Into the Amazon (Day 1)

Just before dawn we sat in the lounge of our hotel when David knocked at the glass door. We shook his hand then walked down the cobble-stoned street with packs over our shoulders, down to the corner where a van waited for us across the street. We climbed in the van and met our new travel-mates, which included two Czechs, a Russian, an Aussie, and our cook, Dora, a native Peruvian. 

As we drove out of the city, I knew we were headed south because now the rising sun glared through the window on my left side. At a panaderia on the edge of town we stopped and Dora bought some bread. I purchased a bottle of water and two bread rolls, one for me and the other for Jenna. 

The paved road weaved back and forth, passing farm houses, the occasional street cart, and cows. The road traveled up a mountain, then down to a valley, across a river, then back up a mountain. There were no straight paths. 

At times the road turned to dirt, either from a mudslide, or construction. 

Mount Sahuasiray stands in the distance at an elevation of 19,088 feet.

While approaching another summit, this one at 11,800 feet, we diverted to a dirt road and pulled over near a collection of ancient structures that reminded me in size and appearance of Anasazi granaries. This was Ninamarca, a pre-Inca cemetery. 

According to our guide, each stone structure (called a chullpa) once contained the mummified body of a person in the fetal position. They may have been of nobility or higher class, using the little stone towers to keep their bodies cool. There were, however, no bodies still entombed. Our guide supposed that they were taken out during the Spanish conquest. Over the years a few human bones have been discovered.

What made the site even more fascinating to me was its location. From its vantage point at the top of a hill, it overlooked a small village on one side, and in the distance to the north stood the snow-capped Mount Sahuasiray, which rises over 19,000 feet. 

Chullpas at Ninamarca, a pre-Inca cemetery.

By now we were getting to know the crew. The conversation was very much international and Pavel, the Russian, didn't have much good to say about Putin. Tony, the Aussie, was very personable and loved to talk. I was surprised to hear his conservative viewpoints. 

At 8 o'clock we stopped at Paucartambo for breakfast. Paucartambo is a colonial village with a stone bridge over the river. Many of the old buildings are two stories high with painted blue doors. We stopped along the main road which was across the street from the market. 

The smell of simmering pork filled the air as we walked inside. Four legs and a pig's head simmered inside a cauldron —A lady sold biscuits of bread and there was a bar where locals ate bowls of stew. Upstairs in one room they sliced raw meat and in another they sold fresh fruit.

In front of the market ladies sold food from a cart. We each bought a small avocado sandwich, a slice of sweet bread, and for myself, a warm quinoa beverage with a hint of apple flavor. They poured it into a bag and gave me a straw. 

The village of Paucartambo.

Lady selling food and drink from a cart in Paucartambo.

After leaving Paucartambo, we left the pavement for good. There was no simple pathway this entire ride. Always on the edge of a mountain—an upward slope on one side and a drop-off on the other. 

The road gradually climbed in elevation and I watched the other side of the valley through the window. An unknown river swiftly flowed down the center, and on the other side was a patchwork of farms. I have noticed that here in the Andes they truly know how to efficiently use as much land as possible.

During this section we came across construction, which halted momentum for twenty minutes. During that time a water truck backed into the car in front of us breaking a headlight. We thought we'd never get past them after they started bickering, but luckily they moved aside and we were finally able to carry on our journey. 

Farmland on the hillside and river running below (as seen through the window).

Construction on road that runs to the Amazon.

We continued to wend higher and higher until finally we came out on a mountain pass that was now barren of trees. We traveled over the pass and toward another steep drop-off. I noticed wisps of clouds moving in, some of them below us. Soon, we were enveloped by clouds on all sides. 

Aptly named, this was the beginning of the cloud forest. At 11,151 feet, it would be our last high elevation point. From here it would be a long drive down. 

Beginning of the cloud forest.

Making up for lost time, our driver, Gabriel, sped down the mountain as fast as possible without sliding off the edge. To make matters more nerve-racking for myself as I sat next to the window was that clouds still covered everything. Not only could we barely see in front of us, but the abyss at our left was exactly that—an abyss. We couldn't see the bottom. And to make matters worse, I learned that Gabriel was only 19 years old! 

The drive down lasted forever! This was the part of our journey where we truly dropped into the Amazon. Clouds eventually moved out and vegetation became thick and tangled. Around every hairpin turn was another waterfall on the edge of the road. We passed dozens of them. 

