It’s 1 a.m in the Dominican Republic, as Brielle and I are walking around the astoundingly large resort. Our bare feet dragging along the jagged, stone pathway that winds around the entire surrounding area. The weather is sultry but feels nice in the otherwise cool night. In the distance, you can hear the ocean waves rolling onto shore and crashing along the white sanded beach. All around us there are exotic plants, all different structures, textures, and heights creating an overwhelming scent of floral. We continue walking with no direction in mind, wanting to explore every inch of our temporary home. We continued wandering around aimlessly taking in all the details until another hour had passed. Looking up at the sky, we realized the usual clear and bright sky had darkened with sheer wispy clouds. Not thinking much of it, we headed down to the rumbling, chilled ocean and sauntered along the undulated shoreline trying to escape the frigid water that threatened to catch our feet. The smell of salt and seaweed fill the air, and the sand laced between our feet remind us where we are. Feeling sporadic raindrops, Brielle and I decided to begin heading back up to the safety of our hotel room. …show more content…
We hastened our walk across the slippery landscape trying to avoid the pouring rain that was soon to come, but didn’t walk fast enough. It started downpouring on us, cold water drenching our tanned skin as we sprinted to the nearest place to take cover. Contending to run, we spotted an Italian restaurant we ate at a couple days back. We ran over to the yellow, stucco building and sat down under the doorway that, for the most part, protected us from the cold drops of water. As we reached the building, thunder rolled from above
Belonging to the Dominican Republic, Salcedo is one of the smallest provinces in all of its country. It is also the province that has been recently dedicated to the Mirabal sisters. Four Dominican women who fought for the freedom of the Dominican republic from the Dictator Rafael Leónidas Trujillo. Patia Mercedes, born on February 27, 1924, was the eldest sister. Bélgica Adela Mirabal, the second sister, was born on February 29, 1925. Minerva Argentina, the third sister, was born on March 12, 1926. And lastly, Maria Teresa, the youngest sister was born on October 15, 1936. The four sisters were daughters of Enrique Mirabal Fernández and Mercedes "Chea" Reyes Camilo. The Mirabal family lived in a part of Salcedo named “Ojo De Agua” (Eye Of Water). They were
The Mirabal sisters were Dominican political dissidents who opposed to the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo. These three sisters were assassinated on November, 25, 1960. Originally there are four sisters, but only three were really involved. The three involved were known as Minerva, Maria, and Patria. Belgica Adela Mirabal Reyes is the fourth sister.
The definition of insurgency according to JP1-02 is “The organized use of subversion and violence to seize, nullify, or challenge political control of a region. Insurgency can also refer to the group itself.” I chose to do my argumentative essay on the Dominican Republic Civil War, during the presidency of Rafael Trujillo. Which was considered the most heinous and boldness president in Dominican Republic’s history. I agree and support JP 1-02 definition of insurgency.
Rafael Leónidas Trujillo Molina reigned over the Dominican Republic in a dictatorship, extending over thirty years. He is known as having been the “most ruthless dictator in Latin America.” However, there is another side to the story. Trujillo was the third son of a humble sheep herder and worked as a sugar plantation guard in his adolescent years. He enlisted in the United States Marines Corp during the U.S.’s occupation in the Dominican Republic. He built himself up to National Commander and claimed presidency in 1930. He was a man known to be surrounded by “a surfeit of booze, women, wealth, power, and enemies.” Until his final years, he was admired by the Dominican people and seen as a demi-god and savior. During his first prosperous years
I was born in the Dominican Republic, November 2, 1982. I lived and grew up in a countryside where everybody knew each other. My childhood years were full of wonderful experiences where I felt loved by my parents and my family. I went to school around 6 years old. I had to walk around 30 minutes to get there from my house. My father was a farmer who had to work long hours in order to sustain our big family. My mother was a housewife; she was in charge of taking care of us. I have five siblings, three boys and two girls. I remember that at that time we did not have many things in our house. We did not have electricity and also we did not have a service of water. I remembered that my father had to go to the river to get water for the necessities of the house. At that time my family was very poor, but my
In May of 1931, black clouds the size of the Rockie Mountains pondered over our farm house. We have had storms before, but nothing like this. I began getting worried, so I asked Mother, “Do you think this will pass over?”
Dominican Republic is a beautiful island in the heart of the Caribbean, with the Atlantic Ocean to the north and the Caribbean Sea to the south. Discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1492, it sits more or less in the center of the Caribbean Islands. Dominican Republic makes up the eastern two-thirds of the island of Hispaniola, which it shares with Haiti and the capital city is Santo Domingo, which is on the southern coast. With a population of more than 8.5 million people, Spanish is the national language of this Latin-Caribbean country. The native people are friendly and cheerful which makes the Dominican Republic a great cultural experience.
Halfway up it was beginning to look doubtful, the wind was picking up and everyone was getting out rain gear to prepare for the storm. I voiced my doubts to Phil and he said we might as well keep going until the lighting got too close. So we did. The thunder grew in volume and the echoes magnified the noise to a dull roar sometimes. Then suddenly it began to ebb. The wind died down and lightening came less frequently. I exchanged relieved looks with Phil after a bit, but kept the pace up--I didn’t want to take chances. Eventually it hit us, but by then it was nothing more then a heavy rain. We kept moving, if slower, and made it over the ridge with no other problems. That night I enjoyed the meal a little more and slept a little deeper realizing how much is important that easily goes unnoticed until something threatens to take it away.
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
People all over the world love to have the chance to get away from work, the cold, or just life in general, to travel to an exotic and new destination. Wendy S. Hesford and Brenda Jo Brueggemann state that, “The tourist industry creates a desire in us for escape, difference, and mobility” (274). That desire for travel fuels us to spend our vacations in luxurious hotels and resorts to relax, spend a week or two on the beach, and experience a new and exciting place. Additionally, Hesford and Brueggemann have discussed how tourism feeds on our fascination for places that are “exotic — but not too exotic” (278). For many people traveling to a tropical destination, experiencing the culture is not as important as experiencing the sandy beaches and
As I look around, I can admire the millions of palm trees there are - not to mention the sand that does not stop dancing, because of the wind that just keeps upsetting
I use any excuse to walk along the ocean, especially alone and without my phone. The wind blew cold air, but the sun’s warm rays kept my body at a perfect temperature. It was three in the afternoon and I was calm.
Imagine a beautiful evening in Moore, a suburb lying on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. Mom is in the kitchen and the kids are playing in the yard. In a matter of minutes, the sky turns green and large cumulonimbus clouds start to churn. A crackle of thunder sends a chill up your spine, followed by a strong odor of ozone that fills the air as Mother Nature’s fireworks illuminate the dark sky. Large golf ball-sized hail stings your window and a melody of car alarms play in the streets.
Suddenly, I snapped awake. It really was the day of my party, and it really was pouring down rain outside. I trudged out of my room and had breakfast, all the while staring gloomily at the storm raging outside.