420256519890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUA8uOmZp9sgT7nvx3jlbaSwT2STqkq0FgUjL27yxl9uWHBPy70A1b7sP8RS0GOjuok3xQ4nonMgvz09dOu8v_sLoQ33VIPgZuG0TILSvJXUn-jr4fvGPhbUH0HkCqTXWVjQV8fegFLt9A/s320/DSC01587.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Mural #5, check. Done. That’s right, this mural thing has taken off for me. Of the six public schools in the area, I have guided the painting of 5 and will begin the sixth next month. I have found mural painting to be an incredibly fulfilling activity for me as a PCV. Upon reflection of this fulfillment, I have realized that I like mural painting because at the end of the day, I can see a product. A concrete accomplishment. This “International Development Work” thing is hard. Seriously. Come in as a college-educated know-it-all American and try to motivate folks to change their behavior (whether it be fishing sustainably, not throwing trash on the ground, saving money, or attending a meeting) … and do it in a kinda-second language. But I try. I get up in the morning and paint trash cans with kids, remind people about meetings four times, and talk about the importance of parrotfish for cleaning corals and producing sand. Progress is slow. The educational system here is pretty bad, so many people don’t know how to learn. Mix that with mistrust of an extranjera (and a female at that!) and what you have is very tedious, often-without-noticeable-results type work. I do love it. I’m not complaining, just letting you know it is hard and that’s why I love mural painting. At the end of the day, there’s a product. If nothing else, I painted a mangrove today. Get it?<br />So back to murals and the title of this post. When I work with an area school, I ask the director to choose 15 eighth graders. I then meet with that group for 8 sessions. With each session I teach an environmental theme, then we paint related to that theme. (Re: this whole environmental education thing—the master plan is that by next year, the teachers will be trained in executing the lessons themselves and can use the mural as a teaching tool). Anyway, here are the lessons;<br />Session 1: Importance of water & where is it – Paint water<br />Session 2: Habitat, niche, ecosystem, food web—Paint sea grass & mangrove “ecosystems”<br />Session 3: Mangroves & Sea Grasses—Paint animals that live in mangroves & sea grasses<br />Session 4: Coral Reefs, coral polyps—Paint hard & soft corals, sponges, algae<br />Session 5: Wonders of the reef—Paint lobster, dolphin, grouper, etc.<br />Session 6: Wonders of the reef cont—Paint parrotfish, flamingo tongue, barracuda, turtle, etc.<br />Session 7: Living with the natural world (sustainable fishing, trash disposal, etc)—Paint fishermen & chosen phrase for mural<br />Session 8: Fieldtrip—We go to Punta Cana to snorkel at the beach to see sea grasses, then go on a boat ride to the reef, plus visit the mangroves to explore what’s living in them.<br />So last week we arrived at Session 8 and I took a group of kids on the fieldtrip. Before going to the beach we stop at the airport for a tour. Towards the end of the tour we saw some drug-sniffing K9’s. Our guide explained what they do and one of my students leaned over and said “So its NICHE is to sniff for drugs & bombs”. !!!!!!!!! Yes, kid, yes. You got it. I taught you the concept “niche” weeks ago and you remembered! Seriously, this was a huge moment for me. I know it seems so simple, but if you’ve ever struggled to teach, you’ll understand.<br />A few hours later we’d arrived at the beach and the kids were all splashing and playing in the water. A girl picked up a handful of sand and said, “Colleen, this is parrotfish poop, right?” !!!!!!!! Yes, kid, yes. You got it. Parrotfish help produce a lot of the sand on our beaches because when they eat the algae off the corals, they also chew up and ingest coral fragments, which they defecate as the sand….the sand that attracts the millions of tourists here.<br />So, poco a poco, kids are learning. But I think I am learning more.</div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-47115910761714788822008-01-26T14:15:00.000-05:002008-01-26T14:28:00.583-05:00just a little weekend tripTravis and I took off at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning for a little 3-day weekend. We did our best to pack very light (and did it successfully!), planned just a little, and took off expecting a chill weekend. Instead, we were constantly surprised, shocked and stimulated by amazing, ridiculous and hysterical things. This posting contains just the notables of our three-day weekend:<br /><br />Day One:<br />6:20 a.m. (ish) we board a very full bus. I barely squeeze myself into a small uncomfortable space, sitting on the edge of some board. Travis finds nowhere to sit, so stands, hunched over because of his height, stuck with the backpack on his back.<br />6:50 a.m. (ish) our speedy-fast guagua comes to an abrupt stop. There is a traffic jam, which we find out several minutes later is due to an accident involving a bus and a very large half-dead cow. With hundreds of dilapidated buses stopped & running, the exhaust fumes overwhelm us. Our bus driver and cobrador (guy who collected our money) disappear to investigate the accident on foot. Eventually the driver returns and begins a game of inching forward, which becomes a bumping fight with another bus, ending in tons of screaming (the exciting part about this is that I can understand angry, screaming Spanish now!)<br />We arrive in Sabana de la Mar to meet up with volunteers and enjoy cold beer and fish at a local restaurant, swapping stories and planning an afternoon of activities. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159867966952622194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXEjAOCnfOEsWuMdmWoz66cecOSfHIGBkyljDVXQE2GatZ1LZTxvAzNzNFjjCDpxJqIh7cZIiGY2jgGbb2_cLhmBRgfPQ3OeXb4F7ooVVZj3LU8Wa1VYmMfaQlGQk0EVqgiLrKT0It2alT/s320/DSC01065.JPG" border="0" /><br />An amazing boat tour of Los Haitises National Park ensues. The mangroves are overwhelmingly cool, the Taino pictographs in the caves amazing, and the rain just a drizzle. Our motor breaks. About 15 minutes later we can breathe again and get in safely. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159867975542556802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYb5mjewDAg-ks7taDBGuU6xgL5keeJYU8yKbjEcY6do_Ym5jpwrTOEsKJ4d-m0CY_fM9ucedXb0p_lf3Tegh-VeZ1wHgjjb1y3DUflzXbzCUs7OdKbxCfyAwPgqMkjSlmd4frzhg9HcO0/s320/DSC01085.JPG" border="0" /><br />The evening is spent drinking, playing games, swapping the kind of stories that can only develop in Peace Corps and nail painting (my friend Robyn has learned to paint “Dominican nails”).<br /><br />Day Two:<br />Trav & I leave Sabana early to head to Miches. While I nap on the small guagua, Trav encounters some small towns and a few memory-makers:<br />-the 40km ride takes almost 2 hours, thanks to the bad road and the fact that the driver seemed to know everyone along the route, and so made many stops to chitchat about… the weather(?).<br />-men exercising their roosters for a cock fight. This includes being bent over, shoving the rooster from hand-to-hand, making it fast on its feet & spinning it in circles<br />-a murdered man on the side of the road, with a crowd of about 40 chattering about it. No a cop in site, but a freshly-dead body displayed for all to see.<br />We take another bus and then a long motorcycle ride to a beach that came highly recommended by volunteers. The beach is called Playa Esmeralda and it’s a deserted beach in a little cove. Our beach experience, though beautiful, was severely tainted by swarming, terrible no-see-ums (little teeny-tiny bugs that chew you to pieces and don’t respond to repellent). The only respite was the water, which though amazing, was chilly due to the rain clouds and drizzles. So, we swam, swatted, then packed up to head out. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159868662737324178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIq1lClkXkf5weKNuKdpu1MY4AEahivPfxFZEVNrVcS5v-xsQxPWRnn3TGDYKG0fmYnIz-Z0ZxOb5BPLpfQJUejV3kHqv2QxnvEgjUGbE1qdOZrcJGPXsxBRFmiFF5cOOVMAkMZqkgQQF/s320/DSC01125.JPG" border="0" />One problem: no transport. My friends had told us that it’s easy to get a bola (free ride) out, so we began the muddy walk in the mosquitoey wilderness, hoping to get picked up. An hour later, with blistered feet due to walking in sandy wet sandals, we got our bola and arrived back to Miches for a tranquilo evening of cooking & cribbage with our friend Kevin.