One of many waterfalls off the side of the road.

Most of our journey was along roads like this one, perched next to a cliff.

From time to time we would get out and walk down the road looking for colorful birds. David, our guide, was the best at finding them. Some birds were black and camouflaged well, but the red macaw stood out markedly through the spotting scope whenever we looked. 

During one of our walks on the road the van continued to a further location so Dora would have time to prepare lunch. By the time we arrived she was serving up plates of chaufa at a picnic table on the side of the road. Chaufa is a rice and chicken dish of Chinese influence, but native to Peru. We poured glasses of Coke and enjoyed conversation. 

We learned the names of our Czech friends, Jan and Magdalena. They were in their early thirties and just got engaged while on the Salcantay trek here in Peru. She is a practicing Catholic, but he agnostic. 

Chaufa, a Peruvian dish with Chinese influence.

There were a hundred different things to see on the drive down, but we couldn't stop for all of them. Some waterfalls were better than others and I wish we could have stopped at more. Far below raged a torrential river, but you could barely see it through the trees. Next to the road was a steep ledge that would probably swallow you up if you got too close. It was impossible to know where terra firma ended with all the foliage. 

As we got further down, the road became consistently muddy. Although this was the dry season, it still rained quite frequently in the Amazon. 

And we came to trust Gabriel's driving. Apparently he has been driving big trucks since he was fifteen years old. He is a very good driver. I couldn't do it. Several times he had to stop in the middle of the road and backup for oncoming traffic. He knew the vehicle and knew what felt right. 

We drove through several tunnels. Gabriel slowed to a crawl when passing through because each tunnel was bumpy and filled with standing water and mud. 

A breathtaking view of the mountainside as we drop into the Amazon.

Another waterfall.

Walking down the road looking for birds and monkeys.

A butterfly in the middle of the road.

Our highlight of the day came when we stopped the vehicle to look for monkeys. At first we were out of luck. David whistled for them, but nothing came. 

We were on the verge of giving up when Jan spotted one jumping through the trees. He became excited like a little kid! 

It was a family of them. They are known as brown capuchin monkeys. 

First there was one, then two, then a small group. They climbed on the branches, moving from tree to tree to get a closer look at us. Their hands appeared like black leather gloves and they used them to grasp the bamboo branches as they walked on all fours. When we threw them a banana they stood on hind feet and used their black leather hands to catch. They were pretty good at catch. They ate the banana much like a human, then tossed the peel away when they were done. 

Brown capuchins are very intelligent. They have a relatively large brain for their body size and are good at problem solving. They feed largely on fruit and insects. 

Brown capuchin monkey.

Two brown capuchin monkeys.

David, our guide, was an expert in spotting and calling in wildlife.

It was getting late and we had to go in haste if we were going to make it by dark. We were now finally making it to the lower parts of the Amazon, an elevation near 1,730 feet. We had dropped nearly 10,000 feet! 

Once we leveled out we began seeing shacks and ramshackle brick houses. This was a village and I didn't know its name. Women walked on the street, kids played ball. All the roads remained dirt. 

It was interesting that here the vista opened up and we could once again see into the distance. This was due to villagers removing trees for practical purposes. 

Kids play soccer in a remote village in the Amazon.

Shortly after that village, we came to another. I knew the name of this one—Pillcopata. We didn't stop, but I looked at it through the window. It seemed dirty and it amazed me how villages like these could exist so far away from civilization. By now it had been eleven hours since we left our hotel—most of it on a dirt road. This was extremely remote. 

After leaving the village we crossed a river on a bridge and turned onto a side road which led to our lodge. It was now sunset and the fronds of the jungle were turning into silhouette. 

Amazonian village of Pillcopata.

The old walking bridge still spans the river.

I am sitting in our room as I write this. There are two twin beds, two nightstands, and a chair. The walls are paper thin (I can hear the Russian snoring in the next room). Outside is the music of cicadas and frogs. 

We have one sole light to illuminate our room and it is quite dim. We have an outlet which seems to work. But no internet. 

There are detached bathrooms and showers, which are just a thirty second walk from our room. Jenna found a frog on the bathroom wall. 

There is a communal eating area. Dora and another lady made our dinner. 

This is a surreal feeling. I've always wanted to spend the night in a jungle and here I am. Far away from everything and very disconnected. Either frightening or blissful, depending on how you see it.

 

Our lodge (with bathrooms and showers on right side).

 

Quest for the Dominican Dish

Fish and tostones.

