After having been here for un mes y pico, I have a short story to tell. Life has been so intense that it seems like it was years ago we came here, but that's what it feels like every time I come back to el patio and mi barrio. But this time I came back for good, with my wife and a 1-year old son.
The first week we came here, our son got dehydrated by the heat, and recovered from that only to get a stomach virus. Constant diarrea, dizziness and inconsolable crying made both my wife and I wonder why the hell we made the decision to bring the poor kid to the other side of the world. And my wife - who had been here before, but never with a kid ? realized that the part of S.D. where we live is horrible for a kid to grow up in
(high crime rate, massive air pollution, lethal traffic, calles looking like Swiss cheese, you name it). She could not cross the street (or the Avenida, to be honest) without having a pulse of 190 and tunnel vision.
As for me, I didn't feel at home either. Not at all. I couldn't stand the fact that we only had light when EDESTE decided to distribute it, that we had no water when la bomba wasn't prendido, that we had a fridge which was warmer than your average sauna, and that our newly installed windows that we got to keep the rain out were installed by a handyman so skilled that he exchanged parts of the wall surrounding the windows with plaster instead of concrete (which, by the way, has made floor cleaning a lot easier every time there is a decent aguacero around). To top it all off, we were stuck at M?xico con Jos? Mart? during rush hour, waiting for a bus that wasn't so massively overcrowded that you had to throw someone off in order to get in, when an incident occurred that shocked my wife more than just a bit.
?Another foreigner coming here not knowing anything about Latin America?, some of you might think. Not true at all. She's part Argentinian, and have been raised with traditional South American values. And she has been in Buenos Aires several times, a metropolis which she really loves. In hindsight, we have concluded that she expected Santo Domingo to be somewhat similar to Buenos Aires. A bustling Latin American capital, but a bit hotter, a bit smaller and just a little less organized. That's also the impression she got of la capital when she was here the first time. But like I said, she did not come with a baby the first time. It is one thing taking a carro p?blico and going around the city in overcrowded buses by oneself, it is a whole other thing trying to do that with an infant that is supposed to be safely buckled up in a car seat. Which, of course, has made transport quite an issue for the three of us. We go with the Metro whenever we can, and with larger buses like the OMSA and Caribe Tours. Nevertheless, none of us likes it and we're both waiting impatiently to get the paper work done so we can buy a jeepeta and start driving everywhere.
But the bus was what we were waiting for when we were stuck at Avenida M?xico con Jos? Mart? that day. So what happened that shocked my wife so much? A half naked man came walking along the sidewalk, approaching us and the other people at the bus stop, begging for money. Since we had just decided that we should walk a short distance to take another bus, we stood up and left la parada. My wife held our sleeping son close to her chest and did everything not to look at the man and get our kid out if there. But I never noticed. I just glanced at the the man, and then continued to scan the traffic and the people around us for buses, pick pocketers, holes in the ground and the usual things one routinely looks out for in this part of town at this hour (if you're not driving a car, that is). We walked a bit further, and then she asked me - in a very calm voice:
"What was that red thing hanging out from his stomach?"
Concerned mostly about the traffic and how to get my wife and kid home before darkness fell, I answered:
"His colon. ?Mira! We can cross the avenue at the intersection and walk up that street to take the other bus."
?But it was so red!?
?What??
?The colon.?
?Probably infected. Wait until the next red light here, honey.?
?Why was it hanging there??
?Not sure. Gun shot, stabbing ? who knows. You still don't see the OMSA, do you??
?No.?
Half a block later, she said - pretty shaken - "I can't take this anymore. It's just too much."
I agreed. The traffic was horrible and even during the red lights there were cars and motorcycles passing by dangerously fast. So I took her inside a small store were they were selling equipment for barber shops. Completely confused, she asked me what we were doing in the shop since we have no barber shop. I answered that we had to take a break from the street, since the noise and the exhaust fumes clearly was taking its toll on her. She remained silent.
A meaningless conversation with the shop owner later, we left the store, crossed Avenida M?xico and got to the other bus stop. And with a stroke of fortune, we managed to get on a bus where we weren't transported like sardines in a can. Mi esposa remained pretty silent and I understood her. After all, it had been quite an intensive day with a lot of walking and el ni?ito was still affected by the heat since he hadn't adapted fully to the tropical climate. I understood her completely, or so I thought. It wasn't till we got home later that night
that I learned the true reason to her being so upset. She said that she had never thought of this before, but that she now had discovered a new deal breaker when it comes to the place she wants to live at, and that is that everyone on the streets has to have all of their intestines on the inside.
