We arrived in New Zealand 10 days ago. My husband hands the airport-shuttle driver a tip. Drivers are always happy to get a tip, especially after carrying our heavy backpacks in and out of the van,… More
It’s a stormy morning in Zadar, Croatia. Everyone is sleeping in, most likely exhausted from a week of stress and recuperating from the jet lag. We managed to fly out of the Dominican Republic from the Punta Cana airport on Wednesday at 6:50pm, with the earliest Hurricane Irma winds expected to arrive at 8pm that night.
What follows is an account of our personal experience.
On Tuesday, the day before we were scheduled to leave, we came to realize that there was no evacuation plan for Americans in the Dominican Republic. Canada sent 10 planes to evacuate Canadian nationals from the island. Luckily, we had purchased tickets to Croatia months ago and they happened to be for Wednesday September 6th, 6:35pm. It was a stressful night, making sure everything was packed and also making sure that we were ready to stay, with enough food and water to make it through; we didn’t know if our flight would be cancelled. The airport in San Juan, Puerto Rico had already been shut down, so it seemed it was just a matter of time until they cancelled all flights leaving the Dominican Republic. With a storm that big, the effects could be felt long before the eye of the storm approached the island. It was certain, at that point, that if the storm continued its expected path, Punta Cana could be wiped off the map.
When we arrived to the neighborhood of El Cortecito in Punta Cana over a month ago, I admired the tidy apartment on the first floor with a view of the pool, but I also worried. One of the first things I told my husband was that I felt like I was in a condo in Florida. The apartment had all glass windows and 2 large sliding doors. I knew the hurricane season had started, and thought about the unsuitability of this type of construction in the Caribbean. We had conversations about it. Now I was feeling particularly concerned, because in the month we were there it only rained a handful of times, and never for very long, but the streets flooded EVERY TIME it rained.
Knowing that El Cortecito flooded added to the eerie feeling that no one around us was truly preparing for hurricane Irma. I come from Puerto Rico, an island that has vast experience with hurricanes. As soon as our expert meteorologists* tell us to prepare for a hurricane, we PREPARE. Supermarkets are swarmed, people start hauling large pieces of plywood to protect their doors and windows, and everyone begins planning how they will spend the hurricane. There is a sense of anticipation that allows us Puerto Ricans to prioritize: we need food, water, batteries, but we also need alcohol, dominoes and a radio. We must have some fun after all.
I understand that this level of preparedness is only possible because of privilege. Puerto Ricans, with a median household income of about 19,500 dollars a year, are still much better off than their neighboring islands. You can’t go buy a bunch of stuff at the supermarket if you don’t really have the money to do so. However, the level of indifference that we experienced in Punta Cana was pervasive at different socio-economical levels, from the people in the markets, all the way up to the people managing the airport. There was a sense that there was no reason to prepare, and that is what scared us the most.
In the end, the hurricane did not hit Punta Cana as it was expected and there wasn’t much damage to the region, but we didn’t know that on Tuesday. I had called the airport early on the day before our flight and they said that they had no plans on closing, that the airlines would be the ones to decide if they were cancelling their flights or not. Our international friends in the area were starting to worry. They were feeling the locals calm disinterest in the storm as well. They were talking of fleeing to the capital if things on Wednesday looked bad; that was our plan B as well. If we couldn’t leave the airport on Wednesday, we would do everything we could to make it to the capital, which wouldn’t get hit as bad, and would have the resources (food, water, safety) to house us until we could leave the island. Our plan C was to return to our apartment. We had already made arrangements to stay through the storm in case we were stuck. We were lucky that the apartment manager was very flexible and allowed us to make an open agreement to stay, if needed. On Wednesday, as we were ready to leave for the airport he told us that if we had decided to stay he was ready to give us an apartment on a higher floor, because he expected the first floor of the apartment complex we were staying in to completely flood. We asked him if he was going to do anything to prepare the apartment and he explained that there wasn’t really a point to it. It would all be under water regardless.
