Life Under the Mosquito Net: Viaje al Rio

I grew up in Chicago, the suburbs to be specific. Chicagoland is a great part of the country, but one of the drawbacks is the lack of natural beauty and topography. The Dominican Republic, on the other hand, is a beautiful country with so much geographical and topographical diversity. For a relatively small island, the DR has everything from mountains like in Colorado to deserts like in the Southwest.

I lived in the larger region known as El Cibao. The Cibao is the northern third of the country. In El Cibao, there are lots of hills and small mountains, and the weather makes for a very lush part of the island. El Cibao has varied agriculture from coffee, rice, bananas, and coconuts. There are tons of rivers internal to El Cibao that flow throughout the region. Of course, the beaches of El Cibao are also great, but today, I’m focusing on my town, El Factor and the river nearby.

El Factor was truly part of the tropical parts of the island. Not only is it really hot and humid everyday, but it rains an incredible amount. Most days even if it is a beautiful sunny day, the weather could completely turn to a powerful thunderstorm in minutes. That rain or lluvia is just part of your life. As I evolved in my service, I did find those downpours quite calming. There is something so relaxing about hearing that rain hitting the zinc roof. I was always able to get a great siesta in during a rain storm.

For this week’s installment, I’m going to focus on a spontaneous trip to a river up close to a nearby town.

Enjoy.

Life Under the Mosquito Net

“Viaje al Rio!”

            The adventure began in the morning.  I played some hoops with a couple of Americans who were on a mini-mission from their California university in the Dominican Republic.  From some grand twist of fate, these guys were staying in El Factor during my first week of service.  What’s even crazier was we met them at the beach on Thursday about 12 miles away from my small town.  For the week, we had met up to hang out and converse with them and their Dominican counterparts.  At the end of the games, they invited me to go to the river with them at 2:30 PM after la comida (lunch).  I agreed and left for home.

            After a satisfying meal of arroz (rice), habituelas (beans) y ensalada (salad), I napped in preparation for the big trip.  I awoke after an hour ready to roll.  However, at about 2:15 PM, there were dark clouds forming in the distance.  It was inevitable – lluvia.

            The time passed – 2:30, then 2:45.  I was sure they were on their way.  I was waiting in the back patio with my Doña, Bulingo, and another Doña who I could not understand for the life of me.  After my nap, my back was throbbing because I was still adjusting to the new, poorly made bed and my military grade mosquitero (mosquito net).  The pain compounded because I was sitting in one of the smallest chairs in the Caribbean, panting like a dog from the heat.  Meanwhile, the ominous dark clouds now were looming overhead.

            3:00 . . . 3:15. . . and still no sign of the Americans.  Claps of thunder were now ringing out and the lluvia began.  First, a few pats on the zinc roof, then as if someone was standing on the roof dumping buckets over the top of mi casita, the rain came in hard.  I gave up on the trip and put my stuff back inside.  I grabbed my book and water bottle settling in my tiny living room on one of my two gigantic mesadoras (rocking chairs) for a nice read during the calming downpour.

            3:30 . . . A call from the street, “Jaime!”  I peered through the thick wooden blinds of my house to see a priceless sight.  The group of Americans and church-going Dominicans soaked to the bone in the middle of the street.  “Vamos al rio! Let’s go to the river!” they said.

            I paused a second to take in the request.  I threw down my book and water bottle in hand.  “Vamonos! Let’s Go!”

            I joined the group immediately picking up on the lack of enthusiasm.  I looked at John, a very tall Americano professor, with his neon yellow hat, sunglasses and looking like a wet dog.  He grumbled something about being soaked.  Jaime, their translator, also had a look of disgust on his face.  Marc, one of the college kids, kept saying, “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

            I actually thought it was kind of fun.  It certainly was funny to see this disgruntled crew, save one, Newton, their Dominican guide dressed all in orange, walking down the street.  I asked myself, “If they don’t want to go, why go?”

            We walked out of El Factor up the hill until the road turns from pavement to dirt.  I was walking next to Newton with his drenched orange shirt who was entirely too happy about the situation.  He went on and on about the fruit trees on the sides of the road.  Meanwhile, he holds my hand which I’m a touchy-feely guy, but it was challenging my boundaries.  Of course, the skies continued to bring inches of water down on our heads.

