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.

Two months: lessons/Dos meces: lecciones

Two months have passed for me in the Dominican Republic. It's odd to think that next month I'll be home. It was like when the calendar turned to August and I was saying, "next month I will be in the Dominican Republic."

A month ago, when I wrote about my first 30 or so days here, I put down a series of goals and benchmarks I had for myself. I vowed to reach those benchmarks and to improve upon those goals going forward.

It's not to say that I haven't improved on handling culture shock, speaking Spanish, and polishing my professional skills. I certainly am better at all these things. But instead on focusing on the end result of improvement  I've found myself thinking more about how I got to this point. What are the lessons I have learned?

Culture shock is still a problem, but a small one. I know how to do some things here, and when I don't, I know who to ask. I see, now more than ever, that my Spanish skills and culture shock are intertwined. I can make small talk with the doorman in my building. That puts me at ease. When I am at ease I do better with the Spanish.

Last week I had an experience that showed me that culture shock will always be a factor, but that I am never truly lost here. I had to call a cab to get home from an interview meeting. I struggled with understanding the dispatcher on the phone and with telling him where I was and where I needed to go, despite rehearsing it before I left and having it written down. A woman in the elevator lobby asked me, in English, if I needed a cab. I handed her the phone and she talked to the dispatcher, and then gave me the number of the taxi unit and the color of the car--necessary details when taking a cab here. I thanked her a million times for that.

The taxi arrived shortly in front of the building and again I stumbled over my Spanish. The driver then asked, in English, if I spoke English. Somehow I got the only English speaking cab driver in the country. I don't know how that's possible. He told me about all the places he's been: Japan, Italy, New York. I'm not sure if he was telling me the truth, but he speaks English and understands me so he's my guy from now on. I have his card with his cell phone number.

The lesson I've learned from my attempts to assimilate is that I'm never going to perfectly fit in here, especially after only three months. I've also learned that it's okay. I've done well enough while I'm here with my work and seeing the sights and learning from my experiences. I can't expect a complete cultural transfusion when I'm so deeply embedded in my native culture.

I still get frustrated with Spanish but it's becoming less of an issue. When I hit the wall last month with Spanish I went back and studied my beginning Spanish textbook. I realized that wouldn't help me but with spot checks on grammar, conjugations, and vocab. That book wasn't going to tell me how to converse with the doorman or give directions to a pedestrian on the street corner. I have to do those things myself.

I do, sort of. I mess up words. Sometimes the people I talk to fill in words that I miss. I can't say that my Spanish is any better technically, but it's better functionally. Now I really don't care if I mess up. I just speak and let the rest fall into place. Somehow that works better than being flustered and worried all the time.

Remember that Spanish class I said I was going to attend? That plan fizzled because I suffered from bad insomnia through most of October, due to stress here and stress at home. I couldn't fall asleep until 5am most nights, and the night before my current events midterm I was up all night until 730am before I took a quick nap and got up for class at 11am. Thank god I got a B on the test. The Spanish class begins at 8am three days a week and by the time I'd fall asleep I either slept through my alarm or just couldn't get out of bed.

But again, I think those classes would be a glorified version of me with my Spanish textbook. It's stuff I already know. We can conjugate verbs to our hearts' content but that doesn't really help us in real world usage.

My professional skills have been touched in ways I didn't consider before. As a journalist in the United States, I enjoy the widest freedoms and the strictest responsibilities to tell the truth in every story I produce. Journalists in the DR adhere to those responsibilities too...at times. What is public knowledge in the newspaper about an education scandal or embezzlement or police corruption is met with a warning to shush it in conversation.

One of my stories was rejected because it was deemed too negative to run. I take pride in my work and I stick to telling the truth without bias. My work here is no different from my work in the US. The rejected story was written with great care, taking different perspectives from trusted sources, using public knowledge from newspaper stories.

It concerned a controversial topic, so it was rejected.

I also need to be fair in describing the capacity of my work here. I am writing for an organization rather than a news source. Organizations require more of a public relations style for writing. PR doesn't tell lies, but they don't tell what's wrong with a situation. It's writing to build publicity. My background is news/editorial writing. There was a culture clash in this situation.

But the situation taught me a few things. One, that journalism is a lot different over here. Two, because of that difference, I should respect and value my job in the US, and I should respect the way the trade functions over here.

The biggest lesson I learned from this is that working for organizations requires a different skill set from mine. If I'm going to be working for MLB (or another sports organization here or in the US), chances are I will need PR writing skills. I've decided to take some PR classes at San Jose State when I come home. It never hurts to know how to do lots of things. Maybe I'll stick in news/editorial writing. Maybe I won't. The point is I want to be ready for the next turn my life takes.

Here's the article that did run. I'm quite proud of it: http://interdominternships.blogspot.com/2011/11/education-in-dominican-republic-part.html

I plan on writing a post every day this week, including photos and descriptions of the trips and excursions I've been on and what it's like to go grocery shopping here. If you have questions or want me to write about something I haven't touched on here, let me know!

