Three months: values/Tres meces: valores

December flew by for me. That means I'm almost home. I'm in the library at UNIBE in between final exams right now, killing time by screwing around on the internet, which is my go-to activity domestically as well as internationally. I apologize for the gap between blog posts but rest assured that you didn't miss much between Thanksgiving and the last week of school for me.

The three month mark passed on December 2, a week ago. As with the previous milestone posts on my first and second month here, I chose an aspect of my journey to write about as I mark one of the final steps of my adventure in the Dominican Republic.

Since I've already beaten one literature concept into the ground, I'm going to steal another classic from one of my favorite narratives, the Wizard of Oz. The protagonists are all searching for heart, brains, courage, and a way to go home through the story, but each found they had their coveted qualities all along. You know all that. Here's the story of how I discovered each of those values in the Dominican Republic.

Dorothy met the scarecrow first and he said he wanted a brain. Once he got it, he spouted off equations and other boring nonsense. For me, the brains I wanted all along was the ability to speak Spanish fluidly. As everyone in the DR predicted, I am able to do that now...a week before I leave for the United States. It's true. Spanish has never been clearer or easier for me to understand. That doesn't mean I'm fluent. Not even close. But I have a grasp on the language enough to express what I want and to sort of follow what others want and I no longer break down in tears over misunderstands.

Then Dorothy met the Tin Woodsman, who is a lot like me in that we both have rusty old joints and shiny foreheads, but I do not dress is silver lamé. Give me about 40 years, and I might. My grandmother did. The Woodsman wanted a heart. This aspect was the hardest one for me to come by, because I'm famous for being closed off emotionally. Before I came here my career goals were to rule the world, one sports media outlet at a time. In my research I found all the good things baseball does in the DR, and I got a fantastic quote that I want to use for the non-fiction book I want to write: "mira que buena es la pelota," or, look how good baseball is. I gained compassion and concern for the young men who play baseball and can afford only one dream: to play ball in the United States. I want to work in development and management to give those young men the chance to dream about more: an education, a good life for their families, including a wife and children someday, and a life after baseball. If I deserve to dream of a future that includes those things, everyone does.

So that's how I found my heart. I had the capacity to love something so much it transcended my budding megalomania and turned into compassion. That picture I chose, with the little robot guy, represents me perfectly. His headphones are plugged into his heart and he's listening to what his heart says. I think all along I had the compassion and caring in my heart, but I just wasn't listening to it.

Courage is something I've never lacked. My former roommate, a great gal, once described me as a "freight train" when it came to getting the things I wanted. I decimate things that stand in my way. Courage in the domain one masters is easy. Having that same quality in a brand new place is a horse of a different color. (Come on, I had to go for the easy joke with the silly picture.) I had to double up on courage to come to the DR in the first place, and then follow through with the usual activities I mastered in my domain, this time in a different language, in a different culture, and with a totally different set of standards.

I knew that I had the courage to do these things all along. But there was another aspect to courage that I did not expect, nor did I define right away. No matter how brave a person is, that person can do very little without needing help from time to time. In the US, I'd rather disembowel myself than ask for a hand. Here, I am required to ask for help because I'm not the master of this domain. I found it wasn't a scary awful horrible thing to lean on another person from time to time. I found it was helpful to build bonds and relationships with people, thus boosting the heart factor, and it helps me to learn new skills, which is brain food. It helps a lot that most Dominicans here have been exceedingly kind and helpful to me and really made me feel at ease.

The Lion was the one who wanted courage and he was awarded it in the form of a medal. So far fellow posters on my usual sports blog haunts have been asking me "hey, how's the DR?" over the last few weeks and have been fascinated by my stories. Perhaps my medal of honor is the intrigue from my peers for traveling to foreign lands.

Dorothy herself just wanted to go home. Believe me, I'm there. I can't click my heels together, though. I have to wait until Sunday and crowd onto an overbooked flight (twice!) and bite my nails with worry over being detained at customs over the rum I'm bringing home. Unlike Dorothy, I am torn between two aspects of home. It's time for me to get back to my life in the US: work, school, friends, family, and Sam. But I've really come to love the Dominican Republic and I feel comfortable here. It's a place I would like to make my home someday and I get sad thinking of when I will see this beautiful country again. As I've mentioned a few times before here, I struggle a lot with a sense of place and belonging. I have trouble finding my place in the US, but I found my place quickly in the DR. The thought of leaving that domain behind, mastered or not, makes me sad and it makes me wonder what was so different about finding my place here versus questioning my place in the US. I think that will be the most challenging value for me to bring home.

The Wizard of Oz went on for several books. My life also has several volumes. This story is almost over but there are still a few chapters to write. We haven't yet reached the conclusion. Stayed tuned, my friends.

Feast/Banquete

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I just finished my over the top foodening at Il Cappuccino. Around this time, most of my beloved friends and family on the Best Coast are getting ready to sit down at their tables for their own foodenings. My dinner was so delicious I'm compelled to write about each course in detail, because I would do the same were I fixing and eating dinner in the US.

This is also the post where I try my hand at being a food writer. In case this sportswriting thing doesn't work out, I can turn to writing for Bon Appetit. It's awesome to get paid to write about sports if you're a huge fan like I am, so I gather it would be awesome to write about food for someone who loves to eat as much as I do.

Italian food is among my favorite cuisines of the world. Mexican, Japanese, and Caribbean foods are my other favorites. I rarely go out for a delicious Italian dinner, so I took advantage of the great Italian place down the road from me.

Vino: I have to start this portion by telling you that I'm not a wine connoisseur. I know red, white, rose, Pinot, Chardonnay...and that's about it. To tell you the truth I'm not even a big wine drinker, but I've come around on red wine here thanks to attending FUNGLODE to-dos where appetizers/wine are served. I make it a point to go to those to-dos, mostly for the free food and booze.

So I can't tell you exactly what was in my glass today, but it was a Pinot Noir and it was quite good.