Half the experience of foreign travel comes in eating the local food. 

Before our recent trip to the Dominican Republic, I was excited to contact Lucy, a dear friend whose roots run deep in that country. I asked her if she had any suggestions on food that we must try. Her response was enthusiastic and extensive. 

She messaged me a list Dominican dishes, complete with pictures, the Spanish translation, where they could be found, and how they tasted. And she didn't stop there. I was sent pictures of fruits, desserts and drinks. By the time she was done, my mouth was salivating and I was anxious to begin my quest.

But my search proved to be a bit more difficult than I had anticipated. Our trip would be split between beach and city. Our first stop, Playa Dominicus, had one of the prettiest beaches I had ever seen! But authentic Dominican food was another story. This coastal town on the Caribbean Sea, popular with Europeans, proved to have almost exclusively Italian food! 

Plantains are common throughout the Dominican Republic.

After enjoying an evening of fine white sand, calm blue waters and a beautiful sunset against a silhouette of palm trees, we wandered back into town for our first sit-down meal. We decided on an outdoor restaurant serving pizza, spaghetti and linguine. There was one sole Dominican dish on the menu, and of course, that's what I ordered: arroz con habichuelas. 

Rice and beans are a staple in many Central American countries, including the Caribbean. This meal was simple. I received a scoop of herbed rice alongside a small bowl of black beans, stewed in a broth of spices. It came with a tasty leg of chicken. I think this meal could also be called la bandera, which is considered the national dish. Translated as 'flag', this dish consists of rice, beans, meat and salad. No matter what you call it, the meal was simple and satisfying. 

Arroz con habichuelas.

The next four days proved just as challenging. We didn't eat constant Dominican food like I had hoped, but rather a taste here, a bite there. The one constant was the free breakfast at our hotel. Every morning we were brought a plate of fresh fruit: always a sliced banana, pineapple and papaya. The papaya and pineapple were probably the juiciest and sweetest I had ever eaten. 

On another day we had a pleasant surprise on the beach when a lady came around selling small samples of sweets. When she announced what she had, I immediately recognized it as one of Lucy's recommendations. I bought a small cup of dulce de coco for 50 pesos. It was easily the most wonderful dessert I had the entire trip.  A coconut dessert par excellence! Each day after that I kept an eye out for that lady, hoping to buy more, but never saw her again. 

Sweet Dominican fruit.

Little cups of heaven being sold on the beach. My favorite was dulce de coco.

Twice we took a boat tour to an exotic island where we spent the day either snorkeling or lounging on the beach. Each day they fed us a buffet-style lunch. This gave us a chance to sample several kinds of food, but we didn't know the name of any, nor if it was authentic. We dished up rice and beans, fresh fruit, rolls, sausage and grilled chicken. They tried to charge us an arm and a leg to boil up a fresh lobster, but we passed. Maybe we should have done it. 

Buffet on the beach.

One of the fascinating aspects of Dominican food is that much of it is a fusion between many different cultures. Just like the people who inhabit the island, any food could likely have roots in Africa, Spain, other Caribbean countries, or even West Asia and China. 

One such dish is mofongo, a recipe influenced from Africa, with Spanish and Taíno influence. It consists primarily of fried plantains which are then mashed and cooked with a variety of spices. We found ours at a restaurant in Playa Dominicus where it came served with a salsa and topped with several (hard) chicharrónes (or pork cracklings). It had a wonderful, but simple flavor, especially when topped with sauce. 

Mofongo.

My favorite eating experience came after swimming at an isolated beach in Bayahibe. Lucy had told us that the beach was the best place to eat fish and tostones, and she was right. After crawling out of the water and drying off, we walked across the dirt road and found a so-called restaurant in someone's back yard. (For the longer version, click here.) 

We walked inside an area enclosed by a bamboo fence and sat down to a wobbly table. There were no menus. A lady with an Aunt Jemima scarf around her head took our order and a few minutes later we watched her taking a slimy fish back to her little shack. 

After another thirty minutes she returned with a beautifully grilled fish, which included head and fins, as well as a plate of rice and tostones, or fried plantains. The fish was arguably the best I ever had; moist in the middle and well-flavored. The tostones had a hint of salty sweetness. 

We saw no other customers while we were there and I enjoyed every minute. We even got to watch a gecko crawl on the wall behind us! 

A gecko watching us eat.