            The road continued with hill after hill.  I sensed the growing distrust from the group after every new climb.  Of course, our loyal, cheerful guide, Newton, the orange shirt man, who had enough energy for us all – set the pace.  I started talking to John about this and that, but we were constantly interrupted by the orange-shirted, bubbly one with – “Mira alla! Look Over There!” and “Es increible, no? It’s incredible, no?”

            At this point, I was soaked.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been so wet. My shoes were squishing with each step. I, too, began to question how much further was this said, “rio.”  All my thoughts turned to, “How long will it take for my shoes to dry?”  In the meantime, we marched on. When Marc asked, how much further, Newton just said the classic Dominican line, “Ya arriba! Just up the hill!”

            Finally, we reached a very small “campo” or small country town.  Los Indios was the name.  Newton, as if trying to wake the dead, yelled, “Los Indios” incessantly as we walked through the seemingly vacant town.  What was he thinking there.  I didn’t find it funny, but then again, I was simply thinking about my shoes.

            We came upon the river.  “Que malo! How Awful!” I heard one Dominican say.  It was true.  The river was a dark brown color, with all the rain the soil had washed into the river.  John asked, “Are there leeches?”  A poignant question making me think of the unforgettable scene from the Stephen King movie Stand By Me.

            Our energetic guide stated, “Esta muy cerca – It is very close.”  So we went off the road walking along the river.  In reality, we walked in the river the whole way.  At first, I walked daintily to keep my shoes dry trying to go between rocks.  After 3 steps, I said, “What the hell, they’re already soaked.”  In I sloshed, I could feel the weight increase with every step.

            “Vamonos, muchachos!! Let’s go, Boys!!” Our spirited leader, Newton, screamed, encouraging us on.  We followed reluctantly as the rains continued.  Now, we were wet from above and below, as the rain splashed in the river upwards into our faces.

            We asked several times, “Donde esta el sitio?  Where is the place?”  The response was the very typical Dominican retort, “Ya arriba.”  Siempre – Always.

            After who knows how long, our guide became even more excited.  We approached a pool in the river that was filled up by a small waterfall.  It looked alright, but how deep could it be?

            Just as that thought processed in my head, I watched as orange shirt man bounded high in the air from atop a large rock plunging headfirst into the shallow pool.  Out of sight he went below the surface.  I was horrified. Then, he popped right up with that insuppressible Newton smile.

            Wow, I thought.  That was risky, and much deeper than I thought.  He hopped out again, pulled off his shoes and dove back in like a dolphin.  He surfaced again and encouraged us to join him.  I pulled off my shoes and carefully pushed into the pool.  I was still surprised at how deep it was.  At one point, it was well over 7 feet deep.

            The others slowly made their way in, even John.  Marc took some time to vault in, but when he did, he cannonballed off the slippery rock.  Of course, our crazy amigo, Newton, displayed his bravado with an array of dives, jumps, and even a back flip into the small pool.

              The rain stopped, and the sun burst through the dark clouds.  The day was transformed instantly into something special.  The water was refreshing, and not too cold.  I was completely glad that I went in that moment.

            After what seemed like hours, we gathered our things to leave.  I put on my super-saturated clothes after a good wringing.  I wrung out my shoes for the first time in my life.  We went back the way we came, as some of us ran back, not really caring about getting wet after this incredible experience.

            I suppose I took a couple of lessons from that trip.  First, you have to admire spontaneity.  The trip was planned, but the way it happened was quite unimaginable and became spur of the moment.  Although, I make light of the orange shirt man, Newton, he had the most fun and was the most spontaneous of the lot.  I only really had fun when I said, “What the hell?” and let things go.  A second lesson comes in the form of trust.  In many ways, following this guy into the woods was crazy, at least from an American perspective.  However, he did lead us to a great spot that I never would have found on my own and gave us an unforgettable experience.  Also, the whole act of jumping in and watching this guy dive headfirst was unreal.  Why should I trust him?  I couldn’t even trust my own eyes.  Only until I touched the low spot with my own feet I trusted.  That’s sad.

            Well, one thing was for certain, I’ll never forget mi viaje al Rio.