Entrada: Carpaccio del atun (Tuna steak carpaccio)

I love tuna steaks and I love sushi so this is a natural win for my taste buds. It was served with a slight sprinkling of cracked black pepper. I appreciated the simple presentation because it allowed the flavor of the tuna to shine. I also love tuna for its very meaty and hearty texture. It's among the top of the fish varieties out there for its close qualities to cuts of poultry and beef.

Entree: Cannelloni con espinaca y queso ricotta (cannelloni with spinach and ricotta)

I went into this foodening really wanting a big-ass steak. Because really, what's better than a big-ass medium-rare steak? But then I saw the specials and one of them was the cannelloni. Pasta rules on its own and the only way to improve it is to stuff crap in it. I cook pasta at home often but I rarely go with stuffed/filled pastas because I can't make them from scratch and the frozen varieties are hit or miss.

The cannelloni came out smothered in cream sauce with a drizzle of tomato sauce over each tube. The filling was delightful and the sauce was especially delicious when sopped up with the two kinds of bread from the breadbasket--good crusty French bread, and focaccia baked with tomato on top.

I ate the whole damn breadbasket and I'd do it all over again if you put the bread in front of me.

Postre: Tiramisu y cafe con leche

Tiramisu is another one of those slam dunk dishes for me. It and creme brulee trump all other dessert options. Even chocolate. The tiramisu was absolutely lovely and delicious at Il Cappuccino. It was presented more like a layered cake: a thin layer of the coffee soaked ladyfingers, a thicker layer of the egg yolks/marscapone, and a liberal dusting of cocoa and cinnamon on top. The ladyfinger layer was more uniform that just stacking the cakes under the other stuff, like a real bottom layer of a cake. The middle layer of marscapone was creamy and refreshing, a necessity between the rich coffee soaked cake and the cinnamon/cocoa dust on top. I also detected rum in the cake, which tied the whole thing together.

The cafe con leche was the perfect balance to the variety of flavors in the tiramisu. If you ever find yourself in Latin America, do yourself a favor and drink as much coffee as you can. I love a good cup of unsweetened coffee with a rich dessert and following my tiramisu with a stiff cup of Dominican joe was perfection.

The service was lovely today. I got a waiter who was very interested in me and where I was from. He asked me how to say things in English--like what the English equivalent of "bon appetit" would be. Here they say "buen provecho" when serving your meal. I don't know what I would say to my dinner guests upon serving them other than "bon appetit" other than "enjoy your meal" which is what I told the waiter.

I did not pig out. Each dish I enjoyed wasn't enormous and it allowed me to finish each one and to savor them. I usually pig out on Thanksgiving. The turkey and the carbs (mashed potatoes and stuffing)  are the best part of the meal. By the end I'm too full for pumpkin pie. Come Christmas, I'll do the very same, complain about my searing stomachache, mainline Tums, and then eat my pie at midnight while watching Golden Girls episodes On Demand.

I very much enjoyed my non-traditional Thanksgiving and I hope all of you are enjoying yours, traditional and non-traditional alike.

Giving thanks/Dar agradecimiento

Most (if not all) of my readers are gearing up for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Let it be known that Thanksgiving is one of my favorite cold-weather holidays and one of the few things that gets me through the fall/winter months. I hate being cold and I hate being without baseball, but cooking a humongous meal  for my family and friends and chowing down with them takes a little of the pain away.

Here I am in a beautiful tropical country where it's warm and sunny and there's baseball the day before Turkey Day. That fact depressed me for weeks prior to the event. It sucks enough to be apart from your family and friends and to be all alone on any given day, but when it's one of the biggest deals of your home culture, it sucks even more.

That's right. Indhira went home to New York. Her time here was up about a week ago so here I am fending for myself for the next three weeks.

As I saw it, I had two options: one, continue to be depressed about being alone (not just for Thanksgiving, but for the duration of my time here), or two, make the best of my time here.

I chose the latter option.

My Thanksgiving plans involve me going to Plaza Lama, a supertienda (kinda like a big box store a la Target or Wal-Mart) and finish the rest of my holiday shopping. Tomorrow evening I'm going to Il Cappuccino, this delightful Italian place down the street from my apartment, where I will treat myself to a full Italian dinner: pasta, steak, bread, wine, and the most decadent dessert in the house.

The last time I went out for Thanksgiving dinner was right before my grandmother died. It was just the two of us and we went to Mimi's Cafe for their holiday turkey dinner. We ate, drank wine, and toasted to a year that sucked overall but it was okay because we had each other. It was one of the last good memories I have of my grandmother.

I can give thanks while I am here. Here are the things I appreciate about being in the Dominican Republic, and other things in my life:

The weather. I wake up with the sun streaming through the blinds onto my face every morning. The oppressive heat from September has cooled to a mellow, pleasant tropical warmth. Even the rain is charming. Sometimes it's soft and sometimes it pours like crazy and I love watching every minute of it from my balcony. After the rain everything smells fresh.

I value my time alone here. I need time to myself in any setting, to recharge my batteries and do my own thing, but I'm also happy to be alone here because it's forcing me to get out there and do things, which requires me to ask for help. I'm going out to eat more often and I'm going shopping tomorrow alone, things which would have terrified me when I first got here.

The people are lovely, in every sense of the word. From my English-speaking cab driver to my grocery boy to the InteRDom people to the security guards at my building, most of the people I've encountered here are helpful and kind. Whenever I felt alone or like an outsider in this culture, those people have endeavored to include me.

I love the culture here. Aside from the obvious things like music, dance, and fried food, I value that tomorrow and Friday aren't big ass deals like they are in the US. I get annoyed when everything is closed in the US for a holiday and I loathe the hype around Black Friday and Christmas shopping in general. I've seen far too many obnoxious ads for Black Friday and for jewelry stores on the American TV channels here and each one of them makes me want to throw up. I get to sidestep all of that here for the next few weeks. I can go shopping tomorrow, even!

I'm thankful for baseball. Everywhere. Everyone who plays it. Everyone who works in it.

