To´ los Coros y El Coro Mas Grande: El Carnaval Vegano!

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You know your priorities have changed when you look into a toilet bowl that hasn’t been flushed - because water has yet to return to fill the cistern - and think, “That’s a nice turd.” Though my digestive situation has improved a bit, I’m still a bit jealous of all ye of solid fecal matter. No worries though; I’m not sick, it’s just that the dirty chinos who make the best fried chicken on the planet - El Pica Pollo - never change their oil, which is always the color and viscosity of motor oil. And this is obviously why that chicken tastes so good, but it’s also why the American’s queasy bowels erupt in earthquakes; inevitable tsunamis follow for half a week. And it’s worth every sitting. Plus, since you already got the shits, you can eat all the street food you want (sans lettuce), and thus begin to cake your stomach with a layer of Dominican grease, which - I’m told by various medical professionals and longtime expats - is the only solution to the problem. I’m glad to announce: I’m more than halfway towards to full resistance.

I’ve been enjoying myself with no less frequency than our most hardcore seasons of university life; this isn’t much of challenge since the only days of rest are Monday and Tuesday. For every other day there’s some incredibly loud music event: Parking Lot Wednesdays, Car Wash Thursdays, Discoteca Sundays. And I just found out yesterday, there’s a softball game every Monday. And while there I was struck with the importance of the ridiculously pimped-out cars: you can just roll them up anywhere and start a party. They’re just one of the standard elements that forms these Domincan gatherings replete with Presidente beer and Brugal rum.

This past Sunday, I was fortunate enough to be invited, and finally make it to, El Carnaval in the city of La Vega, by far the largest and best version of this celebration on the island. It was pretty ridiculous, and difficult to accurately and briefly describe. Whoever figured out that you could fill a pig bladder with compressed air, attach it to a broomstick, and with it beat the living shit out of someone would most certainly be worshiped as a god in this country. Given the color of my skin and eyes, I was prime target; and if the monstros see a look of fear, they whack you twice as hard. This seemed to me just an invitation to drink more and numb the pain. The whole thing is a psychotic game; and you all now have a year to plan your vacations during this time - because there can’t possibly be another time to come.

Of course, like all Dominican adventures, about ¾ of the story is getting there and returning. Scheduled to leave at 11:00AM, we obviously left at 1:30PM, after much hanging around, sitting here, meeting up with some people there. Then, though La Vega can’t be further from Santo Domingo than Philly is from New York, my car had to stop for an hour, for a little feeding and more sitting around for an hour. Then, as is pretty standard here, the car broke down and we had to wait for the mechanic friend, who was “on the way” for twice as long as is possible given the distance and speed at which you must drive if you want to remain alive. The car was irreparable, and nobody knows how to get a tow truck - despite the phonebook in the backseat, the gas station up the road, and the curious locals living along the highways. So, Dominican answer: the driver of the broken car tells us to head toward La Vega and if we happen to see a tow truck, to send it his way - which just means, “Forget about me.” So off we go, and we were just about 5 minutes outside the city, but we had to pass it by so the mechanic/driver could visit one of his girlfriends that lives on a farm. Passed another half hour there before backtracking and finally entering La Vega at 6:00PM, with just one hour of official Carnaval parade left. But all turned out pretty well and the night was capped off by a huge free concert by Luis Vargas, apparently one of the premier Dominican bachistas. Then the return: this involved stops every 10 km to throw water on the overheating engine, and a little emergency tip for you drivers: if you run out of water, you can always piss on it, as we took turns doing until we stumbled a nice old man selling fried pig ears (which are pretty tasty) who gave us some free water. And it’s only appropriate that as we get mere blocks from the barrio, the car turns off and we have to push it the rest of the way. So it goes.

So, life’s pretty good right now; my only responsibilities are to show up to training. And for those of you interested, the training - in this country at least - is top of the line. They’ve developed here an incredibly effective Spanish program and a detailed acculturation one, well-organized classes on development, and I have yet to really experience my technical training. And really effective educators, which I guess is to be expected, since their job is to educate on how to educate. I’m really quite impressed, and that doesn’t happen often when it comes to educative programs.

Well, I have been missing a lot of you as different situations make me wish this person or that person was around to see this or that insanity. You’d all love it here…I can’t believe I’ve only been here like 13 days. This Thursday, I’ll be heading to the Northwest tip along the Haitian border to visit a volunteer, which should be interesting and painful from what I’ve heard. Until then I leave you as I spend every moment here: covered in a layer of sweat.

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