On Wednesday morning, I called the airport and no one was answering. Life in the town of Cortecito was pretty chill. Some people were buying water and provisions, but no one seemed particularly stressed. Gardeners were still beautifying the properties, restaurants were still open and food delivery motorcycles were still running.
The woman who was to clean our apartment upon our departure arrived before we left for the airport, and was surprised to see that I had already done most of the laundry. My intention was to wash all towels and bedding, because that’s what some AirBnB hosts expect, and also because I didn’t want to leave much of a mess; but she got to our apartment well before our check-out time. My husband was almost done cleaning the kitchen, which made her teary eyed with gratitude. She explained that she had 3 properties to clean that day, and her daughter and granddaughter were alone in their metal-roofed house. She said most people in these apartments leave a huge mess so she was thinking she would be cleaning it for hours. She also said she was anxious because she needed to find someone to help her tie her roof down. She was happy to see that I had some extra food in the cupboards that she could take home. After her workday, she wouldn’t have time to shop for food before the hurricane; I wondered if she had money to shop. I was overwhelmed with emotions. She was cleaning an apartment that might just flood the next day. She should have been going home to prepare, but I wasn’t her boss. The precariousness of the whole situation sunk in with a rawness I couldn’t explain. How many people were in her situation, stuck working on the day that they should be preparing?
Our transportation to the airport was late. My husband and I left the kids in the apartment, watching a movie, and went to see if we could find the drivers in the parking lot. We went together because we both needed some fresh air. As most of you know, it is really hard to deal with a crisis in front of your kids. I was worried sick about my family in Puerto Rico. I was concerned we would be stuck in the Dominican Republic and at the same time I was sad to leave people behind. With all of this going on, I had to stay calm and seem like I was in control. I needed to vent. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Then we heard a loud boom and saw a flash. A palm tree frond had fallen on an electrical cable in front of our building. My husband ran back to the apartment to be with the kids. The hurricane hadn’t arrived and our apartment complex was already without power. A small fire sizzled, the palm tree frond burned, and I stood in the parking lot realizing that nothing could prepare anyone in this area for Irma. Preparing was just an illusion. Leaving was the only option.
Our drivers came, they said the airport was not crowded with people. We were still nervous. When we got to the airport it was business as usual. I was a little shaky. I felt bad for the cleaning lady, bad for our drivers, bad for the people in the neighborhood we had left, bad for the owner of the apartment we stayed in. I felt like I was running off, fleeing, getting out because I had the option to leave; they were staying behind because they didn’t have that option. I thought of my international friends, stuck in the confusion of spending a hurricane -something they hadn’t experienced ever before in their lives- surrounded by people that were eerily calm. Not that I am saying it would be better to be surrounded by people who are freaking out, but at least it would be nice to feel like people are concerned.
As I sat waiting for our flight I thought of my earlier interaction at the local market. I went for 2 large bottles of water and some beer early Wednesday morning. The guys hanging out there started joking about how I was preparing for the hurricane. It was lighthearted banter, and I went along with it without much thought. As I walked home I wondered why weren’t they at home, securing their belongings, gathering provisions, making plans with their family members, figuring out where to go if they had to evacuate?
We checked into our flight and went through security. The airport was preparing for the hurricane in ways that baffled us. The airport in Punta Cana is very open. Strong winds could tear it apart easily. The employees were putting plastic bags over monitors and removing some advertisements. The wind was picking up, and in our opinion they should’ve been working on evacuating the airport. There were no signs of the airport closing anytime soon. I heard employees talk about working straight until Saturday. We were glad so many flights were able to leave, and happy our plane was allowed to take us to Europe, but at the same time we were worried about how strong the winds were. Turbulence on the flight was nerve-wrecking. I worried not only about our safety, but about the safety of those working the tarmac. I later read that the safest place for an airplane during a hurricane is in the air flying. Pilots can navigate hurricanes, like that one that flew between the bands of hurricane Irma to evacuate people from Puerto Rico . The dangerous thing is to be on the ground. How much were the employees in the Punta Cana airport risking to get us out? The guilt laid in. These people had families to take care of, they had children at home.