I'm very thankful for my MacBook Pro. It's been my window to the world I left behind these three months here. I've been able to keep up with my friends, complete the work for my online class, and it's become my best friend here. It's just so very handy. I did a complete project for my online class, using solely my laptop: I shot and edited video, put together a PowerPoint presentation, edited photos for said PP, and slapped all three together using programs and software already included on the machine when I bought it--save for MS Office, which I got from my boyfriend. I love this thing.

I am thankful to have strong people behind me in the United States, people who loved me enough to encourage me to go on this adventure and people who love me enough to welcome me home from my adventure. I would not be here if it weren't for Sam, my roommate Phil, my best friend and surrogate sister Jenna, my advisors at San Jose State, my various bosses and coworkers and colleagues in sportswriting and at Santa Clara Swim Club, and I know I'm forgetting some people.

I am thankful for all the lessons I've learned here, about myself, about my two cultures, about Spanish, and about how I look at the world. I will never be the same person I was when I left the US and I really like the person I'm becoming.

I'm thankful that I can return home in 17 days, but I'm thankful for the time I have here. I'm thankful for the views of the sea from my balcony and the banana and coconut palms growing in my neighborhood. When I go home I know I'll see oak trees, gray skies, and concrete jungles. I'm enjoying the beauty of this country for as long as I can.

I am thankful for the culinary tricks I picked up here. I'm going to wow them back home with my slick Dominican cooking skills. Even though the only thing I can replicate to Dominican standards is tostones (fried plantains), I still make other Dominican dishes that are at least edible.

I am thankful for the credits I've earned here that will get me another semester closer to graduation at San Jose State and I am thankful for the future opportunities that will come thanks to what I've done here. One already has come--I was accepted into SJSU's Provost's Honors Seminar this spring, a class for the top 25 students at the school. It's by invite only and it will look great on my resume. Hopefully it will make my applications for grad school a slam dunk.

I wish all of you the best Thanksgiving with your family and friends, and don't get trampled if you do venture out on Black Friday.

Travelogue/Sobre viajes

I took some trips over the last several weeks and I realized I did a great disservice to my blog by not posting pictures or writing about my adventures.

I'll condense them for you by posting links to my photo albums and providing brief descriptions of my travels.

In early October I went to the beach at Boca Chica with my roommate and her friends. Boca Chica is east of Santo Domingo. There aren't any suitable beaches in Santo Domingo, so you have to go east for the best ones.

I took the pictures from this set at different intervals of the day, from afternoon to sunset. I was told that this beach was "ghetto" compared to the resort beaches in the DR. I was still in love with the sky, the sea, and the sand. Seriously this water was WARM and clear and gorgeous.

The rest of the photos are here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150314886931373.337181.731621372&type=1&l=eb2c2fdb6d

The next trip I went on was an excursion with my history class to the ruins of a colonial sugar plantation and the Columbus Lighthouse.

The ruins of Engombe was a fun trip to a natural protected area not too far from Santo Domingo. The ruins included the sugar mill, the main house, the slave quarters, and the chapel.

The rest of this first set is here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150331387681373.340547.731621372&type=1&l=cdb6ad361a


Then we went to the Columbus Lighthouse, a massive museum near the Colonial Zone that celebrates Christopher Columbus' voyage to the Americas and the history, culture, and contributions of each country in the Americas. There's a ton of stuff to see there, so I'll let you read the captions on each photo.

The rest of the photos from that set are here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150331471121373.340556.731621372&type=1&l=cabf035ae8

Towards the end of October I went on a boat trip to Rio Chavon and Isla Saona. Saona is an island off the southeastern coast of the DR and is a frequent stop for tourists. It is the pristine and gorgeous tropical paradise that comes to mind when thinking of the Caribbean. We also voyaged on the river and saw cool and wild stuff. It was the best parts of the DR, the untamed and natural beauty of the country.

Lots of photos are in this set: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150334868421373.341244.731621372&type=1&l=d958263b95

The next trip was a voyage to the north, to the second largest city in the country: Santiago. First we visited the Hermanas Mirabal Museum. I mentioned the sisters before here.

I met Dede Mirabal! She's the only surviving sister and she still lives in the house where the sisters lived. She's the coolest woman ever. I'm on the far left, in case you care.

We also went to Centro Leon, which unfortunately didn't allow cameras, and we went to my internship coordinator's family home in Santiago.

I met my internship coordinator's dad, who is the coolest dad ever. He grabbed a machete and led us to his plot of platano trees, where he cut off a branch of platanos for us and pulled up a yuca plant like it was nothing.

The rest of the pictures are here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150340230816373.342310.731621372&type=1&l=a2e6edaa80

Last week we went to the east again, this time to La Romana and San Pedro de Macoris. Unfortunately the trip was kind of a flop. The cave we visited with cool Taino paintings didn't allow cameras. And we didn't get into Altos de Chavon because the security guard or whatever wouldn't let our car through the gate.

So our tour guide took us to San Pedro de Macoris and we saw some of the city's oldest sights. Like the first firehouse in the country.

And the symbols of the town in the middle of the city: the railroad, the sugar plantation workers, baseball players, and crabs.

And a quick trip to Baseball City, where several MLB teams have their Dominican academies.

All this and more, here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150354896646373.345487.731621372&type=1&l=9e7301c2d5

My most recent trip, yesterday in San Francisco de Macoris, was to a cacao plantation. We toured the cacao tree groves, followed the process from harvest to chocolate bar processing, watched them make chocolate in both the old fashioned way and the mechanized way, and ate chocolate.

Cacao pods! Not what you expected? Not what I expected either.

We went for lunch at a delightful place in town, where Christmas came early.

The rest of Sunday's pics are here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150359310251373.346103.731621372&type=1&l=d4778c4f90

That's the extent of my travels in the DR. No other trips have been scheduled. And now we are caught up. I hope you enjoy my pictures as much as I enjoyed taking them.

Revolution/Revolucion

I am sitting on my balcony tonight, long after the sun has gone down. The only lights here are the street lamps, that are far below my view. I found there's enough room out here for one chair and I was in a sentimental mood, ripe for a heavy duty reflection period on a pleasant evening. You would be too if you had consistent mid 80s weather the week before Halloween like I do.

