In Santo Domingo, We Say ‘Saludos!’

The Dominican Republic is one of the Spanish-speaking world’s jokes; there, people leave out s’s, d’s, and other syllables so that it’s said they speak Dominican rather than Spanish. A perfect choice for an American student with only a few years of spoken Spanish under her belt. Still, I’m drawn to this region of the world because my parents were born here and honestly, the Spanish here, however bastardized through contact with African slaves, immigrants, Americans and whomever else, is more beautiful that the Castilian Spanish we’re is the purest.

So here I am, living in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic, for four months. I’m a junior in the College studying American (read: United States) Studies and English literature, which begs the question, what does my semester abroad have to do with my diploma? The Study Abroad Office has been asking me that for some time now, and I have yet to come up with a solid answer. I do know that it’s high time I learn to speak Spanish, and there only way to learn, really learn, is to leave the States.

CIEE, the program that brought me and 27 other American students from lots of universities, places us in homes with families around the Capital. We have the option of taking classes at three local universities (so yes, all the classes are in Spanish). The program takes us on trips around the country, to baseball games, to plays, and has the friendliest, most supportive staff. So far, I love Santo Domingo. It’s not New York, but I see myself wanting to come back. I don’t know that I’ll want to leave when the semester ends.

Italians Have Small Feet

In Pisa, I had the pleasure of meeting two fellow travelers, Jose, from the Dominican Republic, and Marie from Montreal, both of whom were studying in Valencia. The three of us shared the two- bedroom, one bathroom apartment known as the Pisa Towers Hotel. Our first night together, having decided that we were not tired, we wandered around quiet and surprisingly easy-to-navigate city, eventually stumbling upon the infamous tower in all of its leaning splendor.

The next morning, we traveled back to the tower, this time, to take in its awesome views by day. However, when we arrived, there was a steady downpour of rain. Yet, coming from London, I refused to let a little rain stop me so I urged the three of us to buy the 15-euro ticket to ascend the tower. Upon climbing the winding staircase and inching our way through an even smaller one to get to the top of the tower, I heard a loud, thunderous “boom.” Suddenly, the sky opened and within minutes I was soaking wet with my shoes and jeans drenched as a thunder-storm passed overhead.  Since we were already wet, we decided to continue to stay on the tower. It was a good decision since, once we had made our way inside, we had to wait within the tower for the guards to let us out of the building. It was surreal to lean against the walls of the leaning tower of Pisa for 15 to 20 minutes. I would never have imagined that anything like that would happen in my life.

Eventually, after a nice lunch at a restaurant in which we, covered in water, became the center of attention, and a lovely tour of the magnificent duomo of Pisa, I said “good-bye” to Jose and Marie. I made my way to the train station, purchased a one-way ticket to Florence and ran in my squishy shoes to catch the soon- departing train.

On the train, I received some weird looks from my fellow passengers when I removed my socks and shoes. Anyway, upon arriving in Florence, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that shoes stores lined practically every block in the city, which would enable me to replace my wet shoes with sleek Italian shoes. Or so I thought! Unfortunately, I had to travel for the better part of an hour in 4 different stores before I could find anything size 46. That is when I discovered that Italians have small feet.

Read more of my adventures at staffordtravels.blogspot.com