perspectives
i'm of two minds about america these days, having spent last week balancing the wealth of major league sports dropped in amongst the poverty of a community that most americans will never even consider when they are arguing about player trades and salary caps. now, i'm sitting in a literal paradise, a ta resort on a different side of the coast of this tiny island, and i can't help but reel. while the palm trees seem to sway on cue and the weather, the beach, the room, the service is the definition of "perfect", i find myself cringing at and hiding from my fellow paradise-seekers. this resort has been built for americans, or wealthy latin americans (and germans, it seems, as a lot of the signs have german translations for some reason); it's apparent in the fact that everything is in US dollars, that the staff will pretty much only speak in english, and that the endless food buffets of hamburgers and sushi are a far cry from the humble chicken and rice of najayo. to be honest, most of that i can handle. it's the others who are sharing this space that are an extreme embarrassment: disrespectful of the language, the people, and the land that is the dominican republic. overweight, loud, drunk, flashy and demanding, i hate that i am automatically lumped in to the same category just because i am american.
as r and i boarded the bus to punta cana from santo domingo, i looked at our fellow riders. for the most part, locals, humble in their transportation, plus a few frat boys from syracuse who had spent the last 10 days helping to rebuild in haiti, and were on their way to meet 50+ of their bros to party out their senior spring break. while r got their story and shared ours, i watched out the window at the extreme poverty we were leaving behind. the land here is the dominican's garbage pail, unfortunately, and burning is the disposal method of choice. to say the place is littered is an understatement. through the smoke, you see people living in tiny lean-tos, with 6 people to a "house", scrawny dogs picking up the chicken bones thrown on the street. across the country, it was the same scene, except the lean-tos were now surrounded by gaunt cows and sugar cane fields. as we got closer to punta cana, we started to pass the landscaped yards and high stucco walls of the many resorts in the area, and i watched the frat boys transform from valiant volunteers to just another crazy-supid kid on spring break. i'm hoping they get to brag about their service as much as they may brag about their partying once they get back to new york.
we arrived at the resort, greeted with a drink and smiles and opulence surrounding us in every direction. it's funny, that to me, r and i stand out since we didn't plan for the level of glamor that penetrates this resort. we packed for a week of dusty shoes and mosquito bites, not elegant dinners and discotheques. even a day into it, i'm still having a hard time finding peace in the where i am versus the where i was, because i know what goes on outside these pristine walls. don't get me wrong, we're taking advantage of the all-inclusive package we bought (though, alcoholic-ally speaking, not nearly at the level of our new neighbors), and tomorrow we will go snorkeling with the sharks and maybe even hit the nightclub or (if i can) drag r to karaoke :) but in the meantime, i may find myself with a knotted stomach with every leathery tanned giant belly that waddles by... but i can think of our kids and our players back at our real dominican republic home in najayo, and i can let go in to paradise for just a little while more.
current mood: thoughtfully confused