I passed the halfway mark of my time here this weekend. It doesn't quite balance out to 15 weeks here, but October 23 was basically the division point for me. I've faced significant strife in my personal life outside of my struggles with assimilating and learning Spanish and I allowed the negativity from that to poison the first seven weeks of my time here. I also gave into fear and spent my time inside my apartment instead of going out and trying to live.

I'm sitting on my balcony tonight to take in the beauty of a city that I fell in love with before I even truly knew the city. I have about seven weeks left here. I will not repeat the same mistakes of the first half of my time here. I spent that time wishing for the day when I could go home and wanting the days to go by faster.

I can see and feel the changes in my life, outlook, and attitude that resulted from coming here. For years I felt like my life in the States was tedious and boring. I yearned for a change. I wanted a wild adventure or a sweeping revolution to take over my life. I was ready for it. I just didn't know or expect it, nor did I know or expect how to handle the revolution.

I dragged the chair out here after weeks of thinking about doing it because I realized that I don't have much time left here. I'm not going to waste time thinking of how I wasted my previous days here. I'm not going to allow regret to take hold of me, either. The best way to do that is to take every day as it is given to me: gifts from a country and a culture that loves me as much as I love it. I came here begging the Dominican Republic to teach me its secrets and stories and the country and the people have responded by putting me at ease with Spanish and by giving me the best it has to offer.

I am living the revolution I prayed for. I can't return to the United States as the person I was when I left. I have exactly what I asked for, even if it feels completely different and not at all what I expected. It's terrifying to contemplate that but it's the good kind of fear, the kind that motivates and inspires.

I still want to return to my life in the States. I miss the people and things I left behind there. But I want to make each day here worthy of the revolution.

I made a promise to myself to go out and try something I haven't done or haven't tried by myself this week. Simple things like going to the colmado for a cold drink or going for a walk on a street I haven't been to. Talking to people in Spanish and not relying on English. Stuff like that.

Like everything else in life, I started with the best intentions. A sore foot from my beach trip (which will be featured in a future post) and a crapload of work due for school, my internship, and some other projects (again, forthcoming in a future post) derailed those plans for Monday and Tuesday.

The inspiration behind the week of new things was simple. I went to pay my phone bill on Saturday after my current events midterm, all by myself for the first time. I usually have my roommate Indhira with me to translate or help. I didn't get every word correct, but I spoke well enough to make myself understood and I made small talk. Very small talk. The girl at the phone counter said "¿tienes calor?" (is it hot?) to me and I responded "tan calor." (it's so hot) Then she told me "tengo frio" (it's cold) because of the air conditioner in the building.

I felt so good after that success that I went to McDonald's (shut up, it's good and cheap, two things I value here) and ordered lunch by myself, again successfully. While I ate my food, I saw an older lady who could have been my grandmother. She wore a smart bright blue pantsuit and every accessory coordinated perfectly: blue bag, blue shoes, blue jewelry. She even wore her hair in the same beehive style as my grandmother's signature look. I almost started crying in the McDonald's because I felt like she was there with me even for a minute. She would be so damn proud of me here doing this insane life-changing shit and I miss having the chance to tell her about what I'm doing here. I felt like I had that connection to her, however brief it was.

Then her hot grandson joined her at the table and I was snapped out of that reverie. The point of that vignette is that I would have missed that small but significant sign from the universe that made me believe what I am doing here is right and good, if I hadn't had the balls to go out and fail at Spanish and learn and try. It took balls just to come here. The revolution has begun. I have the balls to see it through and win the ultimate victory: a new, awesome version of myself.

I did a good job of making this balcony evening and my outpouring of emotions sound gorgeous, romantic, and empowering. Then a giant moth attacked me on the balcony. I suppose the insects are staging their own revolution.

Dream job/Mi trabajo de mis sueños

Today I visited Major League Baseball's offices in Santo Domingo. The official title of the operation is the office of the commissioner in Latin America. I went in thinking it was a massive compound with mega signage telling everyone where it is and how important it is. Especially with a formal title like that.

It's a tiny house converted into an office structure in a cul de sac off Avenida 27th de febrero (a main highway in Santo Domingo). There are pictures of baseball stadiums, legendary players, and team logos on the walls. It's small and meager and I love it for that very reason.

I met the community affairs director, who's another Hispanic-American from California. She explained to me what the office does. Everything you can think of for MLB to do in Latin America, they do it. It's not just Dominican Republic. It's Venezuela, Colombia, Panama, Nicaragua, Puerto Rico, Curaçao, anywhere where they play baseball in the region. We talked a lot about the educational opportunities for prospects in the Dominican Republic and she introduced me to the rest of the staff. I met quite a few other American ex-pats there, including a guy from Cupertino (aka the Silicon Valley, where I live in the States).

Obviously I can't go into detail about my visit as MLB plays their cards very close to the chest. Especially here. My contact at the offices here got into some trouble when a writer from ESPN Deportes blabbed a bunch of sensitive information and this confirmed what I suspected going in. I have to play by different rules here as a journalist. I know to stay in the game, you have to play the game, and you have to know the rules wherever you go.

What I can tell you is that I'm helping put together a newsletter for the offices. I jumped on it the moment my contact mentioned the project. I'd do anything to be involved in working here. I'm a good writer and I have the background for producing news content, so why not?

A few years ago someone on a Giants blog I frequent jokingly suggested I become the Giants general manager. I laughed and said something like "yeah, that'll be the day." But then I thought, why not me? That started a long journey of contemplating my future in sports. Is writing enough? Where is journalism going as an industry and trade? How can I stay with baseball for the rest of my life and make enough to support myself and my family?

I did the research. I interviewed a few general managers and other sports executives in minor league baseball. I learned that in the minors especially, being an executive is almost all about business. Apologies to the business people out there, but that bores me to tears. I want to be involved in the day to day operations of baseball. So maybe being a GM isn't for me.

However, working for the MLB offices here could be for me. Everything I saw and learned about today excites me. Literally anything I can think of concerning baseball development in the DR happens in that office on a daily basis.

This is my dream job.

