So much had changed and so much was the same. First we entered a sleek airport, nothing like the sweaty, sticky port I once came into as a Peace Corps volunteer 25 years ago. Then they plied us with little cups of rum and coke to start the thirst for island life. Now a carefully crafted mural of the artesania of Hispaniola graced our path to immigration. But as we left customs Freddy appeared with open arms and his big, loving smile.
Trekking through the capital on our way to San Jose de Ocoa took me down a notch. So much pulsing traffic, basura (garbage) and so many barrios, nestled on the sides of the river banks, waiting for the next ciclon to whisk them away, find themselves noted in the drama of headline news and forgotten a day later. Here the cholera of Haiti's lingering tragedy has taken root.
Why are some of us born into security, education, health and wealth? Why are others born to the barrios?
We navigated onto Highway 2 and headed west. The skies filled with rain. Sonia stopped to barter with the mango sellers...dismayed by their outrageous price (30 pesos la dozena...$1/dozen!). We didn't know then that she would stockpile the mangos to bring to our beach day in Las Salinas a week later.
We were exhausted, excited and quiet as we entered the relatively prosperous San Jose de Ocoa where the sisters have a beautiful complex and we each claimed a bed. We had arrived.
There is much more to note but what cannot go unmentioned was the evening's mass, complete with live music blaring through awful speakers, the din of motorcycles roaring past and horns honking outside near the parque, a toddler wandering the aisles, and a couple celebrating their 22nd wedding anniversary, blessed by the priest who officiated that evening. Welcome to La Republica Dominicana.
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