The DR

I recently went on a week long vacation to the Dominican Republic, which is the country that shares the island of Hispanola with Haiti. These are the passages that I actually took down while I was there. As you can see there's only two. And they're short. You can see why I need this blog.

However, I was writing letters to my cousin/best friend every day I was there as well. So, it's not that pathetic.

The bathroom is small, about three times as high as it is wide. Painted off-white with a floor of graying tile. When the door closes, it’s completely closed off. Even the crack between the door and floor is so miniscule that you can’t see light through it.

                Enclosed in a room like that, I can’t help but think of places like Auschwitz and basement cellars, that infamous room where they executed the Romanovs.

                It is a room to die in.

Auto industry workers from Michigan
and their teenage children.
Sweaty sunglasses, limp ponytails,
and faded, hometown tee shirts.
Riding on open-air caravan
down a rough Dominican street.
The paint industry must be booming here.
Every single house is slathered in
bold oranges and blues,
soft greens, adorable pinks.
A tiny, brown girl in front of her family’s
green and blue shack
waves a little at the tourists in the busses
before
scrunching her face and
thrusting her arm
likes she’s throwing something
far and forcefully,
even though her hand’s empty.
Maybe she’s pretending to throw rocks
at these over-privileged tourists,
all nice and wrapped in a cushioned bus.
Maybe she hates us.
The bitchy, over-privilidged-tourist-voice in my head says
something along the lines of
‘Quit it, we’re boosting your economy,’
But the real voice in my head says
‘Yeah, I’d probably hate us too.’

Here's a few pictures of the houses I mentioned:

Colorful right? They're all like that. I think that was what surprised me the most.