I struggled to find the idea of what I really wanted to do. For a while it was limited to becoming someone's protegee. First, I was supposed to be the next Jon Miller, Hall of Fame television and radio broadcaster, before my broadcasting dreams died. Then it was the next Rob Neyer, a high profile baseball columnist, writer, and author (who tabbed me to work on the now dead Baseballin' on a Budget, and who called me a "fine writer." I'm still proud of that). Then my destiny was to be the next Keith Law, who started out in the Toronto Blue Jays front office and jumped to writing about prospects and scouting for Baseball America and ESPN.com.

These guys are great at what they do, but I need to find what I want to do. I'm not here to be the next version of anyone else. I'm here to be Chris Martinez, and I think I found the title I want to attach to my name. At least, I found the place where they can award me that title.

It doesn't bother me that the dream is still ambiguous. I've learned as I grow in my journalism career and as I get older that success isn't necessarily doing the same thing forever. If you asked me, even in 2008 where I'd be in 2011 in my career, I couldn't tell you. Now I'm doing things that are completely different from what I did three years ago. And I don't know what I can or will be in 2016. I just know that I want to be here, working in the office of the commissioner of Major League Baseball in Latin American affairs.

The dream also confirms what I have to do next: graduate, get my MA in sports management, and become fluent in Spanish. Those plans are already on track. My visit confirmed that I've done everything right on my path to get here.

First things first. I have to rock the shit out of the newsletter.

The language/El idioma

Today I'm writing about language.

I'm not going to rehash my complaining about my poor Spanish skills here. I'm writing about observations I've picked up about Spanish, and my struggle with a curveball thrown at me in history class today.

I asked a few trusted sources about my preparedness for immersion once I completed the first year of my Spanish classes: my Spanish professor and my global studies advisor. They both assured me that I would be fine coming to the Dominican Republic after successful completion of Spanish 1B, the second semester of the first year of Spanish classes at San Jose State.

That makes sense, if you know the curriculum. Spanish 1A/1B teaches the grammar and fundamentals of Spanish. I got A's in both classes. On paper, I was ready to be shipped off to a world where they speak my new language.

I'm very strong with Spanish grammar. I know the contexts in which to use certain verb tenses. I remember which nouns are masculine and feminine with little problems. I even remember nuances such as Greek loan words taking masculine gender articles despite ending with -a, a classic designation of feminine nouns of Spanish origin. The only thing I had trouble with grammar-wise was the two main past tenses of verbs: preterite and imperfect. After drilling exercises repeatedly and listening/reading more Spanish, I'm getting the hang of those now too.

I didn't pay much attention to vocabulary in either 1A or 1B. Now I realize how damaging that was for me. No wonder I can't understand what anyone's saying here. Being strong on grammar in any language but not knowing vocab is like trying to run after someone sliced your Achilles tendon in half.

Fluency in Spanish is something that's important to me. It's become one of my biggest goals for the future.  But even as I can become fluent by graduation, once I've completed the third year of my Spanish classes, I don't know that I'll always be 100% comfortable in the language, and I know that I won't always be understood.

Take my history teacher here, for example. He speaks English fluently and I have no trouble understanding him. He doesn't always use English syntax correctly and sometimes his verb conjugations are off, but I understand what he's saying. Sometimes he doesn't understand what I say in English because of lexical differences, but after trying to explain it a different way, he understands.

This leaves me to question what fluency really is. Is it speaking, reading, and writing perfectly in a language? Or is it grasping the language well enough to make your point understood? Does fluency demand a speaker at least understand lexical differences and dialects within the chosen language? For example, I'm going to return to the States speaking Dominican Spanish. In a world of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans, I can't see "que lo que" ("what's up?") and "'ta bien" ("that's fine") being understood. But that's how I speak here, because it's how we speak here.

I met a visiting professor from Georgetown University in Washington, DC at a lecture at FUNGLODE last week. Right off the bat I could tell he wasn't Dominican. When he spoke, there were subtle differences in his accent and the way he pronounced words. I learned he's Venezuelan.

I also remember my Spanish teacher telling us that some Spanish speakers pronounce the Z sound as a "th." It's a very European thing.

I'm fascinated by the differences in lexicon and dialects in any language, but especially in how Spanish evolved in different parts of the world. For my PhD, I'd really like to study the sociological reasons for why Dominicans speak the way they do, versus Venezuelans, Mexicans, South Americans, Filipinos, etc., and how phrases like "que lo que" (or KLK in netspeak) and "'ta bien" came to be here.

That should get me a hefty research grant, right? Maybe I can finally get that education visa to go to Cuba, too.

In class today we read aloud from a translation of an article written by a high ranking Catholic priest here. Naturally, I had to read the parts with Latin words. You'd think that I'd be okay with Latin after studying four years of French in high school, learning Spanish now, and generally being an etymology whore. I could not pronounce the Latin words, even if you put a gun to my head and told me my life depended on reading those words.

And it's true. I'm obsessed with word origins. All this chatter about studying dialects and etymology. Maybe I should have been a linguistics major.

The experience was good for perspective. It showed me that I suck at Latin, but I'm pretty good at Spanish. The only reason I suck at Latin is because I haven't studied it. Even when I took Japanese--which is a bitch for someone with only a background in Latin-based languages, let me tell you--I grasped it quickly. I've lost most of it because I don't practice reading, writing, and speaking.

That's not going to happen with Spanish. It's part of my life now. I can't rely simply on my ability to pick up foreign languages quickly. It means I have to keep working toward my goal of fluency and I have to make mistakes and look stupid and mess up along the way, because that's how we learn.

And if it means I never get to learn Dutch or Korean (two more goals of mine), then oh well. I fell in love with Spanish and the Caribbean, and this is where I--in my academic and linguistic adventures--belong.

The beginning, part II: The objective/El comienzo, parte dos: El objetivo

When I started the series of background posts, I said I would write them on days where nothing new happened. Today, I defined the focus of my investigative reporting and my eventual final paper: the sociological aspects of baseball in the Dominican Republic, focusing on six areas (economics, business, race and gender, law, media, and education).


