Welcome to Paradise - The DR

We knew we were in for a good week when we looked out of our airplane window, and saw that picture above. Maybe it's cause we didn't grow up near the coast, but there's something magical about the ocean, especially when it looks like that. The aqua green-blue colors, against the sandy beaches and palm and coconut trees...it's paradise.

Last Thursday morning, Celeste and I drove in the darkness of the early morning down to the Raleigh-Durham airport, where we boarded a plane bound for the Caribbean. Several hours later we landed in the city of Puerto Plata, which is on the northern coast of the Dominican Republic. We were greeted by a comfortable heat wave and a lively 4-piece mariachi band, singing their hearts out, enthusiastically welcoming us to their country, and, of course, asking for tips. Any doubts we may have had about a sweet Spring Break pretty much evaporated right then and there.

We drove about a half hour along the coast until we arrived at our all-inclusive resort that, while it couldn't hold a candle to the resort we stayed in during our honeymoon in Cancun, was very comfortable. Sure, it didn't have a mini-golf course or free bikini waxes, but it's hard to complain when pina coladas are abundant and free and unlimited bacon doesn't cost you a dime. These are the beauties of an all-inclusive vacation.


The first full day there we decided to hit the town and get a taste for the Dominican culture, even though we were encouraged by our resort staff not to leave unless it was on an "official tour." Hogwash. We knew the language, and wanted some adventure. So we walked a half mile to the entrance of the hotel, and found a bunch of locals sitting on their motorcycles. Before we knew it we had been "Amigo!"-ed by about five guys at once, all desperate for our 100-peso-business, and were on the back of one of their tiny motos - all three of us. At first we were a little nervous (I'm not a heavyweight yet, but I'm getting there), but we made it to the city safely, and on the way, we discovered that pretty much everybody gets around that way in the DR.


We quickly discovered that as lush and paradisaical the country's landscape is, the truth is that the DR is a nation crippled by poverty. On our commute into the heart of the city, we saw thatch-roofed huts that passed for homes, and houses sided with nothing but rusted tin. Tiny shacks passed as homes and businesses, usually simple fruit stands selling coconuts or pineapples to support a family. The city itself was nice, but there were plenty of beggars and stray dogs to pull on our sympathy strings.

The next day we decided to take another adventure - this time on our own set of wheels. We signed up for an ATV tour of the countryside. The machines were a little smokey, but plenty of fun. We rode through bamboo forests, small villages, shaded jungle, until we finally reached our final destination of a beautiful sprawling coastline. It was pretty sweet. I kept on imagining that Bagera or Sher Khan were going to jump out at me, but our tour guide assured us that the only dangerous creatures indigenous to the DR were the women. (Zing!)

After some R&R (and by R&R I mean drinking smoothies, swimming in the ocean, and scaring people with my outrageously pale skin), we decided to embark on one last adventure before leaving the DR. Our final excursion led us back into the mountains and remote countryside south of Puerto Plata, where we discovered the unrivaled natural wonder of "27 Charos de Damajagua" - otherwise known as 27 Waterfalls. This place was incredible. I've never seen anything like it.

We met up at base camp with a fellow named Augusto - best guide ever, by the way - and started making our way up a mountain. After hiking for about five or ten minutes, we came to a crystal clear pool of water sitting below a beautiful waterfall. Following Augusto's lead, we jumped into the water (a little cold at first - I think I squeaked like a girl after jumping in) and swam toward the waterfall. Once we got there, we began climbing to the top of it clinging to rocks and, occasionaly, Augusto's outstretched arm. From there we swam through a calm stream of this green water until we got to another waterfall. Again, we climbed, and again found ourselves in another pool of beautiful green water.


This process continued for about an hour or so. Sometimes we would be climbing the face of a rock, sometimes we'd be swimming, sometimes we'd be hiking, or pulling ourselves up a rock on a rope or makeshift ladder. But all methods led us to the same place, which was the natural spring waterfall from whence all this natural beauty spewed. Using a rope, we climbed to the top of the waterfall and did our first cliff jump of the day.

From there, we started making our way down. But we were no longer forced to climb ropes or rocks. No, as much fun as the way up was, coming down was even better. It was one big cliff jump after another into beautiful clear pools of water. In some cases, jumps were replaced by descending down natural waterslides. Either way, we just kept splashing our way down the mountain, whooping, screaming, and laughing, until we finally made it back down to the original pool and waterfall at the base of the mountain. It was amazing.