Moving on we traveled to Santo Domingo. Here I hoped to find a new culinary experience, something less touristy and perhaps more authentic. 

We arrived in the chaotic capital. After checking into our hotel we immediately hit the street hoping to find a place to eat. We were away from the tourist section and finding an eating establishment didn't come as easy as I thought it would. Yes, we saw a few places here and there selling sandwiches, but nothing offering authentic fare. 

Lady selling samples of food for 75 pesos.

We must have appeared lost because a local guy came up and asked what we were looking for. I told him we wanted Dominican food. He then took us into the backstreets, places I would never have found on my own. I wouldn't even call them streets, but walking paths. If he weren't with us, I would have felt we were trespassing. 

He came to one restaurant, but it was closed. Another was open, but all the food was gone except for a serving of rice and beans. A third was selling food, but it wasn't Dominican. None of the restaurants had signs and none were on Google Maps. They were all hidden to the common foreigner. We thanked him for being so kind and parted ways. We settled on a sandwich shop. 

The bottom item is a quipe.

I will comment briefly on a few of the foods we ate during our time in Santo Domingo: 

Quipes. A lady on the street was selling a sampling of food for 75 pesos. It included quipes, which is a fried bulgur roll with flavored meat in the middle. It was brought to the D.R. by immigrants from the Middle East. 

Mangú. Served frequently for breakfast, mangú consists of mashed fried plantains. When it is served with salami, eggs, and cheese, it is considered mangú con los tres golpes (or with the three punches). At the time, we didn't know this was the typical Dominican breakfast, nor did we know that the caramelized onions were supposed to top the mangú. 

Typical Dominican breakfast. Mangú is the mushy stuff on the right.

Cane sugar. Driving anywhere long distance in the Dominican Republic will most likely take you past sugar cane fields. It is no surprise then that cane sugar is the sweetener of preference. I still don't understand the difference, but the sugar we ate in the D.R. had a better taste than that from back home, and the crystals were bigger. 

Batidas. These are smoothies, made with local fruit that is always sweet and fresh. Very yummy.

Yaniqueque. Pretty simple. Fried dough with salt, and sometimes accompanied with ketchup. We only ate this once, which was at family carnival on the Malecón. 

Cane sugar.

Street food cart selling yaniqueques and quipes.

For our final day in Santo Domingo we searched out a restaurant for one last hoorah. We decided on El Conuco, a cozy little place in the Gazcue District. We chose it because it specialized in Dominican food. 

Although outside the restaurant appeared like every other street in Santo Domingo, inside it looked like a giant tiki hut. The floor was laid in stone with wooden tables atop it. Walls were painted a variety of bright colors and ceiling fans circulated outdoor air. 

I ordered a bowl of sancocho, a typical Domincan stew with meat, potato, yucca, plantain, yam and a drumstick on top. It was accompanied with a bowl of rice. The stew had a very good, but not overwhelming flavor and the texture was thick and smooth. 

My family thinks I'm crazy, but I love stews. They are hearty. They are nutritious. They are savory. Stews from a foreign country usually represent what the typical person would eat. Perhaps everyday. Dishes that are stews usually don't become world-famous, but often they are more authentic than those that do.

I relished every bite. I alternated between the stew and rice, sometimes dipping the rice into the thick broth. Then I would pull the drumstick out with my fingers and take a nibble. 

Less than twenty four hours later we were gone, out of the country and heading home. Among my memories of the Dominican Republic were the beaches, the people, the chaos of Santo Domingo, and most certainly the food. ♠

 

Sancocho.

 

10 Pleasant Surprises in Phoenix

I recently visited the area of Phoenix, Arizona for the first time since becoming an adult. Recently my daughter completed a mission for our church near the area of Scottsdale. She would be our guide. I didn't plan much (unlike usual), which led to many unexpected experiences. Here's a list of ten pleasant surprises we encountered. 

Mural in Downtown Phoenix.

1. Downtown Phoenix. We parked near Roosevelt and Second Street with the intention of perusing the Arts District. The place was busier than normal with a long line of people waiting to enter some sort of cannabis convention. That wasn't our thing so we continued walking and ended up in the center of town near Chase Field (home to the Arizona Diamondbacks) and below all the skyscrapers. We found an alleyway with walls covered in street art. It was a cool place to chill and take photos. 

Box of BoSa Donuts.

