Goldilocks

R and I just spent a lot of time traveling to and from the U.S. for Thanksgiving. We had arranged to meet family in Seattle (where my brother lives), so we traveled 14 hours on Wednesday to get there and 14 hours on Saturday/Sunday to come home.

The first thing I realized upon exiting the SeaTac airport in Tacoma was that it was much colder than the Dominican Republic. The next thing I realized, very close on the heels of the first thing, was that I had not packed the appropriate clothing.

I don't know what I was thinking. I had looked up the weather forecast before we left Santo Domingo and knew it was going to be 50 degrees colder in Washington. And yet, I didn't bring a coat, and I don't know why. Denial? Senility?

The short (very short, for me) walk we took at Golden Gardens State Park reinforced what I had long suspected - I have an internal temperature comfort zone of about 10 degrees - between 69 and 79 degrees Fahrenheit. Sad, but true. The Dominican Republic is too hot, winter in the Pacific Northwest is too cold.

The view from Golden Gardens - beautiful, but freezing.

Nevertheless, we had a good time:

The Fremont Bridge Troll.

We 4 at Pike Place Market.

R and I headed back to the Dominican Republic via the red eye on Saturday night. On the flight from JFK to Santo Domingo, I struck up a conversation with the gentleman seated next to me. He was born in the Dominican Republic, but had lived for decades in the United States. He was returning to Santo Domingo to spend time with his 90-year-old mother. "I'm always happy to visit," he told me. "I like to spend time with my family. But I could never live there again - there's too much traffic, too much corruption."

Today at work, an elderly Dominican gentleman came to my window. He had just returned to the DR, too, and was seeking notary service (something we also do at the embassy). I talked to him a few minutes and he told me, "I worked a lot of years in the U.S., but I'm retired now. I have a little pension so I moved home so I can spend time with my family. The U.S. is too much."

The Goldilocks Dilemma extends the world over, apparently. Too hot, too cold, too much.

The Gift of Citizenship

Adjudicating a Citizen Report of Birth Abroad (CRBA) is normally pretty routine; on average each case takes about 20 minutes or less. I interview the mother and father (one of whom must be a U.S. citizen), review all of the documentation, and make a determination on whether the requirements for their child's citizenship have been met. I tell the couple if I need more information, or if they already have everything necessary for me to approve the application. Usually, the couple thanks me (even if they haven't met the standard and are required to return) and they go on their merry way.

It's a big deal, though, to be able to transmit citizenship to your child. Many applicants who come to my window are naturalized U.S. citizens, which means they didn't acquire U.S. citizenship at birth. Most recognize that it's a huge gift to be able to pass along U.S. citizenship to your children. I'm not sure I fully appreciated the enormity of that gift until last Thursday when an older couple came to my window.

"Thank you, sir, " I said. "All of your documents are in order, and I am approving the application for your daughter's birth certificate and passport. You should receive them via courier in two to three weeks." 

"But when will she be a U.S. citizen?" the father asked. (His experience of becoming a citizen through naturalization had taken years.)

"She has U.S. citizenship as of this moment," I replied.

He blinked. "Thank you," he said. And then his eyes filled with tears. 

He hadn't taken for granted that his daughter would be able to derive citizenship through him, and I could feel his relief through the window. He told me a little of his history and why it was so important to him. I listened and couldn't help but think of how different his experience was from my own - how difficult it had been for him and how easy it had been for me. How I never doubted that my children would be U.S. citizens.

For him, those 15 or 20 minutes at the U.S. Embassy in Santo Domingo were life-changing. For me, they were humbling.

Puerto Plata, Part II

Monday, November 9 was Constitution Day in the Dominican Republic, and thus a national holiday. R and I decided to check out the "teleferico" in Puerto Plata - a cable car that takes visitors to the top of Pico Isabel de Torres, a flat-topped mountain near town. We were advised to go early, and we're really glad we did; not only was the view to the coast clear and gorgeous (it sometimes becomes foggy later in the day), there were very few people around at 9:00 a.m. on a holiday.