We landed in Brussels and everyone started clapping. This is something Puerto Ricans do when landing, so it took me off guard on a plane mostly full of Europeans. I clapped too… and that’s when I started crying. We were safe.
Sometimes it’s gradual (poquito a poquito), sometimes it’s instantaneous, but falling in love with a city is one of the things I enjoy most about traveling. Cities are so unique and full of potential that we should take our time, give them chances, explore them patiently… with that said, we only had a weekend in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic.
We took a bus from Punta Cana, arriving Friday mid-day to what the bus attendant told us was the terminal closest to the Colonial Zone. Yes, we had maps, and we planned, but sometimes you just have to get out of the bus when the bus attendant tells you to.
The Colonial Zone is the historic central neighborhood of Santo Domingo, and the oldest permanent European settlement of the New World. It’s been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, so our expectations were high. A bit disoriented, and very hungry, we started walking towards Chinatown. Wait: Chinatown? Yes, I was also surprised. The thing is my husband is always thinking of food, and planning accordingly. He had a list of potential Chinese restaurant options and we were determined to make it happen. It’s been months since we’ve had real Asian food, so we were energized with anticipation. The walk wasn’t long (only about 8 minutes), but we were tired. The kids managed to keep up even though there were challenges. The amount of garbage in the streets was discouraging, everything seemed dirty and dilapidated, but the people we encountered were nice which gave us hope. We came to a main road (the road where we should’ve been on to begin with) and then things looked a bit better. We popped into a good-looking restaurant (Asadero Chino) and it was airy and clean. The employees were ready to serve us cold beers and there was a fish tank with happy looking fish. We had found our place. The food was amazing. We could’ve been eating in Chinatown in San Francisco or New York, only that here, we were drinking cold Presidentes.
After that, we got our bearings. The guys at the restaurant told us the best way to do our trek to the Colonial Zone. On our way there, we stopped at a Walmart-type store called Sirena. They had EVERYTHING at great prices. We’ve been a bit limited in our school supply options in Punta Cana, so I stocked up on pencils, markers, play dough, sharpies, workbooks… If you are in the capital and need to stock up on anything from Tupperware to nail polishes, this is your spot.
From there we walked about 10 minutes to the Colonial Zone. When we arrived, I had a pang of recognition; I’ve felt this way before. It was a mix of busy Mexican plaza life, with vendors and music, and Puerto Rican Old San Juan vibes, with the beautiful colonial buildings. We sat at the outdoor café in front of our hotel (Hotel Conde de Peñalba) and ordered lemonades, ice tea and beers to take it all in. There we felt some European influences and started reminiscing past plaza experiences… we knew this would be a good weekend.
We went out walking in the late afternoon, after some much needed relaxation time in the room. With every turn, we discovered galleries, restaurants with courtyards, amazing colonial architecture, historical sites and beautiful plazas. It was only Friday night and I felt like I didn’t want to leave. The weekend went on with more of the same. Walking, eating, taking pictures, looking at galleries, watching the kids run around in plazas; I had missed this life so much. It brought me so many memories of my youth in Old San Juan and it also made us remember so many wonderful cities we’ve fell in love with.
The Colonial Zone in Santo Domingo might not be a love at first-site city Like Antigua Guatemala, where you are so impressed when you arrive that you have to catch your breath (is that, a volcano?). But it is worth taking the time to explore. We only scratched the surface, but we loved what we experienced. I left inspired, feeling blissful and airy, most definitely: in love.
We have this box that we’ve used to mail things back and forth to my mother in law. The size of the box is kind of perfect, and we like to reuse things until they fall apart and can’t be used anymore.