2. BoSa Donuts. Kaitlyn was excited to take us to this donut shop. BoSa Donuts is based in Arizona and has an amazing selection of this tasty confectionery. We stopped by a shop in Mesa and it was a relief to be away from the hustle and bustle of the more popular areas. If I lived near a BoSa, I would definitively come often as I have a weakness for donuts. 

Eating at The Beach House.

3. Eating with the Riggses. One of the great pleasures of this trip was to meet with people that Kaitlyn worked with on her mission. One such duo was Brother and Sister Riggs, an elderly missionary couple who live in the area. They met us at The Beach House on Camelback Road, a quaint joint that serves tacos and slushies. The Riggses had no problem at all talking with us. They carried on as if we had been lifelong friends. Indeed we shared a common culture and heritage which helped give us an immediate connection. They were kind, gentle, down to earth and very personable. In the end they insisted on paying for our meals and gave us all hugs as we parted. 

Top of Camelback Mountain.

4. Camelback Mountain. Since the first time Kaitlyn wrote home after climbing Camelback Mountain, I knew it was a hike on which she wanted to take me. We almost didn't get to go because parking was full and law enforcement officers were turning cars away. This hike is probably the most popular in the Phoenix area. When we finally got our turn I was impressed with the scenic vistas, saguaro cacti and relentless uphill slope of the hike. Definitely not for the weak. 

Arizona sunset.

5. Sunsets. Need I say more? We hardly saw a single cloud, but watching the sun go down behind Arizona palm trees is enough to make me nostalgic. 

Easter Pageant at the Mesa, Arizona Temple.

6. Mesa Arizona Easter Pageant. On the north lawn of the Mesa Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is held the largest annual outdoor Easter Pageant in the world. I barely knew this existed until a couple weeks before we came, and we just happened to be there for Easter weekend. I will admit that it was bigger and more impressive than I expected. Thousands were gathered on chairs and blankets to watch the pageant. The musical, which lasted slightly over an hour, included 450 actors. The production is titled Jesus the Christ, and depicts the life of the Savior from before his birth until the time of his resurrection. It was a very pleasant evening under the warm Arizona air. 

Town Lake in Tempe, Arizona.

7. Chilling at Tempe Town Lake. This wasn't planned at all. In fact, we hoped to walk through the botanical gardens, but when we learned it was $39 per person just to enter, we said no way! So we drove down the road and ended up in Tempe. The town lake is the result of damming up the Salt River and creating a lake that looks like an even bigger river. There is a park along the shore called Tempe Beach Park. We enjoyed sitting at the edge of the water and watching the boats on the lake and people walking through the park. 

Headstone of Waylon Jennings.

8. Waylon Jennings' Grave. Our purpose of going to the Mesa City Cemetery was to visit the grave of my fourth great grandfather, Joseph Ellis Johnson. He is buried in the older section. But to my great surprise I learned that country music legend, Waylon Jennings, was buried a few sections away. I used this as a teaching experience for the kids. We got their picture with the headstone and then listened to the Dukes of Hazzard theme song on the way out. 

Meeting the Juarez family.

9. The Juarez Family. Our final day in Phoenix was a Sunday and we chose to attend a Spanish-speaking congregation for Sabbath worship. There we met several people who knew my daughter and spoke fondly of her. But it was Elvira Juarez and her two daughters who spent the most time with us. We sat in the pew just behind them and talked for several minutes before the meeting started. It delighted my soul to meet people that had such a loving connection with my daughter.
 

View of Table Mesa, north of Phoenix.

10. Table Mesa Road. This was a location just north of Phoenix. We had to find a spot to change out of our Sunday clothes and I chose here, a location off the beaten path that would give us authentic scenery and privacy at the same time. We turned off the freeway onto this road and I will admit that I was a little hesitant. It looked eerily similar to the border with Mexico and I didn't want to get shot. Saguaro cactus dotted the arid hillside. Even if it was only brief, I was excited to be here. 

Arizona Canal looking back toward Camelback Mountain. (photo by Nicholas Gerbis)

Bonus: Canals. I was very surprised to see so many wide canals carrying water across the valley. How can such a hot and dry place have so much water? But the bigger intrigue came when I learned that many of these canals had ancient origins. When the first European settlers arrived in the Salt River Valley they found an extensive network of abandoned canals built over a thousand years ago by the Hohokam people. Much of this civilization remains a mystery, but archeologists now agree that it was the largest irrigation system in North America at the time. The original settlers built and expanded on this early canal system. In this manner, the Phoenix area has been an oasis for over a thousand years. ♠

A Dominican Baseball Game

As we prepared to land in Santo Domingo, I couldn't help but to look down from my airplane window and notice the abundance of baseball diamonds dotting the landscape. They seemed to be everywhere! Not the kind with lush, manicured outfields, but the kind with dirt and no bleachers, surrounded either by jungle or sugar cane fields. 