Out of practice/Me falta práctica

How many of you thought that things would be totally different once I got here?

I also thought things would be completely different. I put my journalism work on hold to focus on what I had to do here and I put my daily Spanish lessons aside in the belief that I'd learn enough just by immersion.

As I mentioned in the last post, I pitched the idea for winter leagues coverage while I'm here to my collaborators at Bay City Ball, and they loved it. Starting next week, I'm writing a weekly feature on Giants prospects in the assorted fall/winter leagues. 

The Arizona Fall League starts today and the Dominican League starts October 14. The Mexican League starts October 11. The Australian League starts November 3. The Venezuelan and Puerto Rican leagues don't have start dates published on MLB's website, but traditionally the Venezuelan league starts in mid-October and the Puerto Rican league starts in November. I'm keeping tabs on the Nicaraguan and Colombian winter leagues in case any Giants players show up there.

The AFL is a showcase for the top minor league talent in baseball. Each MLB team sends about six or seven of their best (in theory) prospects to Arizona for six weeks in October and November. I covered the AFL for ten days a few years ago and it was a really great experience.

The other leagues are just regular old winter leagues, with locals from the countries and some MLB players. Although I caught myself, in my American brain, thinking that the DWL was the "winter league." Absolutely not. It's THE league here.

This is writing I would be doing if I was in the States. The more things change, as they say, the more they stay the same.

I'm joining a beginning Spanish class at UNIBE, starting tomorrow. It's Spanish as a foreign language class and I'm not taking it for credit or for a grade. It's for practice. It was my internship coordinators' idea to get me more practice and help me be comfortable with speaking and listening. 

Tomorrow is my first day in the class so I have no idea how it will be. If it's anything like my other classes, I'll be with other international students. The class meets three days a week and there's no pressure on me to do assignments or take tests. I'm looking forward to working on my Spanish in a low-pressure setting.

If I were doing a regular semester at San Jose State, I'd be in Spanish 25A right now, the first class of the intermediate level. While I'd have a lot on the line there--a grade and a requirement for my minor, plus the added pressure of learning Spanish well--I'd still be learning. 

So I'm still writing about baseball and I'm still studying Spanish. I'm just doing it in the tropics. I was out of practice for a month and it found its way back to me.

I take that as a sign that I was meant to do this all along.

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.

Upper class twit/La gila de clase alta

I stole the title of this blog post from a longtime friend on LiveJournal, where I used to blog years ago. That blog was pretty much the same as this one, except more profane and whinier. If that makes this blog boring, I apologize. I had to draw the line somewhere to make my personal life fit for human consumption.

I have changed since I arrived in the Dominican Republic. I haven't undergone any profound personal growth. My Spanish is improving at a snail's pace. I've managed to keep my articles around 500 words--I'm sorry, I just can't handcuff myself to the exact word limit. You'll get 515 words and that's the best I can do. Damn this concise writing nonsense.

Instead, I have received a new identity. Here I am an upper class white person.

Those are odd labels for me, as I don't identify with either quality. A friend once described me as "bootstrappy"--you know, pulling oneself up by the bootstraps. Coming from nothing and working hard to get somewhere. Plus I never identified with being white, other than laughing at the blog Stuff White People Like: http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/. I always considered myself a Mexican wandering through a multi-racial American landscape where my last name was the key to acceptance. I attend a state university, financed completely by loans and grants as I can't afford to pay for my education out of pocket, and I work two jobs to make ends meet. I live in a hole of an apartment and I had to sell my car before I came here because I couldn't afford the repairs to keep it going.

Here, I live in a gorgeous spacious apartment in a nice neighborhood with a stunning view of the Caribbean Sea. I have a doorman and security guards who greet me as I come and go. I have cable with 400+ channels and HBO still has the same six movies on every week. Step your game up, HBO.

It's Monday, which means it's cleaning day. Two women come to clean my apartment every Monday morning. They even change the sheets for me. This is not something I'm used to, and I'm still not comfortable with it. Part of me is resistant because I've always cleaned up after myself and done my own chores, and the other part of me is a relentless control freak who gets nauseated by the idea of strangers touching my stuff and doing chores for me because I'm sure they'll do it all wrong. It keeps me up at night.

I don't have school today so I'm sitting around typing this and watching the women clean my apartment. I can't say I'll ever get used to the idea of someone cleaning up after me.

I attend a prestigious university. As I mentioned before, UNIBE is one of the best schools in the nation. I feel a sense of satisfaction that I can go here after Stanford turned me down. Who cares if nobody knows what UNIBE is? The point is that I was good enough for a top school somewhere. It's good enough for me.

In my brief time at UNIBE, I get the impression that it's a school for rich kids. I'm not knocking the university or the student body, but my friend at school will corroborate my story. Yes, I made a friend. Hooray for me. She's smart and cool and for some reason likes spending time with me.