<br /><br />Day Three:<br />After a solid night’s sleep (at last!), we made our way towards home. The rain stayed with us, an off & on drizzle that resulted in our ride from Miches to El Seibo, which is quite hilly and green, to take place almost entirely in a cloud. We couldn’t enjoy the view of the hills, so held tight, praying the driver knew the windy pot-holed roads well. (he did and the mist was beautiful). We arrived into Higuey (the closest city to Veron) in order to experience the celebrations of the Dia de Altagracia. There’s a virgin statue in their impressive basilica that has some special powers on the 21st of January. For that reason, people migrate there from all over the country to wait in line to touch the virgin, leave her offerings, pray and light a candle. We’re talking Catholicism on steroids here people. Thousands and thousands of people came, including many whom were sick, deformed or injured, searching for either a miracle from the virgin or a handout from someone making promises to the virgin. We elbowed through the crowds dressed in their best, some fervently praying, other begging for handouts, a few camped out on the sidewalks for the night, and many just gawking like us. We felt comfortable taking pictures because so many other Dominicans were. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159868722866866338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xlsS5viGtX9v2NJ0QlHRgrbWgqJjT6QLOXJbXPtN8xIP7waZc7ZPU5F9lPPLel5cD7TGz89qVTdaf8zX_XDGH3paVbRBSsr2l_fa5Y3YXbtXm0IxEpIqIz8I-D5ANis1hbeDLJ0B4haz/s320/DSC01141.JPG" border="0" /><br />After the basilica, we strolled the streets which were filled with vendors peddling everything imaginable—empanadas, early-season mangoes, bras, shots of liquor, baseball caps, and some kind of salad-shooter type device (I’m not kidding!). We filled our bellies with fried street food, bought 8 mangoes, and made our way home for a normal evening of muchachos stopping by to say hi.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-72285330105317415552007-12-24T08:29:00.001-05:002007-12-27T18:11:20.319-05:00oh holy night<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mteCGqEjZZ581vzy2MM7eRphD2oq525E79L8dOggWueIlm_6NFbRoWc_mSi5k6Phtp2KkO6QJ37HQu6n7H5U447_csaif5phC6WwchkKvBgKvNf0CvMHFZyvaTCaWKioqN0-nm_XraSX/s1600-h/DSC00955.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147531655865204722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mteCGqEjZZ581vzy2MM7eRphD2oq525E79L8dOggWueIlm_6NFbRoWc_mSi5k6Phtp2KkO6QJ37HQu6n7H5U447_csaif5phC6WwchkKvBgKvNf0CvMHFZyvaTCaWKioqN0-nm_XraSX/s320/DSC00955.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> (photo taken in Santo Domingo. Check out the bald angel!)</span> </span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">Happy Noche Buena to all. Noche Buena, good night, is the big thing here. The 24th of December. Leading up to today, many-a-pigs were fattened, houses painted and apples imported from America. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">One of you (my loyal readers) lamented about the crazy American holiday season and remarked that you were sure that my experience here was much different and that the people (Dominicans) remember the REAL meaning of Christmas. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">BUUUUENO </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">*in training, another PCV taught me that buuuuuuueno is a good word to use when you don't really want to say much more about the subject or something was said that is far from the truth.</span> </span><br /></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">So back to Noche Buena. Mom's in town, so we took her to the barrio for the afternoon. With a house full of the regulars-- muchachos & guys our age, different visitors stopped by, bringing gifts of food-- a fried hunk of pig, spaghetti, a special bread sold only at Christmas, a half an apple, a few grapes, a few gum drops, some chicken. I meanwhile made brownies in order to have something to share. An unknown treat here that, unlike most American foods I cook, people always love. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">Sitting on the receiving end of gifts of food was quite special. (And in reality, I am almost always on the receiving end in this country!) </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">The Pig: Pig's the big thing to eat for Christmas. There's been quite a buzz the past few weeks as people have been fattenin' 'em up for the big day. I often heard that "eso es para el 24" (that one's for the 24th)!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148793890918924306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPl78MewpLeVdwz50TMYHseDk-kodnx4TcgQeUKfQXvOgLXfhL9yzNS57VA2rNYsMytX-KTuC8aqV4T6Ly5ttE2uINyDHNBWKYwN1NYhEh2sytEAwBkGbFiNBFTQ8aWAo3M5LptaKyBENE/s200/dr+378.jpg" border="0" /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">(un) Fortunately, we missed the mass killing, as we were busy enjoying the Punta Cana beach, kayaks, catamaran and pool. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">The House Paint: Don't ask me, people just like to repaint the outside of their houses for Christmas. A woman I was visiting with told me she hates Christmas this year because she doesn't have the money to repaint her house. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">Apples: In a world of locally grown pineapple, passionfruit, melon, oranges, mangos, papaya, bananas, and ton of other amazing tropical fruits you've never heard of, people get REALLY excited about red delicious apples imported from America, that have often sat in a cardbaord box or the sun for a day or two too long. They're more expensive than the other fruits, but coveted, especially this time of year. Fruit stands all over hang them decorativly by the stem and people by them for Noche Buena. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>I share these tidbits of what I have seen of a Dominican Noche Buena with you with hopes that you realize that I am just pulling out what seems noteworthy & odd. I love this place, I love these people and I appreciate their traditions, but at the same time, I laugh too. Some things seem bizarre to me, and those are what I have highlighted here. I could have just as easily spent my words on how this entire month (and especially today & tomorrow) is about being with family, enjoying life, making things beautiful and eating good food. When it's put that way, we don't seem that different.</em> </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">After several hours in our barrio, we moved onto visit Maria, the town mayor, whom I lived with for 3 months. She brought us into her formal living room and treated us like special guests. The party was hopping with about 30 people, complete with ear-blowing music, flowing alcohol, 2 pigs cooked on a spit and that oh-so-special Christmas bread. Maria's 80 year-old father begged me to eat a piece of pig, then gave us all a cheap, sweet red wine that most everyone seemed to be drunk on. Mom danced a few merengues, then we ate more pig (ok, I didn't. I don't eat pig here) & spaghetti and received gifts of apples. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now we're back at Punta Cana with a pineapple that we've converted into a Christmas tree, carols over the internet and bathing suits drying in preparation for tomorrow. </span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147774338697297922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2ANceEIYRRIMRaMdl7K146oxjAuuT-ZRcPA452QSCHK2UpHDujD2YZcfaEFCGDVvDzP3UNl_8CUzG9QxNKf0BSbtwG-JUhRvlhVk71PJDGeXbTHcUoUBjkATQ3BSFBDg_1HaxltWIkWX/s320/dr+435.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><br /><div align="left"></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"></span>Si, es una noche buena.<br /><div align="left"></div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-5728549579575285962007-12-23T00:03:00.000-05:002007-12-23T19:01:22.806-05:00my worldI live in a dream world, maybe a cartoon. It's so rich, so bright, so full, so big that it's hard to document.<br /><br />I saw a duck beating up on a dog a few weeks ago.<br /><br />I worked with folks to host a fishermen's exchange-- bringing together fishermen from other parts of the Caribeean to meet the guys I work with. My guys had never met other fishermen. I had yet to recognize how much of the world my newly-aquired (aquiring) Spanish opens to me.