Since joining IGOUGO, many have asked, "Why the Dominican Republic" and why I consider this my second home and second family? During my years in NYC as administrator for a Youth Center working with at-risk street kids, the population exposed me to Puerto Ricans and Dominicans who relocated to the States in search of a better way of life, and cause to travel to these islands often for either contributing to their success, or resettling them back home when all else failed.
It was such a trip in '97 when meetings fell through with the consulate in Santo Domingo leaving me three extra days to either rebook my flight or stay. I spontaneously decided to visit this village in a part of the country I was unfamiliar with which guidebooks described as what travelers had in mind when looking for the ultimate tropical destination.
I'll never forget that first ride into town as the banged-up publico bounced over potholes sending clouds of dust through the van's open windows. The backwoods appearance and blatant poverty were startling and my usual sense of explorative adventure was cringing. There still were no hotels in town; efforts were underway digging trenches for bringing basic utilities to the village.
I sought immediate retreat in the small, darkened cabaña happy I'd only paid for one night. Eventually I found courage to move beyond peering out the window, and begin exploring this "paradise" called Bayahibe. Quickly skirting through town, the whole orientation took less than 15 minutes.
The village was all but deserted; the few locals milling about keeping to their business. I didn't even feel comfortable to stop for a beer based on potential vulnerability. The only thought running through my head was, "What have you gotten yourself into this time?" Thankfully, that was all about to change.
Ambling along the coastal road, I saw a tall young man coming towards me wearing a Major League baseball jersey and loaded down with bat, glove and basic equipment. He was the first person that even bothered making eye contact, and I must confess my initial reaction was what he was going to ask for. Smiles were traded as were eventual greetings. As our paces slowed, he asked in broken speech if I spoke English. What ensued was a mangled conversation using both languages, but there needed no interpreting this kid's warmth and sincerity that finally put me at ease.
Junior invited me back to his house in what I thought was to prove legitimacy of our discussion -- he was one of those infamous Dominican baseball players! Who would've thought venturing out into the middle of nowhere would have hooked me up with a Major Leaguer? Well, almost.
As he proudly showed me the tattered photo album, it became obvious he'd just finished his first season with one of MLB's Dominican Minor League training camps, and his insistence I take my pick of one of the limited momentos was unknowingly the first gesture towards a mutual adoption within our hearts stronger and more binding than any legal court document.
It was during those first few hours in Bayahibe that something was taking place even I was unaware of. The house became a titter of frenzy as family members and neighbors passed through with what I later found was checking out the American they thought was another baseball scout. Mami served coffee and then insisted I stay for dinner. When returning the following morning to again thank them before I left, there was insistence I not only stay in Bayahibe, but that I do so with the family. Like I said, who knew?
It doesn't matter who you are, where you're from or what you're about -- nothing can permeate to the core of one's heart and spirit quicker than the warmth of genuine hospitality; especially when coming from total strangers. As the ever-skeptical American, I left after my three-day stay glad to have made this excursion, but also prepared to resume life in general.
Several weeks passed and winter was settling in making the harsh streets of Spanish Harlem even colder. With my boys gone for the weekend, I found myself restless and, on a whim, decided to see what was up in Bayahibe. I'll never forget Mami answering the phone and yelling for everyone to come running amid her giddy cordialities.
Once I'd spoken with most the family members and neighbors, Junior and I settled into an extended conversation that had me running to the bodega for another phone card. He was anxious to share all the English he'd been practicing as well as feed my hungering curiosity to anything that had (or hadn't) been happening in the village.
Over time, phone calls became more frequent as did my longing to fulfill the question which overshadowed every conversation, "Cuándo volverás / When will you return?" Within a few "long" months, I was back for a four-day weekend; then again for a week, and so the story goes right up until my five-week stay this last summer.
I've since traded ghetto for the Missouri Ozark's, but I can't deny my heart and mind have stayed in Bayahibe where I'm continually soothed and fed in ways that undoubtedly make me a better person. I was first welcomed into a family by a young man who happened to be the hometown hero and which eventually led to being taken in by an entire village.
There's something to be said about their simple life and perceived poverty compared to the selfish, materialistic standards we live by in the States. Never have I known people who had so little but yet were willing to give someone everything from the wealth of their hearts...even if/when it means they may do without. But even with inspiring levels of generosity, it's their depths of poise and grace surviving daily struggles which have heartened me most.
Even when from a distance, enduring their hardships has repeatedly given purpose to look beyond and share in causes far greater than myself. Through the village's total devastation from Hurricane George in '98, the loss of a brother, major illnesses, periods without sufficient funds for food/basic necessities, and other crises that would break most people, I've been embraced by another world that has blessed me with a double standard in life; the new one constantly challenging the other I currently settle for.
It's through sharing these asperities I've been able to redefine what's really important in life and to confirm the old adage, "what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger"; whether I'm here or there. And without all the materialistic props to get in the way, it only authenticates their formula for happiness -- to value each other . . . as family, friends and neighbors, cause they're the only thing that matters. Easier done than said if/when that's all you've got!
Each time I return to Bayahibe, it truly is a homecoming almost as if being in the States is like some kind of business trip or vacation from hell that has taken me away for too long again. Once initial greetings have taken place and I survey over changes and growth while cuddling the newest members in the ever-expanding families, life resumes as usual and I slide right into my role as an equal part.
Dysfunctional at times? Well when isn't it -- something I've humorously compared to my reoccurring role on the small village's novella/soap opera! And if there's ever any doubt on where I actually stand, there's always Mami to remind me with her incessant scolding . . . never excluding me from anything kindred.
Back in America, my own family doesn't ask anymore since perhaps they can't understand any more than I over this random occurrence. My boys know they've a new brother in Junior; my parents have sought an active supportive role in my extended family, and there's no more convincing people in the village I'll eventually be back. Rather, the question has shifted to, "Te quedaras esta vez / Will you stay this time?" That has yet to be answered beyond "someday"; even if it's for the palm-shaded spot I've already been given in the family plot of the village cemetery along the tranquil Caribbean coast.
As to what relevance any of this may have for the concept of travel, how many times in our global jaunts have we missed opportunities to make initial eye contact which may have led to a warm smile, a trip enhancing local experience . . . or even something far greater or unfathomable? I plead guilty to numerous charges, but am thankful for the day my life changed forever when stopping along a dirt road in a town I'd already written off.
In Bayahibe, I've learned that "all-inclusive" extends beyond nearby resorts to a compound of cinder block houses along a pothole-filled street and throughout an entire village; a bed, meals and access to all the daily activities one can muster; the good and bad, the receptions and experiences that come only with family and home.