On the walk home from school last week, I looked down at my arms under my parasol and saw white skin. My tan from the pool is fading now that I'm no longer in the sun 24/7. I walk with a parasol when I go out too, so I don't get sunburned.

All right, so it's a stupid blue umbrella I got from the bus stop ages ago. It was free. I'm trying to stay within the lines of this whole upper class thing. Parasol it is.

My golden brown tan is almost gone. Now the only clue to my Latina identity is my last name. I'm white now. I'm definitely white among the darker skinned people here. Anyone can see it and assume I'm at best a snobby European descendant, or at worst a dumb ass-backwards American. Woe.

My upper class status will fade once I return to the States, where once again I will be broke and Mexican. Here, having a little money and the privilege to attend university bumps me up the ladder. It's made me change my perspective of social labels. One small change has led to an enormous shift for me. I can be upper class for a few months, but deep down, I'll always be a twit.

I thought the only things I'd learn about here were Spanish and baseball. The passive lessons are just as valuable.

How to get an education/Cómo acceder una educación

In my last entry, I said a lot of bad things about San Jose State. My home university is an incredible pain in the ass, as are all California State University and University of California schools are. Long story short: the state cut $1.5 billion in funding to the public college budget (including community colleges), so everyone's feeling it.

And like I said, I don't blame SJSU's incompetence on the lack of funding. But, if that's what has really plunged the university into a state of idiocy, I am scared for what could happen to universities in the Dominican Republic.

There are about 20 universities in Santo Domingo, and around five in Santiago de los Caballeros, the two largest cities in the D.R. Those two cities make up about 4.5 million of the 10 million-ish national population. Naturally, the most populous areas hold the most colleges and universities.

I'm focusing on Santo Domingo for this blog post because it's where I'm living and it's the city I know most about. However, the university situation is the same for students across the country. Wealthy students get to attend. There's little to no middle class here. Rural students are often S.O.L. because of the fact that there no schools out in the country, plus rural students are most likely poor.

There is one public university in Santo Domingo, La Universidad Autonoma de Santo Domingo. It has over 170,000 students. The rest of the schools in the city are private and have much smaller enrollment, often in the low thousands. My school, UNIBE, has 4,500 students. It's hard for students to attend the public university here because of the economic stuff I mentioned before.

Last week a story broke in the news about UASD considering privatization to solve its budget problems. I don't know all of the details of that, but I can't see how that would help things at all.

The fact that the one public university in the nation is in dire financial trouble AND considering privatization is extremely alarming to me. I'm a firm believer in education and what it can do for a nation and for society. It gives us power. It gives us purpose. It's necessary for democracy and for progress. I think of the students who won't get a chance to attend university here, due to their own lack of funding and due to UASD's problems, and my heart breaks for them and for this nation.

In the States, there are many more options for those who want to go to college. If it's a matter of funding, or bad grades, community colleges are an affordable option to get your general education done--equivalent to about half of your bachelor's degree requirements. I went to community college first and managed to pay for my general education requirements out of pocket. I attended a top school which transfers large numbers of students to UC and CSU. My CC had transfer agreements with UC and CSU schools to ensure admission.

The only requirement for enrolling at my CC for general education transfer was to be 18 and have a high school diploma or  GED. But I know the schools offer classes and programs for students under 18 and can help students get their GED and diplomas.

I'm glad I picked CC first. It was the best idea I've ever had.

Back to university admissions in the States. Public universities can be selective, and some state schools have impacted and competitive majors which require high grades and lots of achievements. But if the student really wants to go to college, there's a school for that student somewhere. And funding is out there, in grants, loans, and scholarships. I have god awful credit and I still got federal funding to cover my housing and tuition, and I've won a few scholarships.

I haven't seen anything that indicates that's the case in the D.R., in terms of open university slots and funding.

Of course, I only have real world experience with my university here. UNIBE is one of the most prestigious schools in the D.R. It has a renowned med school and has programs in engineering, business, architecture; you know, fast-growing and in-demand careers. Lots of international students go here. Nobody here screws around, either. In every one of my classes at SJSU, I've seen students mailing it in. Texting in class. Not bothering to do the work. Not even showing up but for the midterms and paper due dates.

I think education is a gift and that gift should not be wasted. I see a much different attitude here in the D.R. for people who want to attend school, which looks to be almost 100% of the students. I've seen too many students at SJSU and my CC who can't be bothered and that's just wrong.

It's as wrong as the possibility of taking away public education for university students in the D.R.

Sadly, my trip to las Hermanas Mirabal museum today was postponed because a massive storm rolled in this afternoon. Instead I watched the lighting flash over the city skyline and wrote an article for my internship.

Tomorrow I have history class, followed by a whole weekend of freedom! Saturday class was cancelled due a national holiday. What do I do with myself with two whole days off?

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!