We left the box in California, full of books for us and the kids, and had my MIL send it to us is Puerto Rico. Before leaving Puerto Rico, we packed up the box with the books we had read, and wanted to keep, and took it to the post office to Media Mail it back to my MIL.
We only had duct-tape with us.
I started making jokes about suspicious packages in the car, and everyone found it hilarious. The box was so banged up, and had been used so many times, I even took a couple of pictures of it.
The post office I went to had one of those security doors that they have in many of the banks in Puerto Rico; the ones where you go into a first door (alone) and have to wait in a space for a second door to unlock. I found that odd, given that I am used to just walking into post offices both in Puerto Rico and in the US without going through security. Puerto Rico’s post offices are USPS, so everything else inside the post office looks very similar to the US and they have the exact same mailing options, etc.
I get to the front of the line and the USPS lady looks at the box, pauses for a couple of blinks, and calmly tells me: “You cannot mail that box looking like that”
I replied: “I’m sorry, I know, it’s old… and we really didn’t have another…”
USPS lady: “The tape, you can’t use that tape for mailing boxes”
The lady next to me on the counter had already started ignoring her transaction and inching closer to me to be in the conversation. Welcome to Puerto Rico.
Counter lady: “And why not? I mean, I want to know, what is the reason… you know… that she can’t mail the box with that tape” (I found it hilarious that she found the need to explain her initial question in detail, as if she needed to assert that she had been listening to EVERY WORD SAID).
USPS lady: because that’s the tape bombers use
Me: ah, okay. It’s really just books, but I can repack it and bring it back.
USPS lady: No, no, no, no, no. We’ll just put brown tape over it.
Counter lady: (with a satisfied smile) Ah, very good idea. You would think bombers would know not to be so obvious using the suspicious looking tape to PACK their boxes.
I smiled because I was thinking exactly the same thing, but I also smiled because I had already waited in a 20 minute line to send this box. My 3 kids were waiting in the car with a hungry dad and I had no idea where I would find another box… If I had to repack this box I would have had to (GASP!) BUY A BOX!
Yesterday my MIL reported receiving the box. A full 3 weeks after we mailed it Media Mail. We usually donate books when we are done with them, but given that we are travelling, we wanted the kids to know that they would be able to re-read the books when we got home. The other books were technical books for our work, and photography books, so we’ll still need those when we get back.
Now we’re here in Punta Cana, relying on our Kindle for books, Zinio for magazines and Overdrive for audiobooks. We are lucky to have great libraries at home* with extensive ebook selections. The little one has a small stash of books we read to her, and she also packed her National Audubon Society Reptiles and Amphibians guide (her favorite book in the whole world). My husband did an extensive google search finding that there is not one bookstore with English books or magazines in all of Punta Cana, well actually, there seems like there is NO bookstore in Punta Cana at all. We visited Jumbo last week (it’s like their Walmart Supercenter) and we’ll go to the mall later this week. If I find books in English I’ll write about it here in a follow-up blog post for those looking for books in the area. Next weekend we plan on going to the capital Santo Domingo. We know there are several bookstores there, so we’ll check a couple of them out and I’ll write about it.
Have a great Monday!
Library tip: Depending on where you live, you can join your City Library and also your County Library. Each library has a slightly different selection of books available online. Once you have a library card, you can go online to your library website and see what ebooks and audiobooks they have available. You can download apps for Kindle (if you don’t have a Kindle), Zinio (for magazines) and Overdrive (for both ebooks and audiobooks) for any of your devices. Then you can pair those apps with your library card information to obtain books and magazines directly to your device.
I’ve been thinking a lot about having the space to write and do art. I’m not referring to physical space, but life-space. I wonder about all the people around me, how many of them must be incredibly talented but don’t have the privilege to pursue their art.
Who gets to be an artist, or a writer? Mostly those people that can afford to take the time and get good at what they want to do. Others, burdened by their economic limitations, and life situations don’t get to dream. Of course, there are cases in which people are so incredibly talented or so fiercely driven that they go on to do amazing things in spite of their day-to-day limitations, but in global proportions those are rare.
