Patron Saint Festival in Yamasa

Located in the poorest province of the Dominican Republic is a town called Yamasa, known for it's patron saint festival in honor of St. Anton. Los Hermanos Guillen, Taino artisans who are also brothers and own an organic cacao farm, have been actively creating their own tradition by amalgamating various aspects of traditional Dominican culture. They are committed to rehashing the D.R.'s indigenous roots which is certainly commendable, but the festival gave me the impression of a 1950's National Geographic reporter's wet dream.

After the presentation of the saints (a procession begins from the church carrying a statue of St. Anton), the festival takes on the vibe of an extended family's BBQ. Teenagers ladle out mamajuana and passion fruit juice while an elder sat in a rocking chair and rolls cigars for everyone - all for free.

And then the cacophony begins. Vans begin to arrive loaded with photographers, journalists, TV crew, exchange students, tourists, etc. to catch a glimpse of the native culture. Anything that can be labeled as Dominican folk is assigned a patch of grass; within 10 feet of each other you can hear pri pri, gaga, perico ripiao, salves, and congos. For some reason a group of people came dressed up in Carnaval oufits and performed a demonstration.

A disingenuous menagerie of indigenous Dominican culture? Hmm. Although things didn't really go together, I'm down with the brothers' efforts in preserving Dominican roots.

Salt Mines - Las Salinas

The Dominican Republic is truly a country in transformation, thanks to the democratic patina of the current president, Leonel Fernandez. With a quick change to the Constitution and riding on the age-old tradition of bought votes, he is currently serving his third term - even waving away a pesky implication into a corruption case which only served to increase his popularity.

I saw him speak a few years ago at New York University as part of the "Voices of Latin American Leaders" series. When he was asked about the direction of the Dominican Republic, he curled his lips in a smile and said, "I want to turn the country into a little New York." Everyone laughed and applauded as apocalyptic visions of a merengue-driven Babylon flashed before my eyes. (A quick digression: I recently read that Israel and the Dominican Republic are seeking to improve business ties.)

All of these changes can be seen in the the production of salt. In the 1960s the Dominican government created an umbrella organization called Corporacion de Empresas Estatales, a cooperative of state-owned companies. A part of this was the Distribuidora de Sal, a monopoly in charge of salt distribution that guaranteed protection from outside competitors and stabilized prices.

A couple decades later the Dominican Republic begins to fully fling open it's doors to foreign investors and dismantles the CEE. The repercussions are still being felt in this food-deficit country - inflation continues to skyrocket while the market is being flooded with much cheaper rice, pastas, etc. from Venezuela, Chile, and Spain.

I decided to check out Las Salinas, one of the country's most important (and only unionized) salt producing centers. At about an hour and a half from Santo Domingo, it is home to a sleepy kite surfing village that is much too close to a naval base.

When I arrived, I was too amazed by the primitiveness of the whole operation to pay attention to the explanation of how salt is harvested (simply put - solar evaporation of sea water). Men pushing and pulling carts laden with salt up a rickety make-shift train track made me think of the opening scene of POWAQQATSI: Life in Transformation.

"POWAQQATSI is a celebration of the human-scale endeavor...that defines a particular culture. It's also a celebration of rareness -- the delicate beauty in the eyes of an Indian child, the richness of a tapestry woven in Kathmandu -- and yet an observation of how these societies move to a universal drumbeat." - Godfrey Reggio

And it is this drumbeat that made me forget, even if just for an hour, my constant beef with the Dominican government to take in the full meaning of what it means to be a culture in transition.

Part 3 - Border Market at Elias Pina

As soon as we left the funeral we came upon cement block houses, the only ones we've seen on the entire trip and undoubtedly built by an international relief agency.

We finally arrive at Elias Pina, a small border city that rests in atop a fertile mountain valley. Three times a week a border market transforms the city's streets into seemingly bustling activity. The goods were similar to the ones in Dajabon: enriched imported pasta, cheap imitation perfume, toilet paper, powder soap, socks, plantains, etc.

But Elias Pina was marked by a pervading feeling of apathy and hopelessness. It looked like I was the only foreigner there and yet no one tried to hawk me their wares. Merchants fell asleep atop their goods or left their stands unattended (most of the merchants are women, and they pay a small fee for a slice of sidewalk.)

Part 2 - Evangelical Funeral on the International Road

Our second day of travels we came upon an Evangelical funeral taking up the whole road. Quite a sight to see on this dusty and desolate mountain road: close to a hundred people all bouncing to the same rhythm while passing around a coffin.

Thanks to our connections with Padre Regino Martinez at Solaridad Fronteriza (a prominent, outspoken critic of Haitian's working/living conditions in the Dominican Republic), we were allowed to take photographs, record music, and take part in the celebration.

(The third picture down is of a man jumped onto the coffin and started vibrating on it.)