The national sport of the Dominican Republic is baseball. They have produced many stars to the Major Leagues such as Sammy Sosa and Albert Pujols. As I observed I became nostalgic. It reminded me of how baseball was in the United States fifty years ago. Kids playing in the streets and vacant lots. They didn't have the fancy equipment, the travel teams—or even cleats—like we have now, but they loved the sport. 

Watching a Little League baseball practice in Bayahibe, Dominican Republic.

If you look closely beyond the field you can see the Caribbean Sea.

At one of our beach towns on the southern coast we passed a ball field with Little League-aged kids having practice. The road near the field had sea shells embedded in the road base. There was a small set of bleachers and dugouts, but no outfield fence. If you looked through the trees you could see the blue of the Caribbean Sea. 

We paused for fifteen minutes and with pleasure watched the boys as they took batting practice. Many of the players did very well, showing off their skill, but with others it was obvious they weren't so good. There was a mixture of all kinds. 

As we watched, a father showed up on a moped with his two sons. They jumped off and joined the team. Off to the side a couple of boys played catch and were embarrassed when they missed a ball and I had to fetch it for them. If only they knew how much I wanted to jump in and join them! 

Looking into the dugout of the Leones del Escogido.

As part of our adventure we planned on watching a professional game in Santo Domingo. Yes, I said professional. Until doing research for this trip I had no idea that the Domincan Republic had their own professional baseball league. There are six teams, two of them located in the nation's capital. The winner of the league plays in the Caribbean Series, which includes teams from Cuba, Panama, Columbia, Venezuela and Mexico. 

Our day came to watch the game and we hired a taxi driver to take us to Quisqueya Stadium, far away from the historical Colonial Zone of Santo Domingo. The process to buy tickets wasn't hard at all as we were met by scalpers from the second we left the taxi. 

But after we had bought the tickets and the taxi driver was long gone, we faced our next big obstacle. While walking through security to enter the stadium, they asked for our vaccination cards. What!!?? Of course, we had them, but we left them back at our hotel. It hadn't crossed our minds that we would need them. After a gesture of shock and disbelief, and a true sob-story that our cards were at our hotel, the ticket lady let us in. Hallelujah! 

Man selling concessions.

Quisqueya Stadium is about the size of many Minor League coliseums, having a capacity of just over 14,000 people. It is home for two ball clubs. Tonight we would watch one of them, the Leones del Escogido. 

We found our seats behind home-plate, but up higher in the grandstand. It was a vibrant crowd. There was a lot of enthusiasm and even a band. People waved red flags in the air and drank plenty of the national beer, El Presidente (some of which was spilled on my back by the guy sitting behind us). 

The windup and pitch.

Enjoying ourselves at the ballgame.

While waiting for the game to start I left Jenelle with our seats and walked down to buy a pizza for 900 pesos. While I waited the Dominican national anthem began to play and everyone stopped where they were to pay respect. 

Although the seats were only half-filled, the electricity felt like there were 60,000 people. The crowd, you could tell, loved their sport. Stormy clouds rolled overhead, but didn't drop a single bead of rain. Sunset came and went, and big dome lights turned on. 

Photos on the wall of former players for Escogido.

Photo of Felipe Alou and Juan Marichal, both from the Dominican Republic.

Between innings I went back into the halls of the stadium and glanced at the pictures on the wall. I found portraits of Felipe Alou, Juan Marichal, Junior Naboa, Sammy Sosa and more. All of them played for Escogido at one time in their careers. 

Juan Marichal was nicknamed the Dominican Dandy and was the first from the country to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. As a child he lived on a farm on the northern coast where he took care of the horses, goats and donkeys. He loved to swim and fish. One day while swimming near the river he fell unconscious and remained in a coma for nine days. The doctor ordered a steam bath which eventually helped him wake up. 

He eventually learned how to play baseball from his older brother. In the early days they would find golf balls and pay a shoemaker one peso to sew cloth around it thick enough to use as a baseball. They used tree branches for bats and canvas tarps for mitts. Some of his playmates were the Alou brothers, who would also go on to play in the Major Leagues. 