Now, 30 days later, my wife casually greet the neighborhood coke dealer when we wait for the bus at his corner, she fights with people in overcrowded OMSA:s to get a seat for her and kiddo, not to mention that she loves to make fun of los cobradores and shout "dualte-27-g?mez-caribetours-dualte-dualte" everytime we hit the streets (she has also figured out that every bus in town seems to pass la Duarte at one point or another). Both of us have realized that we would like to live inside the extremely child friendly Sambil where they've got the best gelato in the city. We have fallen in love with the flashy ?gora (if nothing else, for the air condition and Krispy Kreme), el Metro (best infrastructural investment ever in this country), Jos? Contreras over at UTESA by night with all its students and vibrant street life, Megacentro, La Feria (full of cars, but almost no exhaust fumes since they're all so new), Avenida Charles de Gaulle, and our new barrio (bought a place in a lower middle class residencia not far from my family, but still in a neighborhood that is new to us). During these weeks in the D.R, we have also managed to get a tinaco, un inversor with some Trojans, and a brand new, rust free, fire escape that is actually less dangerous than a fire - which is a lot more than one could say of the former one.
I wouldn't mind a proper AC, a functioning nevera, a new estufa, walls that one can not peep through, and some other luxuries. But I still love Santo Domingo, and my wife is now getting a bit warmer feelings for la capital and all its intensity. She now knows that it is a city with a hundred faces: there is mis?ria - yes, lots of it, but there is also opulence, flourishing parks, barren wastelands of basura and pieces of concreto, glistening skyscrapers, brand new jeepetas and carros p?blicos missing parts of the floor, the door and a bit of the roof. Not to mention the huge bonfires of car tires that's located a stones throw from our balcony - all in the same town. She has seen loads of the extreme friendliness of los capitale?os: strangers helping her off the bus, men and women making sure we never make a wrong turn while we're exploring unknown territory. Not to mention the bus loader that helps los cobradores getting their buses full. Gave her a plastic chair the other night to sit down while we were waiting at our bus in the chaotic intersection at the corner of Megacentro.
Can't say that she wholeheartedly loves the city yet. After all, Santo Domingo is an acquired taste, not something you can feel perfectly at home in at once. And when it comes to raising a child, I'm not sure any of us will be able to accept this city in the long run.
Bottom line is that we are now very open to settle in some campo, and might actually have found the perfect place on the North coast (thanks to one of you guys here at the forum). And I do believe that we, during the coming months in that paradise, will be accompanied by the sound of sea breezes and children's laughter when we walk the streets instead of whistle blowing from AMET officers, truck drivers hanging on their horn, and cobradores screaming: "dualte-27-g?mez-caribetours-dualte-dualte ?V?manos! ?Montate morena! ?Ll?vala!"
That's our Santo Domingo story, so far. Please share yours!
The first week we came here, our son got dehydrated by the heat, and recovered from that only to get a stomach virus. Constant diarrea, dizziness and inconsolable crying made both my wife and I wonder why the hell we made the decision to bring the poor kid to the other side of the world. And my wife - who had been here before, but never with a kid ? realized that the part of S.D. where we live is horrible for a kid to grow up in
(high crime rate, massive air pollution, lethal traffic, calles looking like Swiss cheese, you name it). She could not cross the street (or the Avenida, to be honest) without having a pulse of 190 and tunnel vision.
As for me, I didn't feel at home either. Not at all. I couldn't stand the fact that we only had light when EDESTE decided to distribute it, that we had no water when la bomba wasn't prendido, that we had a fridge which was warmer than your average sauna, and that our newly installed windows that we got to keep the rain out were installed by a handyman so skilled that he exchanged parts of the wall surrounding the windows with plaster instead of concrete (which, by the way, has made floor cleaning a lot easier every time there is a decent aguacero around). To top it all off, we were stuck at M?xico con Jos? Mart? during rush hour, waiting for a bus that wasn't so massively overcrowded that you had to throw someone off in order to get in, when an incident occurred that shocked my wife more than just a bit.
?Another foreigner coming here not knowing anything about Latin America?, some of you might think. Not true at all. She's part Argentinian, and have been raised with traditional South American values. And she has been in Buenos Aires several times, a metropolis which she really loves. In hindsight, we have concluded that she expected Santo Domingo to be somewhat similar to Buenos Aires. A bustling Latin American capital, but a bit hotter, a bit smaller and just a little less organized. That's also the impression she got of la capital when she was here the first time. But like I said, she did not come with a baby the first time. It is one thing taking a carro p?blico and going around the city in overcrowded buses by oneself, it is a whole other thing trying to do that with an infant that is supposed to be safely buckled up in a car seat. Which, of course, has made transport quite an issue for the three of us. We go with the Metro whenever we can, and with larger buses like the OMSA and Caribe Tours. Nevertheless, none of us likes it and we're both waiting impatiently to get the paper work done so we can buy a jeepeta and start driving everywhere.