Okay, this video is a little weird, but it gives you taste of the 27 Charcos. Just embrace it.

So...where to next?

Channel One News Presents...

An excerpt from an up and coming novel by Jackson Olsen

From behind her black-rimmed glasses, she peered with evil eyes onto her subjects before her. She deemed them deplorable.

"Work, you pitiful scoundrels," she yelled at the helpless children. "This isn't summer camp, and we ain't makin' no boondoggles."

"But Ms. Olsen," a student bravely protested, with trembling hand raised, "how are we supposed to copy the entire textbook in one hour. It's impossible!"

"Really?" She responded, disdain boiling in her throat like hot soup. "Really? Whatev." She put her hands in front of her, making a "W" sign with her thumbs and index fingers, then turned her back to her class and started computing their failing grades, chuckling lowly beneath her breath.

"The plan is coming together," she thought silently. "It's only a matter of time..."

DC 2.0 - Applications

As many of you may remember, last year I took a large group of students of mine to Washington, D.C. on a field trip (see 5/2/10 post). It was a crazy experiment in the laboratory of my first year as a teacher. Eighty raucous and hormone-hyped teenagers can be crazy enough in the classroom, but put them in a big city and allow them to bring candy and cell phones, and you just bought yourself front-row tickets to the circus. That's how it felt, anyway. Don't get me wrong - I loved that trip and I'm glad I did it. The smiles of the kids faces as we approached the 25-foot statue of Abraham Lincoln, or the look of wonder in their eyes as they peered toward the top of the Washington Monument, the tallest building they had ever seen, made the trip worth every annoyance.


This year is going to be different, though. This year is going to be better.


Why? Because I'm a seasoned vet, in part. But also because at the beginning of the school year, I applied for a grant for an overnight field trip to D.C. through Fidelity Investments. It was around Christmas time that I was notified that my grant had been approved to the tune of about $1,700. Holla!!!

With $1,700 dollars in my pocket, I'm going to make this year's trip EPIC - way better than last year's. We're doing everything we did in 2010, but we're adding the Holocaust Museum, the U.S. Capitol, the Charters of Freedom, and if things go right, a guided tour of the White House! And on top of all that, we're staying in a motel. That might not sound like much for you and me, but it's got my kids so excited they can't walk straight.

"Like a real motel, Mr. Olsen? Like with a pool and a maid and stuff?"

"Yes, Jakwan, a maid..." I can understand his confusion. Most motels in Henderson have an hourly rate and have about as much drug traffic as Amsterdam.

The only downfall to this whole trip (yes, there is one), is that because it's an overnight trip, and because we're limited on funds, I can't take a big group like I did last year. In fact, according to my math, I only have enough money to cover 15 students.

So what did I do to narrow the field to the elite candidates? I made applications - long applications, with lots of tough questions to help me weed out the chaff. The applications were due on Friday, and Celeste and I have spent the weekend reviewing them. If you ever need a good laugh, just come hang out with my kids. Here's a little sample of what they're capable of:

Question #1 - What would you bring to this trip that is unique or special about you?

"I will bring candy and a portable dvd player." -S.J.
"Just quietness and I stay up late sometimes." -J.A.
"I'm a one-man party." -T.J.
"I am smart so I can use my smartness." -J.W.
"My mentallity of course." -V.H.
"I don't snore. I am a uplifting person. I follow directions and obey rules. Also my feet don't stink." -A.R.
"I would say my bible, to make sure I'm safe and so that in my free time I can read the word of the Lord." -D.P.
"I will bring clothes, toothbrush, tooth paste, towel, rags, and socks." -B.T.

Question #2 - We might meet some important politicians. What would you ask them if you had the chance?

"If I meet a bodyguard I would ask for tips on being a better bodyguard." -S.J.
"I would ask them for their autograph." -J.A.
"I would ask many good questions, like 'When was this building built?'" -M.A.

Question #3 - We'll be walking a lot. What will you owe me if you start complaining?

"I will owe you a 750 typed essay on how I messed up the trip." -S.J
"I will owe you $5 and 30 sentences saying I will not complain." -J.A.
"Pushups. Like up to 50." -R.V.
"I would gladly run the rest of the way or carry your things." -A.M.
"I would owe you about 20 or 30 jumpjacks." -L.R.
"If I start complaining I owe you my Ipod." -C.L.
"I won't complain. Walking was the only transportation before bikes and horses were invented." -D.P.