Once we had purchased our tickets (at a very reasonable $200 Dominican pesos, or about $4 USD), we went upstairs to wait for the cable car. A band of local musicians was playing for tips.

At the base, before we began the climb to Pico Isabel de Torres.

Yes, this is a replica of Rio de Janiero's Christ the Redeemer statue. The Puerto Plata version is much smaller than the original in Rio, and looks out onto the city far below.

...And this is the statue's view.

R in the botanical garden, located on top of Pico Isabel de Torres.

Gorgeous flowers abound.

Hiding behind a bunch of colorful leaves. We thought it was a flower at first.

Our friend, the Green Tree Snake. He was about two feet long and could slither with incredible speed.

Getting ready to go back down, watching the next group of site-seers ascend in the cable car.

The view, oh, the view.

On our way down. This is where the cable car came to an abrupt halt.

So, we were merrily making our way down the mountain in the cable car filled with people when it suddenly stopped. Another car going in the opposite direction (up the mountain) had just passed us on the other side. Bewildered, we looked to the cable car operator. He encouraged everyone to remain calm ("Tranquilo!" he said), and assured us that this kind of thing had happened before. Apparently the cables had gotten twisted because of the wind (...Or perhaps a power failure, I was a little unclear on this point. I know he said the wind was to blame, but I think I  heard something about a power failure, too. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.). For safety reasons, the cables had to be untangled before we could continue. Now, I'm all about safety, of course, so let the untangling begin. I can wait. The operator told us this could take 5 minutes or 10 minutes or half an hour. It turned out to be 20 minutes. Twenty minutes of the cable car gently (and nerve-rackingly) swaying in the breeze and during which we had to keep our minds occupied with thoughts other than plummeting to our deaths in the tree canopy hundreds of feet below.

I knelt down and engaged two little Dominican girls in conversation. "Me encanta sus zapatos," I said, and they said they liked my shoes, too. One little girl pointed at the veins on my foot and asked why I had them. (She pointed to her own 8-year-old feet that were beautifully smooth.) I said, "Es porque soy vieja, por supuesto." Because I'm old, of course. She and her friend weren't sure what to make of me. They were very patient when I said, "Si hablamos español juntos, yo puedo aprender mucho," ("If we speak Spanish together, I can learn a lot.") and we chatted about how old they were and if they went to school and what town they were from. I know that I learned a little bit from the conversation, but I'm afraid they may have just decided I was a crazy lady from god-knows-what alien planet, and it was best not to make any sudden movements or who knew what I might do.

Finally, we saw progress being made on our nemesis, the guilty, cable-tangling car:

Whatever this guy is earning, it isn't enough, IMHO.

Finally we were on our way, and as we got closer to good old terra firma, we got to glimpse a baseball game in progress.

R, living the beach life. After the experience on the cable car, I think he deserved it.

Did I mention there were free-roaming peacocks and pink flamingos on the resort grounds where we were staying? I was particularly struck by their beauty.

We really loved our stay on the North Coast and definitely plan to return. We'll probably even take the cable car again.

Puerto Plata, Part I

R and I just returned from a five day TDY to Puerto Plata on the Dominican Republic's north coast. I had the opportunity to work in the consular agency there - mostly doing the same type of work that I do at the embassy in Santo Domingo. We were lucky, though, because the trip encompassed a weekend and Monday was a Dominican holiday. We took full advantage of the downtime and went out and explored the city.

In contrast to the white sandy beaches of the arguably more popular Punta Cana, the north coast is rugged and more dramatic. There are beaches for lounging, of course, but there are other attractions, as well.

The dramatic coastline. This photo was taken from the Malecón, the broad seawall along the waterfront. 

R, with the Atlantic Ocean as a backdrop.

With the San Felipe Fortress on the left, this is the inlet that serves as the port.

Similar to the fortress in San Juan, Puerto Rico, this is the San Felipe Fortaleza.
The fortress dates from 1577, and was constructed to protect the city from pirates.

