First Impressions

I came to the Dominican Republic with a jolt, cheers erupting from Dominican men as the plane's wheels hit the runway. Startled from sleep, I thought about feeling annoyed, but I could only laugh as the men cheered again and again. After all, they were demonstrating their love for their country- something Americans rarely do. And, I'd finally arrived.

We rode to our destination in a creaky open truck with a peaked metal roof. My first impressions were of the smoky grey sky and spindly thin palm trees with shaggy branches. I could smell smoke and manure. Eventually the breeze and the steady rumble of the truck almost lulled me to sleep.

The buildings were run down, like ones I have seen in the poorest of American neighborhoods. Some were simply mismatched materials piled in a building shape. Businesses had crude awnings and hand painted signs, many with a single bright bulb underneath. When I changed places with Will, I hung out the back of the truck a little and watched them receding into blackness, the taillights casting a rosy glow on the pavement under us. We passed police cars and trucks with red and blue lights flashing, even more brilliant than the lights of American police cars.

I saw a building with a grass roof and thought of the mansion I saw flying into New York City, with its circular driveway and pool.

The road's unevenness jerked us from our seats. The wind whipped our hair around in our faces. We were passing through a river of moving air.

I noticed that the sky was glittering, stars that I couldn't always see in my street-lamp-lit world. Signs proclaimed the names of political candidates with colorful cartoonish letterings and photos imposed on solid backgrounds.

It was 4:30 A.M. We passed a Dominican man bicycling on the highway. Others congregated at a food stand.

My first impression of the Dominican was that it was rough and crude, and that it was beautiful.