What would happen if we all had the space?
I also think of women, and how in many societies they tend to be burdened from young ages with expectations that they help around the house and take care of siblings, leaving them little time to aspire. These girls grow without the mental space that one would dedicate to art. Once we have kids, our minds also get cluttered with lists of things to do and anxiety about the future. Some days I feel like I have to bully my way into editing a photo or writing some words.
The thing is, I feel this life-clutter even though I am, in a way, privileged. I have a very supportive husband that shares household responsibilities with me. I have a good career and flexible work opportunities that allow me to build my own schedule. Yes, I still HAVE to work, but I don’t have to go to a well and fetch water. There are so many degrees of privilege… to know that some people don’t have potable running water is sobering. On this I could write on and on… but time is ticking and I have work emails waiting to be answered. Sigh.
I follow many wonderful mothers on Instagram, artists, writers, crafters and I am in constant awe that despite the busyness of motherhood they are creating, because I have days that slip through my hands like water. I am grateful that these women are there, to keep me inspired.
Once I get back from our travels I want to open up a physical space to craft again. It has been years since I did anything serious. Not having my stuff with me makes me crave a good dying batch or some glass bead-making. Maybe I’ll finally take an art class! Like they say in Puerto Rico: “soñar no cuesta nada” (dreaming is free).
Got to a lazy start today, so to pick up the pace I’m blasting some electro-cumbia (not sure how I survived pre-Spotify). One of my favorite electro-cumbia artists is Li Saumet from Bomba Estéreo -this woman is pure energy. I discovered Bomba Estéreo in 2014, when they played at the Joshua Tree Music Fest. I was right in front of the stage, in awe of her energy… pure magic. Here’s one of the blurry pictures I took:
From the beginning I loved Bomba Estéreo’s tropical power, but it was the girl-power anthem “Soy yo” (Amanecer, 2015) that made her music a staple in our family. I consider the video, dropped in 2016, a must-watch for young girls.
One more song that I love is Somos Dos; the romantic video is shot in the National Park of Tayrona and in Santa Marta where Li Saumet is from. As she explained in an interview with People en Español, the video is inspired in her real love-story experience and screams Caribbean – this island girl is definitely swooning. Also, I want everything she wears in this video.
And last, they just released this very Salvador Dalí inspired heartbreak video, which I absolutely LOVE!
Have a great Sunday!
Our time in Puerto Rico is coming to an end. It’s time to gather our things and move on to a new place. 40 days ago we turned in the keys to our apartment after what seemed like an eternal time packing. It turns out I grossly underestimated how much stuff we had. We survived packing, even though I still have to mentally (and emotionally) process my relationship with “stuff”.
We don’t usually travel with much, and this trip is no different. Each one of us has a day-pack that we carry on the plane, and we have 3 large backpacks that we check-in to the plane. We are lucky that the 10 year old is strong enough to carry a large pack with all of the girls clothes. In addition to that, we have a large duffel-bag in which we store the car-seat and booster for the two little ones.
And then we had a piano delivered to Puerto Rico… My 2 biggest girls have been learning how to play the piano, and my man had an idea: “you know, they make these travel pianos, with weighted keys, we can take one with us on our trip!” So now we have a Yamaha E353 with us. I played with it yesterday and the keys feel so good, so I thought- if we are carrying around A PIANO I’m going to definitely need to dust off the cob-webs of my brain and get back into it. So we’ll see…
After being in Puerto Rico for some weeks, I asked myself if there was anything I missed so badly that I would want to have it with me. Out of all of the things in the world I could get (Puerto Rico has Walmart, Kmart and outlets with all of the name-brand clothes and shoes you can imagine), I ended up getting a milk-frother. Turns out, I can live without my favorite purses, but not without foamy milk in my coffee.
