Slowing Down.
This, my friends, is no easy feat. Despite the fact that I
complain about the absurd pace of travel, clients, and studies, the idea of
truly slowing down is equally absurd. Having always been a fan of the “work
hard, play hard” adage, I was good with a highly active holiday schedule, and
challenged to completely unplug from career or research related thinking.
The Dominican Republic has many lessons in store for me.
In my effort to truly unplug and recover from what has been
an excessively brutal schedule this year, I am finding that coming in the
off-season is essential because staying in the resort is approximate to your
private island because. There are 16 people residing in the resort from Russia,
Germany, Canada, USA; and suddenly I found myself waiting to see Poirot or Miss
Marple be registered. Every person here seems unusual in an interesting way,
including the Russian fascinated with the clouds and showing you his many photographs of them. You dare not
be rude because everybody knows everybody here. If somebody doesn’t show for
dinner, you actually wonder where they may be.
And then there’s the speed, or complete lack thereof. On a personal level, I didn’t know that I could sleep this much. Cranking through two books in two days, I have found that the majority of my time to be on the beach under a thatched covering alternating the experience of sleeping and eating.
On a resort level, I find the lack of speed hysterically funny. Other
than taxi drivers, moving quickly appears to be an abomination. The security
guard is typically asleep, and nothing starts on time. Spanish lessons started
35 minutes late this morning, and Salsa dancing simply never happened. It’s not
that it was cancelled. It simply didn't occur.
At this lack of speed and with so few people, you start to
notice amusing details, such as the terrified gigantic husband who was being
forced to ride horses with his wife on the beach. The horse decided that was a
good time for a gallop, and the 6’3” 250lb dude is screaming for help. The guide
gallops after him, and the locals on the beach roar with laughter.
They are pretty amused with my preference for veg over meat.
I carefully explain with kindness that their menus of an assortment of fried
meat is not my preference, and if they could just make me some vegetables and
rice, that would be great. There is a telephone call, some massive giggling,
and then waiting. The phone rings again. More giggling. Some confirmation from
me that I do not want meat. He lists out the variety of meat just to be sure I
know what it is. More giggling. It paid off though, with a huge dish of beans,
fresh veg, avocado, and fruit. Now I am known as the crazy veg person, although
they seemed quite pleased with my having their very delicious goat. I also have
in my possession the proper local way to fry plantains, thanks to my friend’s
endless interview with the trapped bartender of how local’s eat. However, I
suspect that any person who keeps pictures of his crab paella is quite pleased
to share how locals eat…
Really, none of these little experiences would have occurred
in my normal schedule, and in that way, the Dominican Republic has taught me my
first lesson, which is that the little experiences and stories are not mundane
or stupid. They are frequently amusing and create tenuous little relationships
that can last for a few days and have no more obligation except to provide memories.