<br /><br />I was a superhero. I helped with a coral gardening project. A successful attempt to keep an endagered coral alive. I felt like a superhero- fighting against the current to plant little coral cuttings into the dead reef.<br /><br />My hammock is used often.<br /><br />My house is always filled with small children bringing me gifts of plants for my backyard, a sour orange to eat or juice their mom made.<br /><br />Somehow I am gaining professional experience here too. Between the hammock & the beach, I write grants and help negotiate between a fishers community and a multi-billion dollar company.<br /><br />I share my day-to-day with my best friend and love of my life. We learn Spanish together, pop homemade popcorn, cook banana pancakes, explore and recall what life was like with a 40 hour work week.<br /><br />I paint murals. I dug deep and found my inner artist. Ok, actually, I coordinate. The community paints. But I still had to overcome a crazy fear of art and paint.<br /><br />A grocery store line can take 30 minutes because for fun, the cashier examines everything.<br /><br />I deal in a currency (pesos) that I'm still not used to. I flip out at a $1000 grocery bill (USD$30)<br /><br />My friends are named Chito and Reyito. Chito looks a lot like a street thug ... bling'd out and pants low with a cool motorcycle, but he's my best Dominican friend.<br /><br />Avocadoes are the size of ... I don't know ... they're huge. And cheap. And I eat them a lot.<br /><br />Ya.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-4451064778605801262007-11-11T13:45:00.001-05:002007-11-11T13:49:37.492-05:00my fav DR pix thus far<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvyb7aZJFzoZ-SPEQgLbRIW2oh2N8K4hey3_VxC7fs15hyphenhyphenJwNI6jL-_9kGfQ92p7z50HHvdYpvyuoGPbEKwqpxuYnaQGzo5cECIofLuMroPYTXKGr4C-wn_k47-aXAaBnlXV8iqD_YC1Z/s1600-h/DSC00316.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131656809226625314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvyb7aZJFzoZ-SPEQgLbRIW2oh2N8K4hey3_VxC7fs15hyphenhyphenJwNI6jL-_9kGfQ92p7z50HHvdYpvyuoGPbEKwqpxuYnaQGzo5cECIofLuMroPYTXKGr4C-wn_k47-aXAaBnlXV8iqD_YC1Z/s400/DSC00316.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-6408676978792283812007-11-11T13:23:00.000-05:002007-11-11T13:42:07.489-05:00halloween funThanks to my friend Judy's birthday, we had an excuse to throw a PCV Halloween Party in StoDgo. Although I had other plans for a costume, learning that Judy was going to be a bee and then finding some fabulous carbdoard trash on the side of the road, led me to become a honeycomb for the event. Two pieces of string, some cutting and a headband, and whaaalah! Instant costume!<br /><div> </div><div>Travis sported his "Nurse Shark" digs quite well.</div><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131652776252334306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIwdyCOMBcdHY5IrS1g_6gu7W-WJB5OeYvSE2mY-6BQY8S6FLWFFPbHt98Woi4W2z4YmToL34mCeDK4RBuWiU55_WEbgFzXCbAxj3yVhcduCAlKeEWx9awVc-X_nLXGusWjRRe8kbdgw-/s320/DSC00509.JPG" border="0" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWU4YyzRy9wGL99WR7zQ8gcKdiFt1ajSU4DxsFWA1sDpWjh90p_6cC079d02jdu-x_gc_u_NKyvizsdDGnetj7dnHT-DUCso6QvOcBWFt_JHqlj8u70XlIDl1HH4RozSmQQJktlNyfaZi0/s1600-h/DSC00510.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131652797727170802" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWU4YyzRy9wGL99WR7zQ8gcKdiFt1ajSU4DxsFWA1sDpWjh90p_6cC079d02jdu-x_gc_u_NKyvizsdDGnetj7dnHT-DUCso6QvOcBWFt_JHqlj8u70XlIDl1HH4RozSmQQJktlNyfaZi0/s320/DSC00510.JPG" border="0" /></a>On Halloween evening I realized I had done nothing at home to celebrate, so using the basin we normally use for dish washing, I created a jack-o-lantern. Recycled trash bags become a spider, and my mosquitero was my green blob costume that I used (with sound effects and lights off) to greet an unexpecting Trav when he arrived home. </div><br /><div>I also used Halloween as an excuse to buy one of our favorite colmado treats--MasMas. A MasMas is 12 pesos of milk chocolate and usually a raisin or 2-- and sometimes even a peanut.</div><br /><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcCYDm2sQzM6_FH3MUJZplpNCLqhSsMo77E82HbNjLcp9fUTM4PYO4AhFNld5aElbu2fnc3o9_kgP1Wzit9qFjVgPt_7Ha5b79_iH_vwocyb-DtmnsIHAcb8BapGkNXimPUX-dcu10a4R/s1600-h/DSC00539.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131654382570103042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcCYDm2sQzM6_FH3MUJZplpNCLqhSsMo77E82HbNjLcp9fUTM4PYO4AhFNld5aElbu2fnc3o9_kgP1Wzit9qFjVgPt_7Ha5b79_iH_vwocyb-DtmnsIHAcb8BapGkNXimPUX-dcu10a4R/s320/DSC00539.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3obfHc_YsEOtIqmB6T1Ve0sKCnEbbGDm4ojU8KAba10_tCJqDPA71fCqzyKaabLjszrX3MvFkW0PDrA6wytgNYBovk1FfyZIYu28ltSWmreEPoPjv8Hbp5ZeK-qw5dHavEjbhkxOMOhdw/s1600-h/DSC00536.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131654395455004946" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3obfHc_YsEOtIqmB6T1Ve0sKCnEbbGDm4ojU8KAba10_tCJqDPA71fCqzyKaabLjszrX3MvFkW0PDrA6wytgNYBovk1FfyZIYu28ltSWmreEPoPjv8Hbp5ZeK-qw5dHavEjbhkxOMOhdw/s320/DSC00536.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>My muchachos were disappointed that the spider wasn't a pinata, but otherwise it was a great time. </div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-36477671949489964342007-11-06T12:40:00.000-05:002007-11-06T13:09:56.235-05:00Mural Painting<div>In Peace Corps training we were taught how to direct the painting of a mural. If you look back on my older posts, you'll see a picture of a water cycle mural that I did with another volunteer. After that experience of teaching kids how to use a paint brush, cleaning spilled paint, and dealing with general chaos, I swore to never do another. Never say never. </div><br /><div>When I began brainstorming with folks from the UM project that I help with on ideas for environmental education in the schools related to coastal ecosystems, it seemed perfect to suggest a mural. Then somehow I took responsibility for it. And then somehow 20' x 8' sounded like a good idea, instead of the 4' x 4' murals we did in training. </div><br /><div>Fearful and with a brush & pencil in hand, I pieced together drawings and pictures, and with the help of local artists, 2 murals have been created thus far, and more to come. </div><br /><div>Each mural takes about a week. They were painted almost entirely by school kids. </div><br /><div>This experience has been incredibly rewarding---it's fun to give kids an opportunity to do something they've never done before, it's something that will last for years, and it's a chance to teach about each thing we're painting. As you see from the 2 murals below, the idea was to teach about how coastal ecosystems are interrelated--hence the mangroves, sea grasses, beach and coral reef. </div><div>I love that together, we've created something beautiful (& educational) that will last. I'm also proud because I've conquered my fear of paint & artistic projects. No, I can't draw and paint an entire mural, but I can organize people to! <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129786524629351058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="280" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXX4fnTmrNhlqgtla8fFsvwkaoFvQraENphW3N1_43z1vytG-ZpW6s3p_4Bbh4dx8cO1diB4uZnNx9b8zt_ZsWaddOt3ChzKmX7EFjygZL-eULVHzBOqA8htY-injRTTacEwKFBKeDkwyg/s320/diving+%2B+yoga+204.JPG" width="374" border="0" /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129788358580386466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 370px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 279px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="258" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_zAettaBLWVR2wDyhWxfNwI7DzsvnIMJ0_eHd2W8NJDPZc-M9AH2hCrv-jEaNuUcmcT1D0EIMzFm_pusvyOTVn56BOgP7q96hMne0iGssmIi8i2X59sRPkldX3N1IgImCxoJ9_cSwAsm/s320/Mural+Painting+045.jpg" width="344" border="0" /><br /><div>(will post a completed pix one of this ASAP) </div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-50484102110910683702007-11-01T13:18:00.000-05:002007-11-01T13:24:03.195-05:00Super Mario Kart<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Vxva8ec4OZ96TzF_qEX6CEH562aINlc8YEoFMC1bFJ0Q4CZ-diUySAajsPRcrMSZKchKm4huIw402-hzBvK8RyYkDam4O8GMTIDZNjFgUaZh46H1dxlzeB3o6cSVIxjCSmBgt625G6to/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127939339473692498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Vxva8ec4OZ96TzF_qEX6CEH562aINlc8YEoFMC1bFJ0Q4CZ-diUySAajsPRcrMSZKchKm4huIw402-hzBvK8RyYkDam4O8GMTIDZNjFgUaZh46H1dxlzeB3o6cSVIxjCSmBgt625G6to/s200/images.