Me at the fortress.

Part of the fortress, overlooking the port.

I'm a sucker for a picture within a window. :)

This little guy was hanging around the fort. I'm not sure why.

The San Felipe Fortress is small, but very interesting. The government is working on creating a more comprehensive visitor experience in this area, including a wide, pedestrian-friendly walking area with benches and an amphitheater. Within the fortress itself there are two small rooms with information about the history of the Dominican Republic. I learned, for instance, that the D.R. is the location for many "firsts" in the Americas (North and South America and the Caribbean):

• The first peace treaty in the Americas - between Spain and a local chief in 1533
• The first Cathedral in the Americas
• The first university in the Americas (1538)
• The first official Catholic Mass in the Americas (1494)
• The first European village in the Americas (1494)
• The first indigenous person to be baptized in the Americas (1496)
• The first hospital in the Americas (1503)
• The first monastery in the Americas (1502)

...and many more.

Motorcycles are everywhere in the DR. And it's amazing how many people can fit on one at the same time. These folks were very kind to let me photograph them. (See that little girl sandwiched between them? Adorable.)
R told me, though, that three on a bike is nothing - while he was waiting for me to come out of the grocery store one day, a motorcycle pulled up and seven (!) people dismounted - a man, two women and four children.

We took a little time to explore the city streets. This was taken on Sunday when most people were home with family.

I'm also a sucker for run-down buildings.

More detail on this building.
The graffiti inside (through the window) says, "Dios bendiga este hogar," or "God bless this home."

Many, many windows in the DR have metal grates around them. I love how fancy they can be, in lieu of metal bars.

It's common for businesses to advertise on wall space this way.

The lobby courtyard of the resort where we stayed.

More to come - including a breathtaking gondola ride from sea level to 2600 feet!

Snapshot

Back in the spring of this year, my cousin was in Virginia and paid a visit to me in Arlington. Through the course of an afternoon, we reconnected and reminisced about our childhoods and our parents. She had brought along a stack of old photos, and we talked and laughed while going through them.

You never think about a relative having slightly different memories and/or memorabilia than you do. It came as a surprise, therefore, when I pulled this photo from the pile, a photo that I'd never seen before:

That's my grandfather in the checked shirt, my mom in the white blouse and black skirt, and my dad standing to my mom's left. My uncle and aunt and older brother are in the lower left corner. As near as I can guess, the photo was taken in 1962 (my brother looks like he's about 3). Notice the photo on the far right wall? That's my dad when he was in the Army. I have no idea where it was taken, in which state, or in whose home. My grandpa would have been in his early 50s (holy crap, my age), my mom would have been 22 and my dad 25. 

I love this photo because it's an unposed moment caught in time. It's almost as if the viewer could step into the scene. I wonder what they were talking about - my aunt Judy seems to be saying something, my mother is on her way somewhere. My older brother is perpetually frozen looking at the camera, not knowing that over 50 years later his yet-to-be-born-sister would be wondering what he was thinking. There's a time warp for you. Discuss.

R thinks it's pointless to think this way, to wonder about things for which you can't ever possibly know the answer, but I think it's fascinating. It keeps things in perspective and makes me stop and consider. We're all guilty of seeing people as though they're one-dimensional, without substance or nuance, as if in a photograph. Many times we don't consider the potential inner struggle of strangers or friends or coworkers or family. We all know they exist, but we're completely engrossed in our own story, with our own three dimensional, fascinating lives, to pay attention to the depth that might lurk in others. We assume that that single glimpsed moment is the sum of their lives.

Of course it isn't true - for others or for us.

Sometimes it's helpful to have a reminder that there's always more to the story than what we see in a moment. No, I don't know specifically what my family was experiencing in the exact moment the 1962 photo was taken. But I know a little about the struggles, heartaches, and joys that were theirs - details that the photo can never show. And if I can draw the line between those two points - the image and the reality - surely I can understand that all people deserve a little compassion, a little understanding, a little forgiveness.