That Ritmo Tho

I have a sofa and chairs here in the living room, but sometimes, like now, I prefer to sit on the tile floor. It’s cool.

A little bird keeps flying in through the open shutters of my window, and straight out again through the open sliding glass balcony door. The air is soft from the rain last night; good for flying, I imagine. 

It showers almost every day now. In the sports complex, the grass that grows in the ovular field circumvented by the 1000 meter track has gone from matted and brown to lively and green. In addition to a lot of rain, the days are now 12 hours long instead of 13. Night falls quickly, but it’s steady, mature, aged by a hot sun and salty breeze. It’s not finicky and girlish like in New York where night might come at half-past 4, or half-past 9, depending on the time of year, depending on her moods. She’s a pretty, wild, hippy child, though, so who can blame her enthusiasm?

Here, we are the children, and night is almost obligated to be wise, to try to control all the life that takes place in her regime. It’s a celebration that you’ve escaped the heat and toil of the day.

Just look at how we leave the complejo at night: boombox reverberating, spilling out colored lights that swirl with the stars. Music makes everything a celebration, even when you’ve got nothing else. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you it’s true. When we bought our Trailblazer, one of the first things we fixed was the sound system, even though there were supposedly more important mechanical items to repair. But see, any vehicle is gonna breakdown, and if you’ve gotta breakdown, do so in style, with joy, with music.

If at all possible, do it with someone you love.

It’s cooler weather now too, which makes hugs more enjoyable, less suffocating.

My mom always asks me what I mean by “cooler.”

It means that at night, it really does drop to 70 degrees Fahrenheit and the concrete walls of your house and the tile floors soak it up and hold it for you, and release it slowly throughout the new day, keeping your house relatively cool even though it’s still burning hot outside at 10 o’clock in the morning. Of course, no matter the season, our advantage is having a house that is “hembra”—a female. She was purposefully engineered to face East, and that makes her a girl, according to Dominicans.

When a house faces east, the main living space is being hit by the sun in the coolest part of the day. During the hottest quarter of the day, when the sun is shining directly into your house again, it is heating up the back. Thus, a “casa hembra” is designed to keep you cool in its East-West/front-back orientation, based on what rooms of your house you will be in at what times.

I am enjoying discovering the slight variations in the seasons—wether it’s the temperature, the length of day between sunrise and sunset, or the fruits that are ripe.

I think, after a year, I am starting to catch the rhythm (ritmo) of this country: her environment, her music, her heartbeat.

It’s so different from everything I’ve ever known, and when I am not literally in the arms of my husband I feel displaced.

That’s the trade off. There’s always a trade off. When you choose a life of adventure, of crazy love and faith, it comes with a lot of uncomfortable feelings.

Be warned.

But the discomfort, the displacement, in addition to the wonder-full moments, the vibrancy, is so much better than feeling nothing at all.

It is possible to catch a new rhythm.