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Alright, so I realize that there are MUCH greater priorities in development that I could focus on here, but sometimes those weigh me down a bit. So here's how you can help: some muchachos that I live and work near have a Nintendo 64 and Super Mario Kart (beepbeep!). We thoroughly enjoy it, but there's only one problem--there are only 2 controllers and both and on the edge of breaking. Soooo... here's the all call: Anybody have any old N64 controllers you could send my way? 1, 2, 3 , or 4 would be appreciated and used more than you can imagine. </div><br />Beep!beep!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-91619875414044520312007-10-29T14:38:00.000-05:002007-10-29T14:39:38.367-05:00PIX UPDATEgo to the link on the right side of this blog. new albums have been added. enjoy. (and gimme a comment or something people...)Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-2455932641961653902007-10-21T19:59:00.000-05:002007-12-23T19:11:01.435-05:00God, Jesus, Yogurt and Care PackagesSo the latest rumor regarding the mail system is that due to the highly religious nature of this society, drawing crosses and writing phrases such as "Dios te Bendiga" (God Bless You) or "Jesus Te Ama" (Jesus Loves You) on care packages often ensures their eventual delivery -- and sometimes even quicker delivery! So there ya go, even more incentive to send packages of love.<br />Just a reminder, use the address on the right side of this web page, send only padded envelopes or letter (not boxes) and always mark the value under $20.<br />What's that? A wishlist ... sure!<br />dark chocolates-- individually wrapped<br />twizzlers<br />kashi granola bars<br />seasoning mixes for thai, indian, and other fun foods<br />dehydrated miso soup<br />pictures<br />tootsie roll pops<br />holiday decor<br />recipes<br />newspaper and magazine articles of interest<br />music and movies<br />surprises :)<br />I mentioned God, Jesus, and Care Packages, but still haven't written about the promised "Yogurt". What's yogurt got to do with the aforementioned? A lot actually. There is a brand of yogurt here that has a picture of Jesus on the front and a friendly "Jesus Te Ama". So the question I have is this: How great of a marketing tool is it to put Jesus's face on a bottle of well... anything ... in a culture that has quite an affinity for Jesus? I wonder what would happen if you put the face of Jesus on a care package?Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-84353096675666439202007-10-18T11:31:00.001-05:002007-10-19T13:20:54.151-05:00updates ... por fin<div>How about a simple picture narrative of the past few months interspersed with little stories? Please excuse my slacking on the blog. Although change and weirdness is constant here, I am finding that I am much more “acustumbrada” (accustomed) to most things Dominican, and forget that you might enjoy reading about them. I’ll get back on the blog.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122724479310370786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTblFy7ebZzcD2qmxT4dHzz5SlFhzquLbDgByKaEbFwyImRKZk17sdyC-zycexZpmvrnBExZ_Ld9pOJApIg7BasuHBbZ-ZLNKNE53jQt9RXSK-ck6FbSrkGuWiMUC9uDLF-4OVGnTm3qb/s400/DSC00195.JPG" border="0" /><br />Llegó Travis! (Travis arrived) This pix is from his first day here—he pirated the sunglasses that I found on the beach, as his Midwestern eyes couldn’t handle the Caribbean sun.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN5TuXHELiL7i90bgwOAW2FW6bHPIujkMKECZHOf3LqilmQD-fdgqTpELuCxUyZG7duSGPfYeQ70S0Pd4vEqiiPTC4-UmsGX9TbwWRbvbRUwFPntuF5SNuLSuzKcVgcBuq2nfStmBHpd2/s1600-h/DSC00200.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QbXdQEzvFx2GIdeRIDrk4BZ49wO2px1lbekn_EOIPrFpryvYZqeX3bx27cN88F0KPQbAniH6Kqrtd6Ih-i1wSwozFbFuXZz6GD7sQbKK_m96xeWpOCaVH8CZ5thzCsJiWNYJkZveXkIK/s1600-h/DSC00217.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN5TuXHELiL7i90bgwOAW2FW6bHPIujkMKECZHOf3LqilmQD-fdgqTpELuCxUyZG7duSGPfYeQ70S0Pd4vEqiiPTC4-UmsGX9TbwWRbvbRUwFPntuF5SNuLSuzKcVgcBuq2nfStmBHpd2/s1600-h/DSC00200.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QbXdQEzvFx2GIdeRIDrk4BZ49wO2px1lbekn_EOIPrFpryvYZqeX3bx27cN88F0KPQbAniH6Kqrtd6Ih-i1wSwozFbFuXZz6GD7sQbKK_m96xeWpOCaVH8CZ5thzCsJiWNYJkZveXkIK/s1600-h/DSC00217.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN5TuXHELiL7i90bgwOAW2FW6bHPIujkMKECZHOf3LqilmQD-fdgqTpELuCxUyZG7duSGPfYeQ70S0Pd4vEqiiPTC4-UmsGX9TbwWRbvbRUwFPntuF5SNuLSuzKcVgcBuq2nfStmBHpd2/s1600-h/DSC00200.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QbXdQEzvFx2GIdeRIDrk4BZ49wO2px1lbekn_EOIPrFpryvYZqeX3bx27cN88F0KPQbAniH6Kqrtd6Ih-i1wSwozFbFuXZz6GD7sQbKK_m96xeWpOCaVH8CZ5thzCsJiWNYJkZveXkIK/s1600-h/DSC00217.JPG"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123110777258907682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseoBqEoh7jE37RFDEL5fYlBiAJhtoygT2-8ww5Qpua5FFWwV2daA53DEV5Dc_qsYIpS-Sd_IEu6iduFNUmFbsg6AXj2XNdPsFEGC3lBPdznkNTgMJEdl4nBAWpiLpzYEc0EWlFBCosHE_/s320/DSC00200.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123110833093482546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJFdWrb5j8sfzuZTKmvLiG7VbLIc3Ns6iZEX699Q-SNZPan1x8_soMwEUw8jwdWw5KlrW_-w8HJY-dpg8cXsJuk1ecsb-SsrT64BteGK9IyVd9n77GMK9ceTYgh90LdmCSEuUx4c7LTAh/s320/DSC00217.JPG" border="0" /><br />Peace Corps Eco-Tourism Workshop—a weekend in the Cibao for sometimes-long workshops, a hike, zip line, a donkey that we enjoyed visiting with, and discussions about community-based eco-tourism. I must admit that prior to living here I had never spent much time considering the impacts of mass tourism. This experience has changed forever how I view resorts and tourism. When not developed with the community, tourism often exploits both natural and human resources. I see a lot of that here and it is a shame. On a positive note, there are several groups working in country to explore more sustainable tourism—including community guide groups and funding for small businesses that will bring tourists out of the resorts and into the community. I was able to meet a few weeks ago with folks from one of USAID’s newest international programs. It is called the Global Sustainable Tourism Alliance and the idea is that the community is integrated into the tourism market and that both the resorts and local community benefits from the Euros & dollars that enter here.<br /><br />Environmental Ed in the schools—working with the Punta Cana Ecological Foundation and the University of Miami, I have begun helping with an environmental ed campaign. The pilot program includes three schools. We’ve completed the first and are on number two. The modules that I helped design include 8 sessions related to marine ecology—mangroves, sea grass, coral reefs—and human impacts on them. Part of the program includes painting a mural. Somehow in my ambitiousness, I chose a 20 x 8 foot mural – but it turned out great – the kids did most of the painting and an artist I know helped me design and draw it. In the last week we took the kids on a field trip to the National Park of the East to see caves, snorkel and enjoy the playa. A few girls and I spent our beach time collecting sea glass. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123112800188504162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYG_ckNXI9uRC64o7pSlJej_2nqI8UUYmmpexu-YERQJaXLsU3GCEPl9ZUOzLImu1D6DGcY8uSEFYIVS_EQ7byN3-Y_6OHToNAL1kAj8o1ZrOgliEEawQ0Tl4miGMzsVaKgzjcarNsqZXF/s320/DSC00271.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123114354966665330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8ACBjew9FBn5FEn2pQYHWgeMt6oQfV_BK0C64BjEqocI2hIsG4NMLFibdEIvxFgB9sR4KA-t0RB_nj3mqkJ_8ZIcVmeZ5eStg855XpEydagxuIEq426jj8a6p3l4n9p4Grg4VMy_Zvfp/s320/DSC00282.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123112765828765762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2B4Sulb1T0HdiJc9PpMlbxMGMqB1awCBXpIePt1LfNNovblCQe_KbDl7P1fgwZAEZCiiQlCBtwuP-y5X4VTmKqNC_fBpsJJtga9ZyQ_8L3rmz3Ef2mAZOKQFhzF4NJIFvGEc2ktH50N0/s320/DSC00275.JPG" border="0" /> =<br />Visiting Betsy—my friend Betsy lives in a campo a few hours from here, so Travis and I ventured out one weekend to visit her. The campo is a small town situated with mountains all around. There was a beautiful river to visit, 1 peso mini-bananas to gorge on, and tons & tons of free avocados. In our 24 hours with Betsy we made scrambled egg & avocado, avocado & cheese sandwiches, and pasta with avocado & tomato. It was cool to see what her life is like—showering outdoors, working in an internet center, and teaching the obligatory English classes.