That's an enormous step forward for me. Plus, it dovetails perfectly into this blog post. Part II of the backstory involves why I'm studying baseball and why I'm doing it in the Dominican Republic.


I'm from the San Francisco Bay Area in Northern California. I was born and raised a baseball fan and I embraced the San Francisco Giants right away. Later on, I came to appreciate the Oakland Athletics. It's all Bay Area love as far as I'm concerned. I don't subscribe to the non-rivalry between the two teams. I see no need for inferiority complexes or stadium debates between fans, either.


My dream job growing up was to be a sportswriter. I made that happen. Until recently, I worked for San Francisco Dugout, an online magazine that covered the Giants minor league system from top to bottom. I was there for nearly seven years and that's where I learned everything I know. 


We enjoyed a strong relationship with most of the media personnel among the Giants' minor league affiliates, including the Advanced-A San Jose Giants. If you'll allow me an extended metaphor, I had a sort of sportswriting residency in San Jose. I did the majority of my work in San Jose over my seven years with SF Dugout.


SF Dugout job helped me get a gig writing the California League notebooks for minorleaguebaseball.com, which was my first real paying job in the business. I've been doing that since 2009 and it's allowed me to open up to a new style of writing. I write stories about up-and-coming prospects, players with interesting stories, and whatever else is worth reading about in the Cal League.


Last year I joined the A's blog on ESPN.com's Sweet Spot network, Baseballin' on a Budget. You can read that blog here: http://baseballinonabudget.com/ I don't write often, but I cover the A's minor league system all by myself. It was the best way for me to learn about a new organization and I have enjoyed my time there quite a bit.


This August the guys at Bay City Ball, the Giants blog on Sweet Spot, brought me on board to handle their minor league stuff. Here we are: http://www.baycityball.com/


So this journalism thing isn't new to me. Or so I thought.


I came here through InteRDom, an internship program sponsored by the Dominican government that brings students to the D.R. to develop brilliant minds in a global society. We're here to show the world that the D.R. has more to offer than tourism. So what the hell am I doing here, telling stories about one of the few things that everyone knows about this place?


I still feel like my dream job hasn't arrived. I want to write about baseball and get paid well enough to support myself and my family, which right now is just me and my boyfriend Sam. While I've worked hard enough to earn such a job in the business, it's not my time yet.


So, rather than wait around for my time, I decided to enrich myself, challenge myself, and learn something new. I'm here in the D.R. to learn about how baseball works here. I know how it works in the States. I want to know more than just what I can read in a box score. I want to know the stories of the people in it and the stories of the people who love it just as much as I do.


I also followed a lifelong dream of studying abroad and writing in another language. I've always been fascinated by cultures and languages and societies other than my own. For a while I had a boner for Japanese culture. A few years of Japanese language classes and too much money spent on English translations of manga volumes, I let that go. I retained an appreciation for geisha culture, but that's about it.


I knew that to hang onto the allure of cultural studies, I needed to get serious about it. I made a career objective to become fluent in Spanish and to understand the Latin American perspective as best as I could. After all, Latin Americans are the largest non-American group in MLB and those numbers are even higher in the minors, which is my forte. Dominicans by far make up the largest section of the Latin American baseball population, and the LA population makes up more than half of the total in the minors.


I also know I'm not a finished product as a writer and a journalist. I came here to learn a different style of writing. All my professors say my academic writing is strong, but I've been dinged more than a few times for writing too tersely or too matter-of-factly, "like a journalist," in the words of my favorite polisci professor. I'd give the guy more crap for saying that, but he knows me pretty well and he knows I'm a journalist.


My articles here will be no more than 500 words. I'm the kind of writer who hates word counts. Not because I can't fill a page. It's because I can't shut up. 500 words to write about Epy Guerrero's contributions and impact on MLB? I'm tearing my hair out just thinking about how to condense that to 500 words. I could easily go 1500-2000 words on such a subject.


Part of learning to be a good writer is to write concisely, I suppose. I've just never been asked to do it.


When it came time to decide where to go for my study abroad semester, I had some difficulties. I could have gone to Puerto Rico and studied at UPR as an exchange student, focusing on voting rights and congressional representation for the US territory. I could have gone to Nicaragua to study in Managua and write a book about Dennis Martinez (you know, the first and only pitcher born outside of the US to throw a perfect game). I could have gone to Mexico and gotten capped or sold into slavery and forced to work as a coke mule. I kid. Not really. 


I didn't know the D.R. was an option.


That was until my advisor looked me in the eye and said, "why aren't you going to the Dominican Republic?" He asked me like I'd just told him the sky was green. The answer was so obvious to him. It wasn't to me. Before we found InteRDom through one of his contacts, I was getting ready to spend a year of my life in Puerto Rico.


And no offense to PR, or Nicaragua, or even to Mexico. Everything I'm doing here in Santo Domingo just makes sense. I'm so glad I never settled for one of the other options, even though it was a bitch and a half to get here.

But that, mis amigos, is another story for another day.


Thursday I'm visiting the Mirabal sisters museum, a memorial to a group of sisters who stood up to Rafael Trujillo in the 1950s and 1960s. Trujillo is the D.R.'s greatest monster and he definitely ranks up there among the biggest bastards in history. More pictures will come from that trip. 

Some things are universal/Algunas cosas son universales

One of the first lessons I learned in my global studies classes at San Jose State was that things are universal. I took that to mean that we share the world as a system. Economies work together (and sometimes don't, shutting out poorer economies, but hey, that's just business and it proves my point). McDonald's is everywhere. We even have cognates between languages; words that are spelled and pronounced the same way (or very close to it) and that have the same meaning. Like universal.

Last night I learned that some things, like hanging out, don't differ much over here. Indhira and I went to the 'hood, pretty far from our comfy bubble in the nice part of town, to kick it with some of her friends.

Getting there was an adventure in and of itself. Traffic was hell, though not for the usual reasons of a million people rushing in opposite chaotic directions. We drove right into a parade/rally supporting presidential candidate Danilo Medina. People were crammed into the beds of pickup trucks, yelling their support and waving purple flags. Some whizzed by on motorcycles with flags. There was a marching band and everything.

