Right out of college, I managed to land a job working for a newly formed artists’ village in the Dominican Republic called Altos de Chavon, a truly magical place. Hot pink bougainvillea flowers drip from balconies. Cars are forbidden on its narrow cobblestone streets. Honey-coated notes from a practicing musician occasionally drift up from the outdoor amphitheater. Handcrafted metal sculptures peer from under handhewn wooden eaves. If you’re lucky, a breeze, soft as a whisper, might dance across your face; brief relief from the jungle’s nearly tangible heat.
Today, Altos is an established cultural center. Artists from all over the world take advantage of its residency program. Students attend its design school, a Parsons affiliate. Exhibitions of Dominican and international art hang in its galleries. An archaelogical museum honors the rich Taino Indian history. When I worked there, it was my job to book the talent in the 5,000-seat outdoor amphitheater(!) I met my husband there—he was my boss. These pictures are from a trip we made years later.
If you go, stop by Milton’s supercerveza in La Romana on the way. He’s mastered the art of preparing a beer just on the brink of freezing. You’ll be sitting on a bar stool out in the open, sweat dripping down your back; he’ll set a Presidente in front of you but motion that it’s not ready to drink. He’ll go back to talking with his cronies. Just when you think he’s forgotten all about you, he’ll motion for you to go ahead. It will be the best beer of your life.Want me to write more about Altos?
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