</div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-50936615699037112242007-09-04T12:59:00.001-05:002007-09-04T12:59:51.682-05:00noviosBeing white, American and female in the Dominican Republic can be quite interesting. Walking down the street, riding a bus, visiting a government office, passing through a security gate, attending a meeting, or just sitting in front of my house exposes me to never-ending piropos, or pick up lines, blown kisses, requests to be my novio, or boyfriend, and marriage proposals.<br /><br />I have days where the constant come-ons are entertaining. The piropos can be quite clever: Cuantos curves y yo sin frenas. -- How many curves and I´m without brakes. But most often they are simply hisses, ¨hola mami¨, and ¨I love you.¨<br /><br />I do my best to ignore the hissing and calling. But there are the days where the guy trying for my attention receives an earful of my grammatically incorrect angry Spanish where I try to convey that I think he is obnoxious, that I have no idea why I would ever consider dating a rude guy who hangs out on the street calling to women, that being white is not better, and that he is the 65th guy to want me that day.<br /><br />All that said, I would like to introduce you to a few of my suitors:<br /><br />Gabriel -- A neighbor of mine, and in fact one of my first friends.<br />Gabby lives with his mom and brother and attends a primary school. He has told me various ages for himself, always older than he is, but I finally found out that he just turned 14. (!) Gabby used to take me around to introduce me to people, we´d go jogging together or watch Spanish movies. Several times Gabby has asked me to be is girlfriend and argues with me when I reject him. He explains that he is very mature for his age and it doesn´t matter how old I am. He apparently told his family that he WILL marry me one day.<br /><br />Novio -- Old creepy guy from the corner store whose name I don´t know.<br />I cannot avoid passing the little colmado on the corner of my street. I pass it at least four times a day and am there almost daily to buy something. The owner of the place has a younger guy to do most of the work, but he sits out there from about 7:30 a.m. til 9:00 p.m. For my first few weeks in my house I cringed every time I had to go near him. He always had a piropo for me and constantly spoke of marrying me, getting himself a visa to America. Although maybe it seems silly, I found myself constantly upset by this man. He bothered me and I felt like I couldn´t fix the situation. That is until one day I found a solution. Anytime I passed him I would say ¨Good morning, afternoon, evening NOVIO¨. I simply call him my boyfriend, he calls me his girlfriend, and that´s that. I think he is so amused with the whole thing, as well as the reactions of others, that he doesn´t have time to make rude comments to me. We laugh together, I buy my egg or bread, and all is well in the world. <br /><br />Travis – best friend of mine who has been living in Jacksonville<br />(Travis will be joining me in the Dominican Republic on September 9 to work as an English teacher, learn Spanish, and adventure together.)<br />On my very brief visit home, he took me to a place that we had been once before—about 4 and half years ago. At that place over 4 years ago we talked for hours and my life was never the same. I had fallen in love. And this time on our visit, after a picnic lunch and much reminiscing, Travis read me a beautiful letter, presented me with my Grandmother´s engagement ring, and asked me to join him in marriage. (I said yes)!!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-25664265308844855522007-09-04T12:36:00.000-05:002007-09-04T12:37:07.300-05:00Hurricane Dean<div align="justify">My brother flew into Santo Domingo and we began our jam packed 7-day itinerary, which included a visit to my CBT host family in Los Cocos, the climbing of all 27 charcos (waterfalls) in Imbert and visiting Nuna´s cigar factory for lessons. I had heard that there was a hurricane brewing in the Caribbean and that Peace Corps had asked that we tend our cell phones carefully so as to receive any urgent messages. On that same day, Rob and I passed through Santo Domingo on our way back to my site. On a whim, we popped into the Peace Corps office to check email and the hurricane. After walking in the door I learned that Peace Corps had decided that if you happened to be in the Capital on that day, you must stay because they were probably going to consolidate the next day (which they did). Consolidation entails calling in all volunteers from various regions to a safe house, in case of the hurricane. So, frustrated that we were ¨stuck¨ in Sto Dgo, and with bottles of rum in tow, we headed to the designated safe house.<br />This safe house turned out to be a 4 Star hotel, complete with casino and white terry cloth robes. Although we were not happy to be without the freedom to travel and see things (more so Rob than me), we made the best of 3 days in the hotel… buffet meals, hot showers and cable. Unaccustomed to air conditioning, many of us were cold and so wandered the hotel in our robes! We watched the Illinois Democratic Debates and applauded when Sen. Chris Dodd mentioned Peace Corps affect on his life (Dodd served in the Dominican Republic).<br />The category 4 hurricane that passed directly near the island left hardly any evidence of its passing. We saw drizzles and a tiny bit of wind. Apparently it was a ¨dry¨ hurricane, meaning that its bands hardly had power or rain. All joking aside about the hotel and our hurricane party, I am so glad that Dean didn´t do much damage. I have been working on a Disaster Mitigation Committee in my community, and it is quite obvious that in the case of something strong, the results would be terrible. When I finally made it back to my site, I found how many friends of mine had prepared for the hurricane--they had used rope to tie their wood & zinc roof down, just hoping it wouldn´t fly away. </div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-11186372919299279812007-08-06T09:25:00.000-05:002007-08-06T10:44:57.008-05:00camping on the beach with barrio kids, an experience I won't forget<div>One of the Presidents of the Juntos de Vecinos (neighborhood groups) that I work with has an amazing heart and energy that never tires. Hence, he organizes annual camps for kids from his barrio--really poor kids that never go anywhere or do much of anything. He does this without any formal funding--just solicits donations from anyone and everyone in order to have sufficient food. Tents were borrowed from his church and some women came along to do all the cooking. </div><br /><div>This year, the camp was to take place in Macao, the closest beach to us that Dominicans still have access to. I offered to help, excited for the opportunity to camp on the beach and organize activities to teach kids about the environment, and especially coastal areas. I enthusiastically planned crafts and games, bought art supplies and packed my hammock for four days of beach and camping. What could be better?!? Well...</div><br /><div>-30 kids, age 4-15, never been camping before, and growing up in a rough barrio with often teenage parents, hence do not receive a lot of attention </div><br /><div>-SAND! SAND! SAND! in my hair, my food, my pillow, my ears</div><br /><div>-bugs--mosquitos and some tiny thing that doesn't respond to repellent and hurts & itches more than mosquitoes</div><br /><div>-clinginess-these kids all cuddled with me at all times--sounds cute, but not in the heat, hence I "slept" in my hammock with the bugs</div><br /><div>I could carry on about the so-called challenges of this camp, but the truth is that although I was so tired, dirty and sometimes frustrated, it was wonderful! The kids who hardly ever go anywhere had a chance to play in the water for hours, examine crabs and shells, listen to my charlas about self-esteem and environment, play games that involved pretending they were lobsters, paint, build sand castles, eat marshmellows, and stare at the stars. </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095613705873068226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkiMKx6qoPnWySoxqGH7yOO7BFlWegH7uSIXK3GtQs9b7Zzv23WvbaIozJp12Pk-tjAjKUpmRLpbgKVMFtxiRj9g_NNXLP1gJ0yVmm4EI95qy1zjX32fb5ay1yXP4beHze3keMoAQxK-_/s400/DSCN1534.