Thursday, November 8, 2007

11/8/07
Ritmo:(rhythm) I have a complete and different life here. My name is Bairo and I have friends and family that surround me. When I was a Peace Corps Volunteer here, I was essentially an American living in the DR. Now, my farmer friends and I talk about our losses this year. Now, I always have my machete on my hip. Now, this rhythm of life is becoming my rhythm. To be precise the 1-2 beat of meurengue and 1-2-3 of bachata seem to fit an entire days work. Bachata being the slower of the two music, works for my daily 30 min. hike to the farm. These ‘trails’ seem like game trails sometimes: small, narrow and dangerous. I’m pretty sure footed and yet I struggle to keep upright as I follow Antonio up and down these paths. He steps 1-2-3 as if climbing stairs; behind him, I have no rhythm, but I’m learning. The day starts at sunrise with un cafecito and ends with dinner at sunset. No matter the job, Antonio has the same pace, he is a marathon runner not a sprinter. The aroma of fresh roasted coffee is ground in a huge mortar and pestle. The women are laughing and telling stories as I walk by, thum – thump, thum – thump, a simple merengue rhythm with the pestals pulverizing the coffee.

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