A couple of weeks ago, after a hike up to the top of the tallest peak in the eastern half of northernmost mountain range in the DR (incidentally, in the pouring rain, which turned out to be a bad idea when I got sick after), I made my way into San Francisco de Macoris, the third-largest city in the DR. Famous mostly for having a lot of drug money and former US-based mid-level dealers running around, it is actually a pretty nice city, with modern conveniences like parks with wireless in which I would never sit outside with my computer open. It also has my favorite restaurant in the country with the best passion fruit (chinola) frozen margaritas I’ve ever had.
Anyway, I happened by San Francisco de Macoris on January 25, or Día de Duarte. Duarte is like Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, FDR, MLK, and Michael Jackson all rolled into one. That big. San Francisco also happens to be the seat of Duarte Province. Duarte Day, as I have pointed out on other occasions, is like many other Dominican holidays, in which principle activities include not going to work, not going to school, and drinking or at the least, hours spent at the colmado. I managed to arrive in the city just in time to see that the President was speaking, on what a great man Duarte was. His inspirational oratory was followed by an equally inspired parade. Various parts of the Dominican armed forces marched by, followed by some bands, flag-waving children, firefighters, teachers, more bands, the local professional baseball team (Giants) that had lost the Dominican version of the World Series the previous evening, guys on stilts, and a series of tableaus of Duarte’s life in which solitary guys painted in all white stood on banner-strewn floats pushed by orange-clad part-time national guardsmen. Quite a sight.
More on Duarte. He was one of the three “founding fathers” who fought against the Spanish in the war of independence in 1844 (Note that this is 20+ years after most of Latin America achieved its independence from Spain. These guys were a little slow on the ball). The other two are named Sánchez and Mella, and are all but forgotten. Sure, they pop up every so often, but it is Duarte who takes the cake. Duarte appears everywhere – the one real highway is called Duarte, as are the main streets and central parks and plazas in most cities. Duarte generously lends his name to schools, hospitals, community groups, and many other public spaces and buildings. Like many other Dominicans, Duarte even made it to New York – there is a thirteen-foot statue in his likeness towers on Canal Street. Moral of the story: Duarte is a big deal.
One of the pictures is of the professional baseball team in town (called the Giants) who marched in the parade after losing the completely lopsided and controversy-laden Dominican version of the World Series. No matter, they were still well-received. The other is of firefighters with sledgehammers (?), whom I have never seen in action in my time in country.