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>There was a moment at dusk when some kids and I were walking on the beach and one of them asked me how old I was. 25, I responded ... thinking about how I used to dream about my mid-20's--hoping that I would be doing something really cool. I am doing something cool -- a gorgeous beach, speaking Spanish, trying to share my love of the environment with kids ... </div><br /><div>PLEASE check out the pix from our trip! <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/colleengatliff/20078BeachCampingInMacao">http://picasaweb.google.com/colleengatliff/20078BeachCampingInMacao</a></div><br /><div></div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-35055336276783665402007-08-06T09:08:00.000-05:002007-08-06T09:25:08.178-05:00this is for real<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNNf4iQChjBT5yEUmKgV1wweVvup5oxMFMZDvR0GpN5BYFoXZj2eWlhkLhlJV2e8SyyNko54aQGfWdF75vp5gQWgGPmhMnZc1AwdGXkEQq4QmZwZzHR8YlvJGkx5L4i124Q9h6W_o6sW7/s1600-h/DSCN1399.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095589791495163378" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNNf4iQChjBT5yEUmKgV1wweVvup5oxMFMZDvR0GpN5BYFoXZj2eWlhkLhlJV2e8SyyNko54aQGfWdF75vp5gQWgGPmhMnZc1AwdGXkEQq4QmZwZzHR8YlvJGkx5L4i124Q9h6W_o6sW7/s200/DSCN1399.jpg" border="0" /></a>So for the first 3 months we were just trainees. Nervous kids stumbling through Spanish and scared of public transportation. People told us where to be and when. We pointed out people carrying chickens under their arms, cringed at new starchy roots for dinner and had to reference a map when someone told us they were from San Juan de la Maguana.<br /><br />We graduated… it was exciting, we felt accomplished and proud to be PCVs. We’d passed minimal conversational Spanish, survived CBT, built friendships, and even wore our Peace Corps DR pin for a day or two.<br /><br />Then we ventured to our sites. We took full advantage of our cell phone “flota” as a social support network, learned to count ants on a wall, and drank endless cups of coffee while getting to know our new neighbors. All of this coffee drinking was supposed to have a purpose—we were conducting community diagnostics. Peace Corps tells us that we are not to begin any projects in the first 3 months—just do your diagnostic. So, it was a fantastic excuse for what often felt like aimless wandering and chatting.<br /><br />Well, I wrote up a diagnostic and then went to Santiago with a friend from my site, Kassiel, to present it at the Peace Corps 3 month IST (In Service Training). All the PCVs presented our diagnostics to each other and sat through workshops on project planning and grant writing. Kassiel then left to return to Veron and our entire group of 31 went to a retreat center in the mountains for 5 days of training, relaxing and idea sharing. I so loved getting to know my group better. We’re from so many different places and have such different experiences. Who knew that I’d learn to play Pinochle (sp?), have a friend from South Dakota, learn to create a makeshift chai from colmado ingredients or spend an hour listening to a Texan explain techniques for making solar ovens?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPDxkjvpRxJzjWIBJO16E9o0MbeV5sBokMfg3FYMUGKqX1_Yb99ohCRt1IyEgEBAEp3rWndWB5Ls933y4hHGHCklLjT5KOK7JOcztmDo5KgJLL9dwaTw7OfcxAZsdwA6wU8nK_16B867Yb/s1600-h/DSCN2388.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095590951136333314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPDxkjvpRxJzjWIBJO16E9o0MbeV5sBokMfg3FYMUGKqX1_Yb99ohCRt1IyEgEBAEp3rWndWB5Ls933y4hHGHCklLjT5KOK7JOcztmDo5KgJLL9dwaTw7OfcxAZsdwA6wU8nK_16B867Yb/s200/DSCN2388.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The workshops were interesting, even if they hardly applied to my project. We learned to make an improved wood burning stove –which involved lots of mud! Learned about coffee in the DR—and the fact that it is controlled by a monopoly that offers ZERO incentives for improved quality or organics, hence it is a country with perfect coffee climate, but poor quality coffee. Bummer. A Sunday afternoon at the river was thoroughly enjoyed. Note my favorite picture from that day: PCV chicks tanning and reading Cosmos!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2QAJf8V0bH97nl20ZsCOQSFvNSi0VxFvOHPAnR78uISHQqTeBUJC_mTbFY_5OxfLLNNgIEXbyr8QG7W6z5JnbI0EmGR-kqGd2M185Hw-GPR6tkhpYB8kVIrZ6ao36WQ2RQg4Q4eCJPqq/s1600-h/DSCN1441.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095592982655864338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2QAJf8V0bH97nl20ZsCOQSFvNSi0VxFvOHPAnR78uISHQqTeBUJC_mTbFY_5OxfLLNNgIEXbyr8QG7W6z5JnbI0EmGR-kqGd2M185Hw-GPR6tkhpYB8kVIrZ6ao36WQ2RQg4Q4eCJPqq/s200/DSCN1441.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Anyway, the week was great, I learned a lot and enjoyed organically grown romaine lettuce (my first romaine since I arrived in this country!) And now, I am back in my site and I have no excuse of “I’m working on my diagnostic” … it’s time to plan projects, solicit funds if needed, and get movin’. Happily, I am moving at a Caribbean speed. It’s exciting, as it is unlike anything I’ve ever done but at the same time I am bringing my skills and experiences to the table. I feel like I am forming a niche, and that feels good. This niche of mine is probably best explained by Kassiel, who said to someone at Peace Corps—“Colleen is here to be a bridge for us between the hotels and the people of the community.” Yikes, that's a big job!<br /><br />(note: if you can read Spanish and want to see my diagnostic, just ask. If you can’t read in spanish and are really interested, ask nicely and I’ll translate it) </div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-37556461467466121892007-07-23T14:28:00.001-05:002007-07-23T14:41:48.660-05:00power and suchOn Friday, my project partner Maria was inaugurated as the first mayor of Veron. The event was filled with fanfare, champagne, a helicopter, and lots of important people.<br /><br />A member of the national newspaper told me he forgot his camera and asked me to take photos for him, so I acted not only as the token Americana, but also as press! One of the presidential candidates, Amable Aristy, and his daughter Karina, mayor of Higuey, arrived in a helicopter, which was very exciting for everyone involved. Maria gave a speech that she had practiced for hours with me and answered questions of the press. I enjoyed the opportunity to chat with community members and continued to be amazed at the fact that I am a PCV drinking champagne! The people of power in this community are the people of tourism as this area is the largest tourism destination in the Caribbean and the highest grossing province in the DR. So, many presidents of hotels were present supporting this new effort.<br /><br />Maria is busy setting up her new office and finding out what funds she will have.<br />Now, with her as mayor and Veron as a Municipality, we will apparently have access to a lot more resources for basic needs such as trash services and school buildings. I am still trying to understand exactly how things work and what role I can play in all of this. It looks like I am going to help link the community groups to the Ayuntamiento (mayor’s office) in order to improve communication and distribute resources, but how that happens I don’t quite understand (and I don’t know that anyone does!)<br />A few weeks ago I found out about a community group that is trying to build a school in a barrio where there are no public schools. They had a piece of land donated and a little bit of money. I told Maria and expressed interest in helping this group, she told Ayuntamiento in Higuey, and at the inauguration, they announced that they would be building this school. (Although the Secretary of Education is not involved, so therefore we’ll have a school but no teachers or supplies…). Gotta love the system here!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-3035556789788295982007-07-12T09:05:00.000-05:002007-07-12T18:20:05.936-05:00Adventures with Tropical FruitThis post is dedicated to the people who went blueberry picking in Jacksonville on my birthday, you know who you are. I’ll gladly admit that you made me very jealous with your stories of billions of pounds of blueberries, but now, Ha! – I have passion fruit, papaya, mangos, zapotes, and pineapple—all grown near me. YUM<br /><br />Although my initial vision of Peace Corps was living in a tiny campo with an abundance of free fruit and that is not quite my situation, I do live in a country of unbelievable fruits and generous people who share (and when all else fails, I can buy fruit off the side of the road).