These kids are priceless, and I cannot WAIT for this trip.

Spring Sports

With Spring upon us, schedules around here have become pretty hectic. Both Jackson and I are coaching a sport this season with Jackson returning to baseball for his second season for HMS and I am embarking on a new adventure as an assistant coach to my high school track team. Practice is every day after school, and we now never get home until after 6:00. That may not sound too late, but it makes me exhausted.

For those of you who know me well, are aware that I am nowhere near qualified to be a track coach, but don't tell my athletes. For all they know I was a champ at regionals, when in all honesty the last time I ran track was in middle school. I vaguely remember trailing behind all the other kids while running the 800 and 1600, awkwardly jumping the triple jump and being too chicken to try to high jump. Luckily, I was a swimmer in high school, and some of the workouts follow similar routines, and since I coach the medium and long distance runners the real trick is just making them run. A lot. The other assistant coach (shout-out to Claire!) and I mostly just make stuff up, and since the head coach hasn't said anything to the contrary, we must be doing okay.



Jackson's first game is on Tuesday. They are hoping for improvement from last year's record - I believe they only won one game... It kind of reminds me of Aggie football, they have the opportunity to double or triple their wins and the fans will have something to brag about. I'll take some pictures/video and hopefully have something to post in the coming weeks.

Our team doesn't have a meet until mid-March (we can use all the time we can get!), but I'll keep you posted.

They Call Her Celeste

The story begins in a far away land,
Where Eskimos dwell and bears have command.
Canada’s nice,
If you don’t mind the ice,
Or the milk of a yak in a yellow tin can.

In the town of Drumheller near Willow Point Way,
A young girl grew older with each passing day.
With her nose in a book,
In a comfortable nook,
She drank up her stories as time passed away.


But more than her stories or books that she had,
She loved being home with her mom and her dad.
Playing games with her sisters,
Like Uno and Twister,
‘Twas life’s simple gifts that made her quite glad.

The family soon moved to a land full of mountains,
With towering cliffs and river rock fountains.
And our story’s young girl,
With gold hair and no curls,
Grew up like a weed as the days kept on countin’.


With age came her beauty, and oh how divine!
Her splendor extends from her toes to her spine.
Her eyes aqua blue,
Such a heavenly hue!
God made her with care. She was one of a kind.

The only thing gone from her splendid existence,
Was someone to love without passive resistance,
Then it happened one night.
When a boy caught her sight,
And they went on their first date with his keen persistence.

He was handsome and kind, with a quick-witted tongue,
And he fell for her quickly despite being young,
At first she thought no,
But love started to grow,
When a ballad of love he had wrote had been sung.

“No” turned into “yes,” and “like” turned into “love.”
At times things were rough but when push came to shove,
He knew he loved her,
And he knew she concurred,
Now nothing could stop them except God above.

With the Big Man’s endorsement they were ready to hitch,
There were flowers to order and dresses to stitch,
The big moment came,
Without fortune or fame.
'Twas a magical day without one single glitch.


They’ve traveled the world and had many adventures,
They’ve tried soul food and seafood and many thirst quenchers,
They know Barcelona,
Like experts fide bona,
And the good times won’t stop with old age or cheap dentures.

The man's love for his lady burns brighter and brighter,
Than kerosene mixed with dry paper and lighter.
They call her Celeste,
She’s not good – she’s the best.
And the bond with her true love forever grows tighter.

He's Baaaaaaack!

When I busted out a groovy rap for my students back around Christmastime, I told them it was the last time they'd have a teacher rap for them, and that they should thank their lucky stars for the once-in-a-lifetime experience I had just given them.

And I meant it.

Then, about a month later, I had my students writing some pretty intense research papers about the contrasting philosophies of Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. Dubois. As I was proofreading a student's essay, I looked down and saw my finger tapping rhythmically against my desk. Before I knew it, my head was nodding mindlessly to an invisible beat, and words started to creep to the forefront of my mind, completely unbidden. Before I knew it, stanzas with rhyming endings had taken full form in my brain. And when they came, I knew that I couldn't turn them back into the dark recesses of my brain. I had no choice. I had to share them.

But I didn't want to just want to do the same thing I did in December. So I upped the ante. Or I tried to, at least. In the words of EminOlsen, "I guess it's up to you to decide..."