Entering the village is like walking into an adventure movie set simultaneously in the 19th and 21st centuries. Brown infants frolic naked, welders bang on their ironwork, a fishmonger cleans the morning's brightly colored catch. Chickens peck and scratch. Women bustle through their errands, housework and laundry, occasionally succumbing to the music and breaking into dance, fingers a'wag. You will dance.
Stoic dogs sleep on sidewalks at regular intervals, as if assigned by some higher canine authority.
People here are genuinely friendly and willing to laugh at even the lamest traveler's joke. Unlike other destinations in the Caribbean, there is little overt resentment at material disparity. To be sure, many ambitious young Dominicans yearn to cross over to the United States, and many will, but with stable democratic governments, the lot of people here has steadily improved, as well. The feel of the place is much like Spain of the 1960s, as it began its transition from fascist isolation to mainstream membership in the European community. Heck, many folks in the Dominican Republic still travel to work on the backs of burros.