Viva la Dominicana

Entry 6

While my life has been nowhere close to average these last few months,
I must say adjusting to my new standard of normalcy has been a great
experience. There are many times during the day where I actually feel
kind of guilty about getting college credits for being here. Cultural
immersion is code for a semester long vacation! I mean of course I
have classes, and I am doing well in all my classes. However they
aren’t burying the students in book work because the program, by
design, allows students the time to explore this new world.
If you are not the adventurous type that is okay too because just
getting to school every day is a new adventure packed with fresh
faces, new foods and great ideas from a group of American students –
who, like you, want to get the most out of their studies too.

We go on amazing trips to some of the most breathtaking places on
earth every two weeks. When I’m not going on those trips, I make my
own. I have been to beaches, explored different cultural landmarks,
travelled around the city in search of new foods, attended mixers with
people from Russia, Cuba, DR, PR, US, Germany, Taiwan, and the lists
of lists goes on…

And it’s all a part of the program.

This video is dedicated to a few of those one day excursions with
my new buddies here in the la Republica Dominicana.

Entry 5
After Carnaval 2011 in La Vega, Republica Dominicana and part two in
Santo Domingo a few days later, this is the question that bounced
around in my mind. How could anything compare to the energy that filled the
streets for an entire month? Well, the lovely folks at Pontificia
Universidad Catolica Madre y Maestra, my host institution, had bigger
things in store for me, literally.

Our next excursion was to Samana, Republica Dominicana. Samana is
located on the northern coast of the country and is bordered by the
Atlantic Ocean, not the Caribbean Sea that runs along the southern
border. For a few weeks during the spring, the waters of the coast are
the host to a variety of the largest animals on the planet, whales.

We got a chance to sail out and get a glimpse of a mother whale playing with her calf.

After the whale watching, we took a trip to a small, private island
located a few miles from the dock in Samana for lunch. From the
multi-colored blue waters to the live band playing Caribbean classics
beneath a coconut tree, Cayo Levantado and the Gran Bahia Principe
Resort, the only resort on the island, is easily the most beautiful
places I have ever been in my life.

I left my despair somewhere on the shores of paradise, and decided to
love each moment that I am blessed to live – starting with this one.

Enjoy.

Entry 4

No text needed. Carnaval 2011. Run it!

Entry 3

For some reason, I thought that I would arrive in the Dominican Republic on Jan. 5 and eat a few empanadas, wash them down with some coconut milk and automatically speak fluent Spanish. With month number one scratched off my calendar, I still haven’t found that majestic food and drink combination.

But I do know that fresh passion fruit (chinola) mixed with fresh star fruit juice (hugo de cambola) is so good it’ll “make you wanna slap yo mama”. And there is a burger here called a “Chimmie” that will put Whataburger’s biggest creation to shame in both size and quality.

Trying new foods and drinks and exploring the city is easier for me because I look Dominican. The only time I run into problems is when I get asked a random question on the streets.

In which case, I have to go through the process of:

1)      Oh Lawd! Why is this person talking to me? Am I in danger? Should I just run now or wait to see if my cover’s blown? – For the record I haven’t had to go Usain Bolt on anyone yet.

2)     Calm down.

3)     Now, what did they say? “Repita por favor.”

4)     Start a nice conversation with someone who is interested in why I look Spanish but don’t speak a lick, or the person walks off disgusted with me, the dumb, Dominican kid with a speech impediment.

I am learning though. I understand much more Spanish than I can speak. And I’m reluctant to admit that some of my best conversations have come when I am partaking in the local custom of consuming mass quantities of Presidente beer and Barceló rum (Gran Anejo – but Anejo is a good second).

The nightlife has lead me to sign up for a dance class. The stanky-leggin-dougie-swagsurfin-ism that we’re used to does not have a place here, so learning bachata, meringue and salsa are a must for anyone looking to spend one minute on the dance floor. The Dominican Carnaval is just around the corner, and I have plans to have the bachata and merengue under my belt before then.

Be sure to check out these next few videos because I’m pretty sure my road to dance fever is sure to be a hilarious one.

-A.R.

Entry 2

While most of you kiddies were bracing for a major cold front that swept the states earlier this month, I was at the beach. It’s really hard on me, watching the tweets and Facebook updates about the harsh realities of winter. Well life got a little tougher for me too. I moved in with my host family and started school since the last video.

Santo Domingo is home to an estimated 3 million people. Life here is fast, much like city life in the States. I spent the majority of my first week walking to class, 30-45 minutes one way, because I could not speak fast or clear enough to catch a taxi. I tried once and it did not end well for me.

The walking has allowed me to see the hundreds of men and women playing dominos under park trees or in store fronts. There is bachata and merengue music sounding off from every corner, and the smells from the grilled pollo are enough to stop you in your tracks.

I am in the honeymoon stage right now, so I find pleasure in most anything. Check out the videos and maybe you will too.

-A.R.

Entry 1

I was born in a small, country town in Southwest Florida, so small that people from that region of the world still don’t know it exists. And in that little corridor of American culture, cultural diversity wasn’t as commonplace as it is in other places; you were black, white or Mexican.

My mother, a black woman from Arcadia, Fla, and father, a Puerto Rican from Miami, birthed me on top of the fence of cultural identity. Cultural exploration didn’t happen in the rural areas where I grew up, so I had to decide if I wanted to be Antonio or Tony. I chose Tony and embraced the culture of my mother, after all she did all the mothering and fathering as a single parent.

In a nutshell, that’s how I became a Spanish looking boy with the Spanish name who didn’t understand anything about Spanish language and culture. And this was fine, as long as I was in the comfort of the small Florida towns like Arcadia and Hawthorne where I was raised. Then I came to college and mocking questions started coming like, “How is your name Antonio Rosado and you don’t speak Spanish?” I had thick skin from enduring all the years of being called Rico Suave, but the sarcastic tone of my Spanish professor as she asked me questions in Spanish, when she knew I spoke just as much Spanish as her chalkboard, started to get under my skin.

I felt like I needed to know more about my “other” side. I wanted to know who Rosado was and where the hell he had been all my life. So I started digging. My father didn’t know much of his father’s existence; it had been more than 20 years since they had spoken. I found my grandfather through the website yellowpages.com; he lives 45-minutes away from Tallahassee, in Marietta, Fla.

Hoping to uncover a long, lost link to my Puerto Rican heritage, I paid my grandfather a surprise visit. I left that visit more frustrated than I was upon arrival. He was just as disconnected from his Puerto Rico culture and family as I was.

Standing at a dead end on my road to self discovery, I came to the conclusion that “Rosado” is going to be what I make it. And one of the first things I wanted to do is understand more about Spanish language and culture.

Studying abroad in the Dominican Republic is a journey I felt like I had to take, so follow me as I experience the tastes, sounds, sights and smells of a part of me I had parted ways with many years ago.

-A.R.