Dominican Republic Personal Essay Example
I was born October 4th, 1992 in Hartford, Connecticut. I have spent the past fifteen years growing up as a typical American girl. I go to school, I listen to music, and I go shopping with friends. I had never once stopped to think twice about the privileges that I had living as an upper class citizen of the United States- it was just the way life was. On a particular July day, an American Airlines Boeing 737 aircraft landed at the Gregorio Luperón International Airport in Puerto Plata. My American family was now in the Dominican Republic.
My grandparents had planned for our family to vacation to the Dominican Republic. Every three years we took a family vacation together, generally to an extravagant location where we were to spend a week as royalty. As I sat in my large first class seat I pondered how my week would unfold. From soaks in the Jacuzzi to glasses of Don Perrion, I could not contain my excitement.
Puerta Plata airport was unique in an unexpected way. The tiny shabby shacks that were selling bottles of Presidente and serving up plates of La Bandera Dominica were nearly as bewildering as the numerous russet colored people treading by hectically. Outside of the unknown walls of Gregorio Luperón lies not only the true beauty of the country, but furthermore its greatest weaknesses. Outside the safe windows of the unair-conditioned taxicab was something incomprehensible to the typical American. Human beings housed in actual straw huts for a home, women were selling fruit from grimy wicker baskets street side just to scrape up enough coins to feed her children that night. Clotheslines held the few garments families were proud to own, and the half naked bodies of small children were running barefoot through the dirt. All I could do was hold on safely to the door handle of the cab. My vacation was a weeklong. Their poverty was a lifetime.
Cabrera was where our villa home was located. Cabrera is known as one of the most stunning areas of the country, but
My grandparents had planned for our family to vacation to the Dominican Republic. Every three years we took a family vacation together, generally to an extravagant location where we were to spend a week as royalty. As I sat in my large first class seat I pondered how my week would unfold. From soaks in the Jacuzzi to glasses of Don Perrion, I could not contain my excitement.
Puerta Plata airport was unique in an unexpected way. The tiny shabby shacks that were selling bottles of Presidente and serving up plates of La Bandera Dominica were nearly as bewildering as the numerous russet colored people treading by hectically. Outside of the unknown walls of Gregorio Luperón lies not only the true beauty of the country, but furthermore its greatest weaknesses. Outside the safe windows of the unair-conditioned taxicab was something incomprehensible to the typical American. Human beings housed in actual straw huts for a home, women were selling fruit from grimy wicker baskets street side just to scrape up enough coins to feed her children that night. Clotheslines held the few garments families were proud to own, and the half naked bodies of small children were running barefoot through the dirt. All I could do was hold on safely to the door handle of the cab. My vacation was a weeklong. Their poverty was a lifetime.
Cabrera was where our villa home was located. Cabrera is known as one of the most stunning areas of the country, but