I'll break here to explain a few things about Dominican politics. Purple is the color of Danilo's party, Partido de la Liberación Dominicana. It's basically a two-party system here, with Danilo and Hipólito Mejía representing Partido Revolucionario Dominicano. The party's color is white. And instead of referring to candidates by their last names, they are referred to by their first names. 

I really wanted to take a picture of the rally/parade, but it was all asses and elbows in terms of how packed the streets were, and people here aren't exactly demure. One guy reached into the car window to (presumably) shake my hand. I just gave him a shy smile and kept my hands in my lap. Whipping out a camera in that mess would have meant I come home down one camera. Plus we were moving at a crawl, and I wouldn't get good image quality as we bumped over the poorly paved streets.

We arrived at a colmado, which I described once before as a corner store type thing. This colmado had music blaring (salsa, bachata, and merengue), people flowing in and out, and tons of people hanging out on the sidewalk in front. There was a table for dominoes. Everyone had beer. Indhira brought her hookah. We danced--well, they danced actual salsa and merengue steps. I just kinda shook my ass all around. It was a lot like the parties I attend in the States, just with more dancing and better music.

And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. The entire neighborhood turned out, from kids to grandparents. We dined on some street food, particularly this delicious thing made with green platanos and hot sauce that was to die for. 

It was like this on almost every corner and every street in that neighborhood. Neighbors all know each other and hang out. It's a stark contrast from my building in the States; I live in a renovated Victorian house that's been split into four apartments. I've met two of the other apartment tenants (two couples) only once and all I know of the other tenants is that they're complete jackasses who slam doors and scream swear words in the middle of the night, and who call the cops on our cable guy for being parked in a red zone. 

I digress. It had a point. Americans are jerks, Dominicans are cool. Let's continue.

The whole evening was so chill. It was perfect for me, to get out and relax and see a side of the city that I haven't yet seen. I didn't come to the Dominican Republic to sit in my room in my fancy apartment. I came to see what this country is all about.

I didn't take a lot of pictures from last night, mostly because I don't want to treat the people here like they're part of some National Geographic documentary. I respect them enough not to run around with a camera and snap pictures like I'm at the zoo. 

The whole evening was the best night since I got here, and I'm glad I got to go out and see more of the country I still know so little about. I also took a lesson from the night. I'm going to go out and live. I will be bad at Spanish.  Nike put it best when they said, "just do it." I just did it last night, and I ended up having the time of my life.

Epy and me/Epy e yo

I'm writing this on a Saturday evening, sitting on the couch in my living room watching clouds roll in from the east. I can tell when the storms are coming; my view of the sea gets hazy when the cloud cover comes in.


It's a perfect evening for stories. The best story of my two weeks here, and possibly of my entire voyage here, was meeting Epy Guerrero. I knew of Epy before I came to the D.R., although I did not entirely understand what he did here. I knew he was a baseball scout and was a tremendous resource for my research.


Upon meeting Epy, I leaned that he is the most influential scout of the last 40 years of baseball in North America. He built the Toronto Blue Jays teams that won back-to-back World Series titles in 1992-1993, signed and developed numerous stars in Major League Baseball for Toronto, Milwaukee, and Houston, and continues his work as an independent scout in the D.R. today. Among his pupils and others who benefitted from his work: Carlos Delgado, Tony Fernandez, Damaso Garcia, Pat Borders, Jose Mesa, Roberto Alomar, Alcides Escobar, and Pat Gillick. Yep, Gillick the Hall of Fame executive. Gillick made it to Cooperstown because of the embarrassment of prospect riches presented to him by Epy's scouting work. Epy is in the Dominican Sports Hall of Fame and has received many scouting awards.


I met him for the first time at his training complex, far removed from the city and into an untamed world I could only imagine before. We drove on an unpaved road and over a dangerous land bridge to make it to the baseball grounds. Before this my most harrowing reporting assignment was running up and down the concrete stairs at San Jose Municipal Stadium in California. Traipsing through the jungle and maneuvering over the scary land bridge is my version of crossing the first threshold, if you're following this story as a version of The Hero's Journey. It kinda fits.


Immediately I was led to one of the diamonds on the grounds, where a baseball game was already in progress. You can tell where my priorities are, because my gaze was drawn to the tall, thin right-hander on the mound, throwing harder than I can recall seeing in person and popping the catcher's mitt loudly. He had a 3/4 arm slot and good late movement on his breaking stuff. 


(I don't know how to simplify that for the non-baseball inclined readers, aside from saying the pitcher threw impressive fastballs, has a semi-low release point for his pitches, and has a good curveball. I fancy myself a scout. Just be glad I didn't refer to his slider as a "slide piece.")


Epy introduced everyone around him before he introduced himself. I met some coordinators at the camp, some assistants, and a scrawny yellow lab, whom Epy introduced as another advisor.


I was asked to sit down and explain why I was here, something that made me really uneasy. Not because I have problems talking about myself. If you've read anything prior to this entry, you know that. I learned a long time ago never to turn your back on a baseball game, especially not when the pitcher throws so hard I could hear the ball whistling through the air. That's a good way to get a knot on your head.


Epy took me to the house on the property, decorated in lush furniture and family photographs. Then we went to a room in the back of the house, where he took me on a tour of his 40 years in the business. The walls were covered in pictures of Epy and his kids, articles about Epy's work, and plaques honoring him for his kids and his work. The room had trophies and awards and memorabilia on almost every inch of the floor. 


It was the greatest room in the history of mankind.


Epy supplemented the tour of the room with stories attached to almost everything I stood gawking at. He bubbled over with excitement showing me everything. He gave me several articles and pictures to take home with me. I earned his respect by correctly identifying some of the men in his pictures. 


When we got down to brass tacks, the real reasons why I'm here, aside from roll around in baseball and call it academic research, Epy gave me almost more than I can handle. Almost. There's already a ton of information to sift through and we've only met twice.


