Yes, there is trash on the sidewalks. Yes, you have to watch your step. Yes, people live close together with no yards,few garages, a myriad of empty buildings waiting for bank money and investors to fix them up. Yes, there is noise and congestion. Yes, this is an urban landscape. Yes, there are dogs and cats sleeping on the sidewalk. Yes,people speak a different language. Yes, getting around without a car is humbling.
On the other side of the equation, there is vitality and energy here. People are friendly. You see something new on every block, every corner, every intersection.
Back home my covenant controlled community has all houses virtually identical and all projects must be approved by an unseen board that sends out a newsletter to communicate and has compliance officers making daily inspections.
I don’t mind my street back home but I could live happy on this street too.
Living on a street named for the ” Stars “, makes me think this street is the best place on the planet to be right now, even if it doesn’t look that way.
Different streets, in different places, can be very seductive.
I can be seduced.
This Palace was built as a present to the son of Christopher Columbus who raised his family in the substantial home when he was the Governor of the Dominican Republic when this country was still controlled by Spain.
There are many rooms inside but there was no electricity back then. Chamber pots took care of personal business, hot baths were drawn up by servants for the ladies of the house, food spoiled quickly. Heat for cooking was generated by wood fireplaces and the multiple kitchens of this casa and government headquarters were located outside the home because smoke got noxious in the main house.The bedrooms have no closets and you look out at vistas through openings cut into stone walls.
Walking through the outdated casa, the huge, thick, stone walls are not cozy. The clothes displayed on mannequin’s in the entry were made for royalty, hand made with the finest cloths and craftsmanship, but they are restrictive in a climate that is hot and humid. These stoic figures have crosses around their necks to remind us and them that we are all here by the Grace of God and life is both dangerous and difficult.
The poor, in the time this Palace was built, didn’t own homes and ate the blandest of diets. They had few clothes, no personal vehicle and no cell phone. They hadn’t been to school, couldn’t read or write, and could be put in jail or killed without a trial.
It jump starts me to see how things have changed for the better for so many more people over time.
More people, in developed countries, are now closer to being equal in stuff than they have ever been, but why has stuff always been the measure of a countries or person’s value?
The entry fee to this old home is only 100 pesos and includes a tour guide.
This palace, set on the far side of the Plaza Espana, was built in the early 1500’s for Diego Colon, a son of Christopher Columbus. In succeeding years it fell into disrepair and was eventually reconditioned by the local government and is currently maintained as a national treasure.
The tour guide is worth twice the admission price. You put headphones on, turn the machine on, walk yourself through the palace at your own pace. When you come to a room you look for a little postcard with a number on the wall. You punch that number into your tour guide and it, cheerfully, gives you all the information you need to take yourself back to the 1500’s. These clothes, furniture, and decorations are those of the upper class, the privileged of the time.
With my trusty tour guide, I get a quick education and run through twenty postcards on the walls.
There were once little kids running these halls before going to their old tutors to learn about running an empire.
At night, having a cocktail at the Espana Plaza, it would be nice to see Columbus come out on cool evenings and regale us with stories of his epic journey as if he were still standing on the bridge of his ship looking at the stars on cloudless ocean nights.
It gets harder and harder to do unique things the further down time’s tunnel you appear and that makes those who have done spectacular look even brighter.
It rains in the Caribbean. This rain has blown in this afternoon and sends me sheltering under a roof overhang on one of the main streets in the Zona Colonia.
People, on motorcycles, wrapped in large plastic trash bags, zip through the streets and get out of the weather in nearby parking garages. Security guards have a leisurely smoke and dogs are nowhere to be seen as water puddles, rain droplets hit your outstretched hands like little needle pricks.
Afternoon rains here are regular in March.
When we were little, in Albuquerque, we would go out after a rain like this and make little dams in the street gutters to stop the flow of runoff. Our efforts were not always successful. We would go home soaked to the bone and leave our clothes on the back porch before we went inside to change and have dinner.
While I love the rain, I love it the most when I can watch it and stay dry.
Building dams in street gutters is kid stuff but kid stuff takes a long time to rub off.
These are a pair of Scott’s work shoes from when he used to work hard.
Instead of being covered with paint, which was Scott’s trade when public school teaching became intolerable,one of these shoes has residue from floor tile adhesive on its toe.
The problem with these shoes comes up in Caribbean or Latin American countries where shoe shine hustlers want to clean them on sight. They swoop down out of nowhere and are fiddling with my shoes before I can wave them off.
Part of travel is using precautions. Make a copy of your Passport to show to people in lieu of the real thing. Don’t wear flashy jewelry. Don’t tell strangers where you live. Don’t drink water, except bottled. Go in groups at night. Don’t do things abroad you wouldn’t do at home. Get all your shots. Use sunscreen. Use local currency. Don’t insert yourself into police business or arguments between men and women.
My newest precaution, added to this list, is going to be to clean this adhesive off my shoe.
I could wear my Croc’s but they are the worst walking foot wear ever created.
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