Remember, as he played as a kid, there were no Dominicans playing professional ball. In fact, Juan was only the second, behind Ozzie Virgil. But that was his aspiration. I don't know anything about his playing with Escogido, but I know he did because I saw the pictures on the wall, wearing the uniform. Juan went on to pitch for the San Francisco Giants, becoming one of the most successful players of his day. 

Seventh inning stretch.

This must be the mascot, but it doesn't look like a lion!

During the seventh inning stretch, everyone stood and sang their version of Take Me Out to the Ballgame. By the end of nine innings, Escogido had won Los Toros del Este by a score of 3 to 1. 

Before we left the stadium I had one last thing I had to do—buy a souvenir. In the gift shop I found an array of expensive merchandise, most in the form of clothing. I noted that many of the jerseys had “Pujols” printed on the back. 

“Did Albert Pujols play for Escogido?” I asked one of the men there. He was quick to point out that yes, he did, and he was even coming to play during the off-season as soon as the regular season was over. (The Dominicans have their season during the winter.) 

I was excited to hear that and it was enough to persuade me to buy a t-shirt with the Escogidos logo on front and Pujols on the back. Even though biographical writers in the U.S. are reluctant to mention the teams Dominican players played for in their home country, it is obvious that locals will know, and are very proud. 

And one other interesting tidbit I learned about Albert Pujols, the Santo Domingo native: when he was young he used limes for baseballs and milk cartons for gloves. ♠ 

Quisqueya Stadium in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.

 

Battle of Ramsour's Mill

I am a newcomer to the history of the Revolutionary War. I grew up in the West, far from the eastern battlefields. To illustrate this point, when Benedict Arnold was defeated at the Battle of Valcour Island on October 11, 1776, Dominguez and Escalante were on the other side of the continent passing through an empty valley inhabited only by Paiute Indians. That empty valley is where I now live. Therefore, the stories and setting of the war are far removed from my own experience. 

Recently I visited North Carolina and was placed on ground zero of Revolutionary battlefields. Just being there brought the battles alive. Some of the conflicts were major and others minor. The Battle of Ramsour's Mill falls into the latter category. 

My study of the war has really made me wonder which side I would have been on had I lived back then. Loyalist or Patriot? It's easy to look back with hindsight and think I would have been a Patriot, but it wasn't so cut and dry. Having nothing besides ideology separating the two sides, it would be the equivalent—at least in my mind—of a modern war between Republicans and Democrats. 

They say that the Revolution was North America's first civil war. That point is illustrated perhaps no better than at the Battle of Ramsour's Mill. When all was said and done, many of the dead, Loyalist and Patriot alike, were buried in the same mass grave because they couldn't be told apart. 

Millstone on display at the battleground site.

The battle took place in Lincoln County, North Carolina, just twenty five miles northwest of Charlotte. That area now consists of an elementary and high school, complete with football field and playground. The former is fittingly named Battleground Elementary. Clark Creek flows roughly north to south on the west side. 

Leading up to battle the British had gained momentum with decisive victories in Georgia and South Carolina under the command of Lord Cornwallis. In early June of 1780, Colonel John Moore and Major Nicholas Welch, both natives of Lincoln County, returned home and issued a call for local residents to assemble and support the Loyalists. By June 19th, over 1,000 men and boys, most unarmed, camped on the east bench of Clark Creek on the land of Christian Reinhardt. On the west was a gristmill operated by Jacob Ramsour. 

Meanwhile, Patriot General Griffith Rutherford, who was camped near Charlotte, learned of the assembling Loyalists. He sent orders to Colonel Francis Locke and other militia leaders to call up their militia groups. Locke responded by gathering 400 infantry and cavalry at Mountain Creek, a location sixteen miles northeast of the battle site.—It was decided by Locke's group to attack at daybreak without waiting for Rutherford's group, fearing the British might gain extra reinforcements. 

Clark Creek.

The Battle 

The Patriot militia left Mountain Creek and made a night march toward Ramsour's Mill. A heavy fog blanketed the area surrounding the mill and Christian Reinhardt's farm. Led by the cavalry, Patriot forces marched to battle, coming close to the Loyalist encampment before being discovered. 

The cavalry attacked first, followed by the infantry. The British were caught off-guard, but quickly recovered and fired back. Fighting was brutal, much of it hand to hand. Sometimes muskets were used as clubs due to lack of ammunition. They wore no uniforms. Patriots pinned white paper on their hats. Tories (or British) stuck green twigs in theirs. 

