Although I promised this post would be up ASAP I don't feel too bad about the delay for a few reasons: first, I've already talked to many of you since returning stateside (or many of you have already talked to your respective SMBA'er who sent you the link to this blog because [s]he is too lazy to keep you updated him/herself), so it's not like you're really being held out on; and, second, this period of radio silence was a necessary SMBA detox--9 days in a foreign country with 40 strong-willed people is enough to make anyone just want to get away for a while (also, my body is going through some literal detox, but I'll spare you the gory details).
Regardless, though, I made a promise, and the promise I shall keep. So here it is, the recap of our last few days in the DR, which, I warn you, didn't contain as much as excitement as the previous few days.
Tuesday's big event was a visit from the US Embassy, including ambassador to the DR (and San Diego State alum) Roland W. Bullen. The visitors were all very cool and pretty laid back (and many of them made recruiting pitches, too--look out for Megan Moyer in the CIA), and once they were done some people hung out with them a little more while we all got the chance to finally take in a game at the Padres' complex. The Pads prospects absolutely lit up whoever it was they were playing (the Reds, I believe), winning by a score of something like 10-3.
After lunch we did pretty much the coolest thing we did all trip: we played a "live" (a Pads' coachw as pitching BP, but other than that it was live) game on the field at the Pads' complex. It was 100 degrees, only a couple of us had as much as swung a bat in the last few years, everyone was out of shape, exhausted from the trip, and sweating like nobody's business . . . and it was absolutely awesome. My team got absolutely destroyed, and although I and several others acquitted ourselves admirably (my highlight was getting a "Nice play!" and a fist bump from the coach when I made a barehanded pickup and on-the-run, underhand throw on a ball that he had deflected--your classic 1-6-3 put-out), the MVP was clearly Eric Nachman, who not only robbed me of a base hit with a leaping catch at shortstop, but also managed to hit one OUT of the park for a solo homer. Yes, the wind was blowing out; yes it's onl 330 feet down the line and it was pretty much right down the line; yes, the ball pretty much scraped the top of the fence on the way down (we all made a pact to try to talk down the impressiveness of his homer as much as possible). . . but there's no changing the fact that he hit a jack (with a wood bat, nonetheless!) in a "pro" stadium. That had to feel good.
After our game we all showered up and presented our "elevator pitches" (which I have been remiss to not mention until now, as they were one of the biggest aspects of this trip) to our classmates. The elevator pitches were project we had been working on with a partner all trip--essentially, they were supposed to be a 5-minute summary of a business plan that would help the Najayo community by providing jobs, improving the economy, meeting major needs in the community (as dictated by the citizens when we [and others who have spent more time in the area] talked to them, not by some complete outsider perspective), or (ideally) some combination of the three. My partner and I presented an idea for a co-op community garden to provide fresh produce to the town's scholchildren; others proposed recycling plans, a fantasy camp at the Pads' facility, community centers, and a grant/fellowship program for community projects. All the ideas were very solid, and what I found most impressive about them was that, for the most part, the ideas really took into account the needs that the townspeople had expressed to us; that, at least in part, assuaged (what I'm sure you've noticed is) one of my big fears about the trip, that we wouldn't be able (and not even necessarily through any fault of our own) to get over the sort of classical American-in-South-America, paternalistic, "Oh, let me tell you what you need" sort of attitude.
That night was our last night in Najayo, and so we all made it down to the beachside bar for one last hurrah. There was some swimming, some peeing in the ocean right in front of Professor Francis, and, as always, at least a little bit of Presidente consumed. I don't feel it's a stretch to say a good time was had by all.
The next morning a set of semi-finalist elevator pitches to a panel which included John Seibel of MLB and Entrena (our tour company), Tim Kazman of the Padres, Veronica of SMBA IV, and several others. From this group we selected four final projects which groups of us will be turning into business plans: among them were the recyclingprogram and the fantasy camp, and at the moment the other two ideas are escaping. Hopefully, though, these business plans will ultimately be able to serve as a model for these projects to actually be undertaken in the community; although I'm not writing one of them (I'm instead working on a research project) I think it's incredibly important that we as a class show some followthrough on at least one of these ideas in order to really make something out of this trip--if our goal was to actually do good work, we need to leave something tangible behind, even if it's not built or begun while we're there.
After that we said goodbye to the Pads' complex and loaded into the buses back to Santo Domingo, where we had a special tret awaiting: a tour of the presidential palace, or the Dominican equivalent of the White House. It was about as impressive as you would think, with high ceilings, marble staircases, full-wall murals (including one of Columbus discovering Hispaniola which, in its odd sepia tone and vaguely surrealist style, looked kind of creepy and out of place), multiple salons for functions of several hundred people, and a pretty darned incredible view of the city's skyline from the top floor. Also interesting to note was that pretty much wherever he goes in the building the president has his own special chair, which not only looks very comfortable but also has the Dominican flag painted on the back.
My favorite part of the building was one we didn't get to see but just heard about: the private residence. It's a very nice, full-scale house inside the palace with everything the President could ever posibly want (including his own personal gym) but none of the Dominican presidents have ever lived there! I like the thought that the reason none of the chief execs have ever moved in is because they like keeping it as their bachelor pad: it's where they keep the food that their wife won't let them eat (ya know, Cheez Wiz, Funyons, that kind of stuff), a fridge stocked only with beer, and, on Sundays when they would say "I need to go in to get a little work done" what they really meant was "I'm going in to watch NFL Sunday Ticket" and get away from the kids. Man, it must be good to be the Prez.
After checking back into our home-away-from-home, the Hotel Europa- Santo Domingo (which I didn't realize was an oxymoron until right now), we had our farewell dinner just down the street. R-Rod (or maybe it's just Spanish style with a rolled double-r, Rrod) put together a slide show of our trip, a bunch of the dignitaries and officials we met came back and joined us, Christin had a pretty nice little speech, Hiler also had a very nice (but much less little) speech, John Seibel, Tim, and Scott thanked pretty much everyone under the sun (but necessarily so--so many people helped us out so much with this trip), and, lastly (and [making up a word here] bestly), Veronica was officially offered a full-time job down here with the Padres. So that was pretty awesome.
That night we were all back up on the roof for one last hurrah (one of the things I learned on this trip: no matter how old you get, kings is still fun--although maybe not no matter how old, 'cuz our resident geezer Nachman sat it out), and then the next morning it was back into Jason Bay and Big Papi one last time for the trip to the airport. One incredibly out-of-the-way layover in JFK (where everyone sprinted for American food--Sbarro and Chili's probably had no idea what hit them) and 15 hours later, there we were--back in San Diego and none (or only a little) the worse for wear.
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