He invited me to his home in Santo Domingo for the following day, to celebrate his wife's birthday. This time it was a lot different. More informal. I was integrated into the family. I met two of Epy's sons, who both work as scouts in the D.R. They fed me asopao, a ridiculously rich Dominican stew that's sort of like pozole. And then we took a tour of another room of Epy's stuff, where I snapped pictures and got more stories.


You can see the pictures from Wednesday afternoon here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150288940411373.332029.731621372&l=182ded7084&type=1


It was a huge departure from how I usually work. In my usual journalism assignments in the States, I spend about five minutes with my interview subject. We meet in a public place in the open, usually the dugout. And that's only in the case of in-person interviews, which I'd say I do maybe half the time. I've always felt it necessary to keep a distance from those I talk to in my work.


This time, I chatted with Epy over asopao for over an hour. He introduced me to everyone at the party, all his family members, and told them who I was, where I was from, and what I was doing here. He took extra care to tell his grandchildren that I am American; some of his grandkids speak English fluently. 


The whole thing made me a little uncomfortable, because I was out of my element. I'm an efficient machine when it comes to banging out a story, but when it comes to getting to the heart of a really good story like what Epy can teach me, I guess I need more work on that.


I also felt awkward because I have trouble being integrated into a group. Like I talked about in previous posts, I don't understand why someone I just met would be so kind to me and eager to know me. I had an instant big loud boisterous Dominican family on Wednesday, and I was there just doing my job.


Epy is like the awesome Dominican abuelo I never had. I can tell his naturally a vivacious person, but I could tell he was eager and excited to talk to me about everything he knew.


I'm not discussing details of what he told me here. I'm saving that for my articles, which will be published in early October, most likely. They will have qualities of both academic and journalistic writing. I'll post links to those works when they are published.


As I wrote this entry, the rain started falling. It's a gentle rain and the air is cool and fresh outside. The moisture on the palms lining my street shine under the street lamps. It doesn't relate to my story of how I met Epy Guerrero at all, but I felt like it was a nice way to end my day with you.

First day of school/Mi primer día de escuela

This week is full of orientation events at FUNGLODE. Today was my public transit tutorial and my first day of school.


The public transit tutorial taught me about ways to get around in Santo Domingo. Guaguas are crappy buses crammed with people, with a guy (cobrador) hanging out the door telling people to get on the bus. They drive fast, don't obey traffic lights, and they don't have AC. And yet, they're one of the most popular forms of transit around here. I've seen loads of people gather to get on a guagua and I've seen tons of people get off of one on the main road near my apartment.


Then there are the public cars (carros públicos), again, shitty old beater cars in worse shape than my old Honda that finally died last month. These cars go around and pick people up and take routes with some stops on main roads. They often have brightly painted roofs and bear a sign on the driver side door telling you they're legit. But they're not necessarily safe. They typically drive with the driver, two passengers in the front, and four in the back. And these are not big cars. Again, fairly popular.


Another option is the metro, a subway/light rail system that goes only around the city. I'm used to BART in the Bay Area and light rail in Santa Clara County (where I'm from the States), and the metro seems like BART's retarded baby. We're doing another transit tutorial later in the week where we will experience the metro.


None of these options are too expensive in pesos. Not even taxis are that pricey here, if you're just going around the city.


I didn't take any public transit to school today. I walked to UNIBE with my roommate and my housing coordinator this morning. I walked home alone, confident that I could find my way. I did. What I found along the way was that walking here is like an interactive version of Frogger. Drivers don't stop. They don't obey signal lights. They'll go through the intersection. You basically have to wait until the traffic itself stops because no cars can move, then you start crossing. 


I made it home just fine. In the ten minutes I spent walking, about ten different guys whistled at me and/or said suggestive things. From what I understand, that's just the way it is here. Such a thing would outrage me in the States--both the act of sexism and the blase reaction to it--but here, it's kinda like the Dominican version of "LOL U MAD?" 


Oh right, school. I was supposed to be talking about school. I had my first class today, Dominican History. My professor is Sr. Nelson Sanchez, a Dominican who lived in the US attended Washington State University for his undergrad degree in engineering. He works here as an engineer and has worked on several construction projects. 


The class itself is tiny. There are three of us--a young woman from France, a Haitian-American from Miami, and me. The class is taught in English and Sr. Sanchez's English is excellent. We spent most of the time today talking about the tobacco trade, how that relates to Haiti and the Dominican Republic and their discord through history, and Spanish colonization. It was very informal and geared toward discussion. I love it. We will take field trips around the country to see important historical sites as well.


Before I went to class, I met with the international student life coordinator at UNIBE. She gave me a quick rundown of the school and told me to come to her with any problems or questions. It was like the first day at a new school, way back in elementary school. I had someone walk me, I had to meet the principal, and my baby-sitters said goodbye and good luck to me.


UNIBE is La Universidad Iberoamericana, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Their medical school is among the best in the nation. For some reason, my classes at UNIBE are taught to the med students, so I get to attend classes on the 10th floor of the main building, a completely posh air conditioned paradise with an even more stunning view of the Caribbean Sea than what I have at my apartment. And my view is pretty damn spectacular. I will get to my digs here in another post, I promise.


The best part of the past few days is that I feel more confident, both in Spanish and in getting around here. My Spanish still isn't the best, but I feel more comfortable with it. I can understand a little bit more each day. Today in class it felt almost odd to speak all in English. I'm used to at least stumbling over Spanish while someone corrects me--I asked them to do that. Anyone who hears me speaking incorrectly has carte blanche to correct me. How else can I learn?


Remember how I said I'd skip around a lot? Yeah. I can't even pretend to promise a linear format here. I still have to describe the agenda for my 15 weeks here, my roommate (who's solid gold awesome), and my apartment.


Tomorrow I have more workshops at FUNGLODE that will prepare me for business etiquette in the D.R. and a workshop on race and gender in the country, presumably addressing the LOL U MAD attitude about the creepers on the corners. I have history class again on Friday and then my first class meeting for analysis of Dominican issues on Saturday. Monday we're taking a trip to La Zona Colonial, the oldest part of the city with cool shit like Fortaleza Ozama, which was built in 1502.


¡Escribiré más mañana!