But the bus was what we were waiting for when we were stuck at Avenida M?xico con Jos? Mart? that day. So what happened that shocked my wife so much? A half naked man came walking along the sidewalk, approaching us and the other people at the bus stop, begging for money. Since we had just decided that we should walk a short distance to take another bus, we stood up and left la parada. My wife held our sleeping son close to her chest and did everything not to look at the man and get our kid out if there. But I never noticed. I just glanced at the the man, and then continued to scan the traffic and the people around us for buses, pick pocketers, holes in the ground and the usual things one routinely looks out for in this part of town at this hour (if you're not driving a car, that is). We walked a bit further, and then she asked me - in a very calm voice:
"What was that red thing hanging out from his stomach?"
Concerned mostly about the traffic and how to get my wife and kid home before darkness fell, I answered:
"His colon. ?Mira! We can cross the avenue at the intersection and walk up that street to take the other bus."
?But it was so red!?
?What??
?The colon.?
?Probably infected. Wait until the next red light here, honey.?
?Why was it hanging there??
?Not sure. Gun shot, stabbing ? who knows. You still don't see the OMSA, do you??
?No.?
Half a block later, she said - pretty shaken - "I can't take this anymore. It's just too much."
I agreed. The traffic was horrible and even during the red lights there were cars and motorcycles passing by dangerously fast. So I took her inside a small store were they were selling equipment for barber shops. Completely confused, she asked me what we were doing in the shop since we have no barber shop. I answered that we had to take a break from the street, since the noise and the exhaust fumes clearly was taking its toll on her. She remained silent.
A meaningless conversation with the shop owner later, we left the store, crossed Avenida M?xico and got to the other bus stop. And with a stroke of fortune, we managed to get on a bus where we weren't transported like sardines in a can. Mi esposa remained pretty silent and I understood her. After all, it had been quite an intensive day with a lot of walking and el ni?ito was still affected by the heat since he hadn't adapted fully to the tropical climate. I understood her completely, or so I thought. It wasn't till we got home later that night
that I learned the true reason to her being so upset. She said that she had never thought of this before, but that she now had discovered a new deal breaker when it comes to the place she wants to live at, and that is that everyone on the streets has to have all of their intestines on the inside.
Now, 30 days later, my wife casually greet the neighborhood coke dealer when we wait for the bus at his corner, she fights with people in overcrowded OMSA:s to get a seat for her and kiddo, not to mention that she loves to make fun of los cobradores and shout "dualte-27-g?mez-caribetours-dualte-dualte" everytime we hit the streets (she has also figured out that every bus in town seems to pass la Duarte at one point or another). Both of us have realized that we would like to live inside the extremely child friendly Sambil where they've got the best gelato in the city. We have fallen in love with the flashy ?gora (if nothing else, for the air condition and Krispy Kreme), el Metro (best infrastructural investment ever in this country), Jos? Contreras over at UTESA by night with all its students and vibrant street life, Megacentro, La Feria (full of cars, but almost no exhaust fumes since they're all so new), Avenida Charles de Gaulle, and our new barrio (bought a place in a lower middle class residencia not far from my family, but still in a neighborhood that is new to us). During these weeks in the D.R, we have also managed to get a tinaco, un inversor with some Trojans, and a brand new, rust free, fire escape that is actually less dangerous than a fire - which is a lot more than one could say of the former one.
I wouldn't mind a proper AC, a functioning nevera, a new estufa, walls that one can not peep through, and some other luxuries. But I still love Santo Domingo, and my wife is now getting a bit warmer feelings for la capital and all its intensity. She now knows that it is a city with a hundred faces: there is mis?ria - yes, lots of it, but there is also opulence, flourishing parks, barren wastelands of basura and pieces of concreto, glistening skyscrapers, brand new jeepetas and carros p?blicos missing parts of the floor, the door and a bit of the roof. Not to mention the huge bonfires of car tires that's located a stones throw from our balcony - all in the same town. She has seen loads of the extreme friendliness of los capitale?os: strangers helping her off the bus, men and women making sure we never make a wrong turn while we're exploring unknown territory. Not to mention the bus loader that helps los cobradores getting their buses full. Gave her a plastic chair the other night to sit down while we were waiting at our bus in the chaotic intersection at the corner of Megacentro.
Can't say that she wholeheartedly loves the city yet. After all, Santo Domingo is an acquired taste, not something you can feel perfectly at home in at once. And when it comes to raising a child, I'm not sure any of us will be able to accept this city in the long run.
Bottom line is that we are now very open to settle in some campo, and might actually have found the perfect place on the North coast (thanks to one of you guys here at the forum). And I do believe that we, during the coming months in that paradise, will be accompanied by the sound of sea breezes and children's laughter when we walk the streets instead of whistle blowing from AMET officers, truck drivers hanging on their horn, and cobradores screaming: "dualte-27-g?mez-caribetours-dualte-dualte ?V?manos! ?Montate morena! ?Ll?vala!"
That's our Santo Domingo story, so far. Please share yours!