<br /><br />Our adventures shall begin with chinola (passion fruit)—an ugly yellow fruit with an even uglier center and a very bitter taste, but when made into a juice, with incredible amounts of sugar, is delicious!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086312130630074162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir51ypVsg15Ck1FvNiwF2p0Zw2vppNd-8JIqQu8u_wj-Ap-DCFlNLz2Cuhf_6ygxD2hdEKl134Re6itY6RVTYwLe_Xhq_tSjU3Ex5VG65Ir1msb2Wr-fzn55W6UaizcdtbjiXn9PiSxshc/s320/DSCN0856.jpg" border="0" /> Dona Juana gave me a lesson in juice making, which you can view here: <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/colleengatliff/ChinolaJuice">http://picasaweb.google.com/colleengatliff/ChinolaJuice</a> It’s quite a process, but well worth it in the end. Warning to men: the lore has it here that you should be careful with chinola. Consume too much and you’ll lose your virility. Oh—and I almost forgot—chinolas can also be made into margaritas at Mexican restaurants in the Capital—which is how I celebrated my birthday.<br /><br />Adventure dos: Guineo. Simply, banana. They’re sweet, they’re fresh, they’re really cheap, and they’ve never seen an airplane. Twice now I’ve made banana bread (pan de guineo) for my family—using the oven that no one else uses—and both times while the oven was heating a giant rat has scurried out from under it, causing many screaming folks, including me, to flee the house. I’ve named him Guineo. The bread though is delicious and we eat it for breakfast sometimes.<br /><br />Adventure tres: MANGOS, I saved the best for last! I waited very patiently for mango season <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsB8ZHq5JCeSeavh6IsECTTTG5L_srFXP_eRnf5nU4UVQ7lRNqjWLyOorJiiSQYxPChxPKGBtG1Am-QEcLzOf661xdhX41I4WFghLvQ95tVyedieE6XHiAyEsXsQnyENHSIaztlbVo3H43/s1600-h/DSCN1148.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086453362039668690" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsB8ZHq5JCeSeavh6IsECTTTG5L_srFXP_eRnf5nU4UVQ7lRNqjWLyOorJiiSQYxPChxPKGBtG1Am-QEcLzOf661xdhX41I4WFghLvQ95tVyedieE6XHiAyEsXsQnyENHSIaztlbVo3H43/s200/DSCN1148.jpg" border="0" /></a>and it’s finally here. I have learned to eat them without a knife, a process that involves peeling the skin with your teeth as you eat, careful to keep up with the juice, or else you’ll have a very sticky forearm. My first few times with this involved me nearly needing to bathe myself afterwards! But alas, I am now an expert and the world is full of mangos. Happy day. One afternoon two of my fishermen friends and I took one of their motorcycles on a mango hunt. We climbed through barbed wire and found a tree full of ripe fruit. One of the guys climbed it and shook branches, resulting in a literal raining of mangos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hSy_lC0GcaIY1OhGlefjoNP00d_hAFjODDFo55P5CmHTo9tWCO1wYt3TGYAWhdYs2-rMnTUZUGLByu8UMTqIumFXjCfq5QFBmr80piCwYA67Ack2A-cirN08TqXm24CiZLADhP7vzQjS/s1600-h/DSCN1147.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086453697047117794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hSy_lC0GcaIY1OhGlefjoNP00d_hAFjODDFo55P5CmHTo9tWCO1wYt3TGYAWhdYs2-rMnTUZUGLByu8UMTqIumFXjCfq5QFBmr80piCwYA67Ack2A-cirN08TqXm24CiZLADhP7vzQjS/s200/DSCN1147.jpg" border="0" /></a>. I stayed under the tree, guarding my head and collecting mangos as they fell (with one hand of course, as the other was occupied eating a mango). I ate 3 or 4 during that little excursion and carried home overflowing bags, which were used for mango batidas (milk, mango & ice in a blender), then shared mangos with “todo el mundo” and still ate 1 or 2 a day for about a week. Yum!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-83649850256170416142007-07-12T09:00:00.000-05:002007-07-12T09:25:04.154-05:00true story<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWn3h6JNtBoNdMlcHKWshBGlIhjPrTl1gJVFkviXBeTLtDEQB9CU4OWNsFv3r5lFm-fpcUmLsHQikdXg_KaGSiT_UtKjEDPWi2rsdRE2jq_nSDXwEyVybAxblxhI9h-H_HWc-SLK2djvK/s1600-h/DSCN1178.jpg"></a><br />Her question to me was did I go to the sea often?<br />Why I asked<br />You smell of it, she said<br />No I replied<br />But thought to myself—it’s because I am from there<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086311267341647650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEFrFzr9osfNK1ko8kkNpyehRkWPHTvvj7ifkJI8dcpWfArsssIhlyKZ-BJX_iccx0pfHmR25k5RmicMXlrQSukka_dB72yhWO0f7Vmb0VwB3HUROfk0QTIrOSZWoU1NMfaaqvtxAzN-s/s320/DSCN1178.jpg" border="0" />This based on and inspired by the actual incident mentioned above, which occurred the other day in our public clinic, and also one of my favorite Brian Andreas poems:<br />“He kept a piece of algae behind his ear to remind him of his roots. A million years ago every place was a little place by the sea, he would say & my mind would go blank & I would swim through the day without a care in the world & it all seemed so familiar that I knew I would go back someday to my own little place by the sea.” </div><div> </div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-59801292809435707162007-06-30T09:29:00.000-05:002007-06-30T09:55:38.318-05:00what is it that I actually do?<div><br /><div><div>My last real entry about what I was up to was a pathetic attempt at putting a positive spin on a very frustrating month. The home I was living in was, well, difficult (ask if you want to hear the story!), I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, and my project partners that I have been assigned to work with were extremely busy with meetings and political campaigns. Things have since turned around and I am really loving what I'm doing.<br /><em><br />(side note on politics: Peace Corps mandates that PCVs avoid all things political. With that said, one of my project partners is the sindico (mayor) of our town and is very involved in a campaign for a presidential candidate. The general elections are next year, but primaries were held a week and a half ago. It seems that her involvement will continue and the candidate may be bringing helpful resources to our town. It’ll be an interesting balance for me to maintain.)<br /></em><br />Back to what’s happening in Veron, Dominican Republic. First, a history lesson: in the 1970’s a few investors discovered what is now called the Coconut Coast. At that time, this far east part of Hispanola was a quiet place with pristine beaches and a few fishing communities. These investors purchased a large chunk of land and named it “Punta Cana” after the Cana Palm that is quite abundant. Punta Cana developed into a multi-hotel enterprise with golf courses and enormous residential areas. This development brought attention to the coast, and now 30 years later there are over 20,000 hotel rooms, almost all of which are all-inclusive. Punta Cana is only one part of the area, most of all-inclusives are in an area called Bavaro, although most say they are part of Punta Cana. Here's touristy info about the area, for you to get an idea. <a href="http://www.debbiesdominicantravel.com/eastcoast.html">http://www.debbiesdominicantravel.com/eastcoast.html</a><br /><br />See below touristy map of area. I live in Veron, but spend a lot of my days near the Punta Cana area. (southern area of map) </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081866969890920706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiCfAhZBMiYIlB53FalkBi6cpA3UH0q_XgsFtOjCXi2tKAV3JSOsIqvfC60ZzfQUhkH3fCwMuriWHg-Dp99wiEfPPn3P1NLwYEjLrVNM25lq_FktCux0o7JqhLlZI0j9QrJlRH64N1TtH/s320/punta+cana+map.jpg" border="0" />As the tourist industy has developed here. ;ittle by little, people that lived on the coast have been relocated. Unfortuntely, development of community infrastructure (schools, waste disposal, healthcare, etc.) has lagged behind. Now we're playing catch-up. </div><div> </div><div>Many of the relocated people were/are fishermen. There is still a group of people that fish, but their access to the ocean is very limited. I’ll explain more details of this in a future entry.<br /><br />Basically, the situation now is this: the coast is filled with hotels, million-dollar homes and golf courses. There is a reef that runs along the coast that is in pretty rough shape. The Punta Cana Group, which has an ecological foundation, has contracted with the University of Miami to conduct a 2-year study of the reef. The study includes 3 dimensions: 1. a very technical water-analysis part, looking at nutrients and algae, 2. a coral and fish evaluation, and 3. a socio-economic project examining fishermen’s livelihoods. The end goal: find solutions to preserve the reef.