I’m very proud of myself for bringing so little (or at least what I THINK is so little), when we intend to be traveling for 12-14 months. I was feeling disheartened at the shear amount of boxes we packed, when we moved out of our apartment, most of which were my things. I started feeling like my relationship with things was unhealthy. And it might be. I don’t know.
The blogosphere is full of downsizing fairy tales and minimizing stories in which people magically make their things vanish in a unrealistic time frame (it’s magic after all). And then, with the help of the fairy god-mother Marie Kondo they streamline their lives and live happily ever after. This is not my story. My downsizing story starts 5 years ago, and will need to be told in installments. It was not pretty, so I’m gonna need a bottle of wine to recap the mess that took us to the point of leaving everything we owned in storage. Given that it’s 7:30 in the morning, the story will have to be told another time.
For now, I’m off to enjoy my last Saturday here.
I was talking with a friend about some photos on my Instagram feed and she asked me: How do you do it?
My short answer was: I don’t.
This is one of the reasons I wanted to blog. Facebook and Instagram often show us snippets of people’s lives. Single shots into the realities of traveling and parenting.
We see beautiful sunsets, amazing food and smiling children and we think it must all be perfect for someone else, or EVERYONE else except us.
I’ve been guilty of omitting the hardships in the past. In a forum like Instagram it’s hard to offer context and give long winded explanations of how hard it was to make it to that one perfect point to get that awesome shot. In Facebook I feel guilty of complaining too much, I tell myself my friends don’t want to hear me whine about our airport troubles, traffic woes or days without running water; I imagine them saying: “oh, boo-hoo, at least you get to GO on a trip!”. I am very selective of what I share in both forums, because I’m always afraid of being misinterpreted and judged.
The bottom line is that: I want people to like me.
For some reason, at this particular point in life I’ve stopped caring. I specify “at this particular point in life” because I’m not sure if I will wake up in a year, feel all paranoid and take this site down. But for now, I’m okay sharing, and it’s quite liberating.
We’ve been on the road since June 18. That’s 39 days. 39 days without our pillows and our beds. 39 days that our kids have spent without their toys. 39 days without the food that we are used to. Has it been amazing, inspiring and fun? of course it has! But there are also days that I want to lock myself in the bathroom just to be alone. There are days when I feel that I most definitely can’t do it all. I can’t meet a deadline, keep the kids from fighting and have a clean kitchen in the same 24 hours. The truth is that some days I couldn’t manage that at home, so I am not sure what I was to expect during this year. I left hoping that things would work out, hoping we would get something out of this experience, learn to be more flexible, be better as a family. After a rough week with not much sleep (more on that later) all I can hope is to not lose my mind.
Before we left on our trip, my husband introduced me to Jain. I was impressed with her catchy sound and she immediately became a family favorite.
Her music and videos brought up a lot of questions about her background. When I looked her up, some articles questioning if she was guilty of cultural appropriation came up. After some reading, I was impressed with her multicultural upbringing: she is French, but grew up in Congo, Abu Dhabi and Dubai.
I felt bad questioning if she was guilty of cultural appropriation, as if I were preemptively judging her -I guess my own issues can make me paranoid at times. I grew up in a colony that to this day suffers from people taking away without giving the credit that is due, so I am sensitive to cultural appropriation.
We are a multicultural family; I am Puerto Rican and my husband is of Greek-Italian ancestry. We live in Southern California, and travel to Mexico frequently, so our family is inevitably influenced by that as well. My kids do not speak Spanish, which gives me impostor syndrome around my Latin American friends and family. Sometimes I feel like I don’t fully belong here or there, so I am fascinated by Jain and the magic that comes from her sounds.
“Have no fear of perfection – you’ll never reach it.” -Salvador Dalí
We are on a trip. A long one. 14 months to be exact. My friends have repeatedly said “you should blog!”. We left a month ago. What’s been stopping me? Fear.
I’ve blogged anonymously in the past and I’ve ended feeling exposed, revealed, raw. Now I’m asking myself if that’s such a bad thing, so I’ll give it a try.
Thanks for joining.