CBT

We are just over a week into Community-Based Training, or CBT.  Our group of 16 packed into a few vehicles and North we drove until hitting the quiet community of Fundación, where 9 of our 16 currently reside.  Fundación belongs to a larger region called Alta Mira, which belongs to a still larger region, Puerto Plata.  You wouldn't guess that we were near the coast while walking the single snaking road that traverses the town.  On either side green farmland rises up - partially for grazing, but with a vast majority as conuco, or mixed farmland.

My host family's house is up a steep, uneven and rocky driveway, tucked away right into the naturaleza.  Let me tell you, getting off the guagua and dragging my suitcase up that thing while wearing my backpack was no cakewalk.  When I reached the top to find no one was home, I reviewed my sweaty condition and concluded it may have been the gnarliest yet.  I have since realized that it is melancholy to reflect on sweatiness here, as it is simply part of the midday routine.  Luckily I was accompanied by a random boy, maybe 10 years old, who began pushing my bag from behind.  The help was miniscule, but the gesture grand.

Solidarity seems to be a theme here.  Everyone knows everyone, and not by their real name, but rather their apodo.  I wish I knew how they came up with those.  The residents of the community are inspiring.  They form groups, undertake projects to better the community, such as road improvement, and just genenerally are available to sit and chat and drink the occasional soda.  My doña, for example, takes care of a sick, old gentlemen who lives further up our driveway.  She brings him 3 meals a day, and bathes him numerous times a week, and all this on top of providing everthing for us folks at home too.  She is a tireless worker who asks for nothing in return and still has time to worry about my host brother and I when we get home late - a testament to mothers everywhere!

To follow up on my last post about the volunteer I visited, well, it was basically radical.  We met up with another volunteer who is intimately connected into the Dominican world, took a boat out to Cayo Levantado, a picturesque island off the Samaná coast where we soaked up sun on white sand with intermittent dips in crystal clear water bordering on bath tub temperatures.  Oh ya, and I had a delectable piña colada that just so happened to be served in a pineapple, virgen of course.  It was a much needed day of leisure.

But now it's back to the daily grind of getting up with the sun, walking around the conuco with my don if I don't have class, and then of course lots and lots of class, and lots and lots of sitting.  Beyond that things are great.  I'm slowly realizing how quickly I've become accustomed to bugs.  Bugs of all shapes and sizes, colors and amounts of legs.  It's a futile effort to bother killing any of them, but that doesn't mean I don't absolutely destroy every centipede and mosquito unlucky enough to cross my path.  Just the other night I went outside to sit and enjoy the cool breeze and clear sky, and I was glad I shined my light on my seat of choice before lowering my tush onto it.  Clumsily wiggling around on its back was the biggest beetle I've ever seen.  This thing was half the size of my cell phone and twice as thick.  I called my brother over to ask what it was and he literally just bitch-slapped it off the ledge and into the night where I heard it go 'thud'.  I went back out to take a picture of it and the thing was perfectly fine lackadaisically milling around.

All our group has a to give a persentation on a different business related skill at some point in training.  Mine just so happens to be costing and pricing, and it just so happens to be happening in 2 days, so I must go work out that 1.5 hour presentation to make it as fun as possible for my counterparts.  Price is Right sounds like a good intro to the topic...

PST!

PST doesn't just stand for Pre-Service Training.  It's also the sound one makes here in order to acquire someone's attention.  You know, "psssssssssst!"  While this seemed very rude at first, as it is done by absolutely everyone from you neighbor to the seedy looking gentleman trying to get you on his motoconcho for a ride.  I'm slowly getting used to it.  Between my time in the capital and my visit to a volunteer currently in the field, I can already see there are a lot of things that will take some getting used to.

My volunteer visit has brought me to a very small pueblo called Rancho Espanol in the Samana region.  Having seen pictures of the beach in Samana, I was very happy with the lot I'd received for this visit (and I'm currently killing time in an internet shop waiting to meet some people for the beach!).  The three-hour guagua bus ride from the capital to the pueblo was not unpleasant.  Passing through gorgeous, lush countryside inside a rickety, yet air conditioned van was a nice change from the rides I was used to within Santo Domingo.  More than that, everyone, well, except two guys, had a seat on the bus.

Public transport in this country is...different.  Say goodbye to personal space.  In a dilapidated bus once totaled in the "first world", shipped here and held together with rope and duct tape along with a few new additions like some extra folding seats, I'd say a good 12-16 people can 'comfortably' fit inside, depending on the guagua of course.  But just when you think it is full, when you're asking yourself, "why is he slowing down?  It's nobody's stop and this thing is most certainly maxed-out." Another 3 people get on.  Then you stop again, and 4 more get on.  Then 2 more.  After that the cobrador, the guy who charges everyone for the ride, has no place in the van so he keeps a foot in there and hangs out the side.  And all this is happening in what appears to be chaos - bumper to bumper traffic, horns honking anywhere and everywhere, intermittent passerby selling water or candy, the errant smell of exhaust mixed with wet heat and garbage, and motos flying through the thin spaces between whatever lanes have been left open by sheer chance and no regard for the paint on the road.  And since every car is already totaled, there is a little bumper to bumper action every so often, you know, just a nudge to let the guy who's trying to cut you off know that he's not gonna be able to squeeze in there.  The most aggressive driver in the US wouldn't stand a chance here.  My hat is off to the men and women who brave these conditions everyday.  Were it me, the stress alone would kill me at 35, and the conditions most likely sooner.

All the trainees will return to the capital on Sunday after our visits in the field.  I'm looking forward to hearing about what it was like 'out there' in comparison to my experience.  To be honest, I have no love for the capital.  It lost its enchantment when I left the hotel we were hunkered down in during the storm.  The rural campo I'm currently visiting being in stark contrast to the big city, it is a nice change, however it is difficult to say what I'd prefer given all the options of lifestyle and project structure (or lack thereof).  More to come on the activities during my volunteer visit.  Time to get to the playa.                 

Problems

I have very few of them, relatively anyway.  But one that is really grinding my gears is that I've had this great Macbook since 2007, never had a problem, and pushing one week into training, two keys on my keyboard stop working.  Normally this would only be a minor inconvenience, but I thought I'd be extra prudent and password lock my computer before I left in case it got stolen just to spite the scurvy theif who dared cross me.

TALK ABOUT YOUR ALL TIME BACKFIRES.

Turns out I need ONE of those two keys to complete my password, and now nobody can utilize my faithful machine.  I have shot myself right in the foot, and I'm already missing a toenail so you can imagine my condition.

But let's focus on the victories.  Though they are small, they are so totally awesome.  Doing some homework (Much of life here is spent just chillin' outside, sitting, maybe some conversation, or dominoes, but trying to double task, I thought I'd crack the old book) outside, we saw some dark clouds moving in.  Rain.  And boy did it rain.

When it rains here, it RAINS.  Wherever you are, you are staying there.  So I moved under the shelter of our colmado and we chuckled at the half naked kids bathing and playing in the downpour.  Liwi, who works at the colmado, told me it's normal to bathe in it and everyone does it.  Let's just say he didn't have to twist my arm before I was out under a spout of water shooting off our roof.  Best shower I'd had all week - warm, good pressure, even washed my shorts in the process.