The Patriots were able to gain control of the ridge, but when they were unable to reform their line, Colonel Locke ordered a retreat. Captain John Dickey, the legendary hero of Ramsour's Mill, refused to obey orders and led a group of militiamen to higher ground. The marksmen, led by John Hardin, picked off several Loyalist soldiers and turned the battle into a victory. Loyalists retreated toward the mill, crossing to the west side of Clark Creek where they dispersed into the countryside. The battle lasted less than two hours. 

Grave of John Martin Shuford on the battlefield of Ramsour's Mill.

South of the football field is a sloping grassy field and a log cabin with rock chimney. I don't know the age of the cabin, nor whether it was connected to the battle. Next to it is a large millstone for display on the grass, as well as an interpretive sign. Near this is a parking area where my brother-in-law and I parked to explore what we could of the battlefield. 

North of the cabin next to a grove of trees is the grave of John Martin Shuford, a farmer recruited by the British to fight in the war. He died during battle at age 36. 

We walked along a dirt path through the grove of trees, alongside what appeared to be a practice field for the football team. Soon we came to Clark Creek, a small stream by North Carolina standards. Being left to our own knowledge—which wasn't much on this subject—we had no idea of the location of Jacob Ramsour's Mill, nor of Christian Reinhardt's farm. We found a few remains of something, but wasn't sure how old, or what it was. 

After the battle had ended and the fog had lifted, it was revealed that many had died. Estimates say that perhaps 50 to 70 on each side had perished, and several more than that were wounded. Many were wounded so severely that they died days later. 

Like I stated earlier, this was a battle between friends and family members. There is a story of Peter Costner, a Loyalist, who was killed by his brother, Thomas, who buried his brother's body after the combat. Another story tells of a man who rushed to battle hoping to kill his sibling, only to find that he had already been wounded and carried off. 

We wandered to other parts of the arena. On the south side of the school complex is what is referred to as “The General's Grave.” A sign indicated that there were several Generals killed in the battle, but two of them, John Dobson and John Bowman were interred at the site. Others were returned to their hometowns to be buried. What made the General's Grave interesting was that years later, when other family members had passed away, they chose to bury them there also. 

"The General's Grave," located behind the Elementary School at Lincolnton, North Carolina.

On the north side of the Elementary School, across the street from the football field, is a mass grave. Due to the fact that many of the soldiers could not be distinguished from one another because they wore no uniforms, they were respectfully buried together. Shortly after the battle work began to help the wounded and bury the dead. A large trench was dug on the west side of the hill where Loyalist and Patriot were interred as one. 

There was a somber feeling as we slowly walked around the mass grave. Today it is manicured with grass and surrounded with cement curbing. Two small Colonial flags are displayed at the corners. As we pondered, light raindrops began to fall. 

A nearby plaque reads: “Underneath this hallowed ground, lying between the borders marked, are the remains of many of the seventy brave and true citizen-soldiers, names unknown, Loyalists and Patriots, their bodies unclaimed. They died fighting, their strong beliefs intact, on that 20th day of June, 1780. Sacred to memory are those who fell, defending their beliefs, at the Battle of Ramsour's Mill. May these stones cry out—lest we forget!” 

A mass grave, which includes both Loytalist and Patriot.

The Aftermath 

On that day in June, 400 Patriots defeated 1,300 Loyalists. The victory weakened support and morale for the Loyalist cause and began momentum for the Patriots. It provided inspiration for the crucial victory at King's Mountain just a few months later. 

And remember Captain Dickey, the man who refused orders and led an attack that would turn the tide of battle? He was hailed as a hero, and perhaps a legend. A Patriot soldier composed a ballad to honor Captain Dickey. It has been sung many times in his honor. One verse remains: 

"Old Colonel Locke kept pretty well back,
While brave Captain Dickey commenced the attack.
He, Colonel Locke, ordered us to retreat and reform,
Which made our old hero mightily storm." 

By this time the rain was picking up and now a downpour. We darted quickly for the truck. As we drove through the green Carolina countryside, I couldn't help but to ponder the history tucked inside these lonely dales. History that was crucial to our nation's beginning, but is lost to the majority of us who have moved on or live so far away. ♠

Grave of Mary Anne Ramsour Butler at White Church Cemetery in Lincolnton. Daughter of Jacob Ramsour.