<br /><br />I will work with the University of Miami project mostly on the socioeconomic part. The idea is to first understand how/ why/ when/ how much/ etc. the fishermen fish, and then together establish best practices for preserving the reef. One such idea is to develop a Marine Protected Area (MPA). People from Reef Check are working with me to explore this idea and how it has been successfully implemented with fishermen communities in other countries. I have begun to breach the topic with some of the fishermen and it’s gone over well so far, which has surprised me. Right now, anything that can be fished is being fished—tiny parrotfish, small lobster (even though it’s the closed season), you name it. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081868692172806434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLprpxQzXWr6MEilijk3gbon7-vBpI5PAgx7oYv-zwiOZmr92bRNSb7vrVsGDIaOMzKYdAsYXFaccAGoPFOOB_VPllbYZ8GPc6KaKW4QHRP9t3ZiOz7cBOUgfn4llrg4q6zMZtqb40e7XE/s320/IMG_5232.JPG" border="0" />So right now, I’m spending a lot of time at the marina and in the water with the fishermen—learning about their lives and establishing confianza (trust). There’s a great group of 5 guys that I spend a lot of time with. They are all “buceos” or snorkelers. They don snorkel gear and a spear gun and spend the entire day swimming to and from the reef shooting fish. Their catches are strung on a wire that stays afloat with a makeshift buoy. It’s an interesting life! Other fishermen use air compressors with a long tube and spend hours at over 100 feet (umm…Bends, anyone?) shooting larger fish—groupers, red hinds, snapper, and occasional baby nurse sharks.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081867742985034002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3m3-QnD_6ol8HI-BKArbp0GVOw8lb2I5RtMGQavMzWFDkbsPFs4Um3XBfms6vLQidZMp3AIj5kcN41DWCzDm7lt2zZh-RAJvIKBXLYiICTJDd13PXsahSKg88C3cxzBVkxE78DI9yTUiS/s320/IMG_5168.JPG" border="0" /><br />When I’m not with fishermen, I am spending time with my project partner Maria or with various community groups. There is a small group of people that is trying to build a school in a barrio that does not have a public school. I’m helping them get organized so that we can look for funding and the support of the Secretary of Education. Maria is involved in a lot, and I help where I can. There is a disaster mitigation committee for the entire zone, which I’ll be involved in.<br /><br />At the same time as these other projects, I am supposed to be conducting a community diagnostic, so I spend time interviewing people and collecting information when I can. It’s a busy life, but I’m really glad for it… and take “busy” with a grain of salt. I’m busy sitting. … and spending sufficient time at these unbelievable beaches. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081869280583326002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUsfQB2uQ6WqJfUoO-_fjvEUak-kGiJ6pMF3xW6lnfkhW1Ldw1NFZ4TU3toO-83neym54IRbFKUWXC9J1XEr2egfDuvAOs2nLzfvKrr6MZ7O4e8JdD5i9rMxrYGkvutcl0YJKtEEV5JorW/s320/IMG_5076.JPG" border="0" /></div></div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-23835034578946500182007-06-23T17:26:00.000-05:002007-06-23T17:38:33.920-05:00marlinBelow is a 4 1/2 foot white marlin caught by this fisherman in a boat similar to what you see behind him. He caught and fought this marlin simply with fishing line in his hands. He does not use a pole! He said he snagged 3 others that day, but this was the only one he was able to fight to bring in. He held it up for a photo like this because he's seen that in the nearby marina where there is currently a marlin tournament being held. The people competing in the tournament are using half million dollar boats...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079390450961424322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbtB0l4NYUzycLD1Zk0UPTeHTTDW5JMK4Mm5rnR1QirZ0HY8Puy188fF2-M7jrPRJ-WPf6x7UAsHQDXCq5Gm9DfSJ3-KwDWKHTG9JBrUCj4p_hqZpXrfIo6HChWn8jH_Erk2u3SQ4lASY/s200/IMG_5249.JPG" border="0" />Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705543894814116358.post-23815021016442692052007-05-29T08:29:00.000-05:002007-05-29T08:32:43.291-05:00my new life<em>“…people in Western civilization no longer have time for each other, they have no time together, they do not share the experience of time. This explains why westerners are incapable of understanding the psychology of sitting. In villages all over the world, sitting is an important social activity. Sitting is not a ‘waste of time’ nor is it a manifestation of laziness. Sitting is having time together, time to cultivate social relations.” –Andreas Fuglesang<br /></em><br />So the simple fact that it has taken so long to create something to post on this blog serves as excellent evidence of this new life I have embarked upon. Almost a year ago I filled out a Peace Corps application and wrote a moving aspiration statement about an “intercambio” of cultures and how I wanted to listen to people and help them organize themselves. I endured months of waiting, interviews, a medical clearance, goodbye parties and packing, and then I arrived. My first few months were filled with so many new things—yuca, merengue, guaguas for public transportation, plus Spanish, that my mind remained constantly occupied. Training afforded plenty of opportunities to hang out with other volunteers and direction—a schedule of where to go and when, even if it was just four planned hours in a day.<br />That, my friends, is what I am without now.<br />I am in my site--Veron, Republica Dominicana—and this is my home for the next 2 years. Yikes. Every PCV I spoke with before getting here made it clear that getting to your site can be, well, weird and overwhelming. <br />I have 24 hours a day to occupy myself, get to know my community, and find out where I’ll fit in and how I can help. I spend hours on porches drinking cafecitos (espresso and a lot of sugar), sit in area schools for a few hours at a time, hang out in the public clinic and help where I can, follow around community leaders, go for long walks, and read. It’s such a challenge to drop my expectations of meeting on time and wanting my project partners to sit down with me and create a plan. I’m here, so I have to play Dominican, not American.<br />My area that I am working is quite large. Look on a map if you can—I work as far south as Juanillo and as far north as Bavaro. So there ya go, my new life. It’s just so bizarre, and right now, sometimes scary and overwhelming. So different than anything I have ever known, and I know that in the long run, that’s a good thing. I am learning, growing and stretching a whole lot. For every frustration around here, there’s an amazingly rich moment. Here are a few excerpts from my crazy new life:<br />Cow feet & pig fat: on Saturday at my house they made a Sancocho—a favorite Dominican dish that’s a stew of root vegetables and meat. This time the meat was cow feet & pig fat. Seriously.<br />Cualquier cosa: As I’m introduced to people, so so many of them say to me “cualquier cosa tu necesitas, me llama” – anything you need, you call me, then they make sure I realize that they mean it.<br />Chinola & Avena: While visiting a neighborhood with a community leader, a friend of hers made us sit and she served us each a glass of juice—chinola (passionfruit) and avena (oatmeal). Delicious.<br />Shoe-swatting: I went to the local evangelical church on Sunday night and during a passionate part of the service a kid was acting up, so the woman I was with (who was not a relative) took off her sandal to swat him. No<br />one batted an eye.<br />14 year-old amigo: My 14 year-old neighbor who lives in a tiny wooden house without a bathroom does all the cooking for his family and has the coolest cell phone I’ve ever seen—complete with mp3 player and camera. He’s my buddy. I hang out at his house in the evenings sometimes, and not because he has a cool phone. Because he’s friendly and talkative.<br />Not so domestic: I wash my own clothes now. We have a machine that does a spin cycle, so we fill it and add soap. There was a bag near the washer that looked like detergent, so I used it. After about 15 minutes, a friend of the family realized that it wasn’t soap—it was concrete. That was fun.<br />Yuca: I love it now. Like look forward to it love it. I couldn’t eat it the first time it was served to me. Woo!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02342134919610953962noreply@blogger.com2