Three months ago, at 2:12 a.m., my apartment in Santiago de los Caballeros shuddered hard enough to rattle the rum bottle on top of the fridge. I bolted upright, mind racing in two languages at once. In English I muttered, “Earthquake?” while in Spanish I scolded myself—“¡Al suelo, James, al suelo!” Ten years in the Dominican Republic have taught me to respect tremors, but that night I realized my emergency kit—and my Spanish Vocabulary—were both out of date. It set me on a mission to freshen not only the batteries in my lantern but also the words I’d need to grab them in a hurry, whether I’m in a Dominican colmado or a Colombian ferretería on vacation.
The Tremor That Shook My Gringo Confidence
The quake registered a modest 4.8, yet my neighbors poured into the hallway with impressive coordination. One teenager called, “¿Tienen linternas?” and another yelled, “¡Agarren el botiquín!” I followed the instructions, but later I realized I’d hesitated because my bilingual brain was sifting through nouns—linterna or flashlight, botiquín or first-aid kit. That micro delay could be dangerous in a bigger quake. So I started rebuilding my kit, narrating every item in Spanish, and quizzing Dominican friends on regional slang while cross-checking Colombian equivalents during weekend getaways to Cartagena.
Understanding Dominican Seismic Culture
Why Abuela Packs the Maleta in June
Hurricane season overlaps with the island’s most active seismic months, so older Dominicans like Doña Carmen downstairs keep a maleta de emergencia tucked near the door year-round. She stuffs it with bottled water, dried mango, and a well-worn rosary. When I asked why, she replied, “Mijo, aquí tiembla y llueve al mismo tiempo. Uno nunca sabe.” (Kid, here it quakes and rains at the same time. You never know.) That pragmatic fatalism is part of local resilience, and it influences the Spanish Vocabulary you’ll hear: words like temblor instead of terremoto, and bulto for bag rather than the textbook bolsa.
The Role of Colmados When the Ground Moves
The neighborhood colmado is more than a corner store; it’s the lifeline during blackouts and aftershocks. At 3 a.m. the morning after the quake, Don Papo had already reopened with candles, phone chargers, and hot empanadas. He shouted, “¡Pasa, que hay velas y pilas!” (Come in, we’ve got candles and batteries!) In Colombia I’d hear ¡Hay veladoras y pilas!—a subtle swap, but it matters when you learn Spanish as an expat. Noticing these regional pivots turns survival Spanish into culturally fluent conversation.
Packing an Emergency Kit in Two Languages
Core Gear
I spread my supplies across the dining table, labeling each aloud: linterna, pilas recargables, agua embotellada, radio portátil. Saying the words reinforces muscle memory. When my Colombian friend Sofía visited, she laughed at linterna because in Medellín she’d casually say “**linternita**” to sound affectionate. We practiced: “Pásame la linterna grande, porfa” (Hand me the big flashlight, please) followed by the Colombian twist, “Alcanzame la linternita, parce” (Pass me the lil’ flashlight, buddy). The shift from Dominican porfa to paisa parce widened my Spanish Vocabulary and reminded me that emergency prep can feel almost playful when you weave in regional color.
Comfort Items Locals Swear By
Apart from the obvious gear, Dominicans stash powdered milk for coffee, while Colombians tote packets of panela to sweeten anything. My kit now holds both, because nothing soothes quake-frayed nerves like a hot drink. I also sneak in a deck of cards—barajas—since waiting out aftershocks in the parking lot can stretch hours. Teaching neighbors the Colombian game of Rummy-Q became an impromptu language exchange. We compared phrases: Dominican “Te toca tirar” (Your turn to play) versus Colombian “Le toca bajar”. Same move, fresh Spanish Vocabulary.
Spanish Vocabulary
| Spanish | English | Usage Tip |
|---|---|---|
| Temblor | Quake/Tremor | Preferred over “terremoto” for moderate shakes in the DR. |
| Linterna | Flashlight | “Linternita” in Colombia for a smaller light, often affectionate. |
| Botiquín | First-aid kit | Keep pronunciation stress on the final syllable: bo-ti-KÍN. |
| Pilas | Batteries | Also slang for “smart”—“¡Pilas con eso!” means “Heads up!” in Colombia. |
| Bulto | Bag/Pack | Dominican everyday term; “bolso” skews more neutral across Latin America. |
| Velas | Candles | In Colombia, “veladoras” if used for prayer; “velas” remains universal. |
| Agua potable | Drinking water | Important distinction from tap water when asking at shelters. |
| Radio de manivela | Hand-crank radio | Great phrase to impress hardware store clerks. |
| Alimentos enlatados | Canned foods | Say “enlatao” in everyday Dominican speech—note the dropped “d.” |
Example Conversation at the Ferretería
Context: You’re in a hardware store in Santo Domingo the day after a tremor, shopping for emergency supplies. The clerk is Dominican; another customer is visiting from Bogotá. Notice the blend of regional tones.
Cliente (tú): Buenas, ¿tienen linternas recargables?
Good morning, do you have rechargeable flashlights?
Dependiente (DR): Claro, mi hermano, por aquí hay de dos tamaños.
Sure, my brother, over here we have two sizes.
Cliente (tú): Perfecto. También necesito pilas AA y un botiquín pequeño.
Perfect. I also need AA batteries and a small first-aid kit.
Dependiente (DR): Mira, el botiquín viene con gasas y alcohol. ¿Te sirve?
Look, the kit comes with gauze and rubbing alcohol. Does that work for you?
Cliente colombiano (usted): Disculpe, ¿aquí manejan radios de manivela? En Bogotá se agotan rápido.
Excuse me, do you carry hand-crank radios? In Bogotá they run out fast.
Dependiente (DR): Nos quedan dos, pero póngase rápido que se van volando.
We’ve got two left, but hurry because they’ll fly off the shelf.
Cliente (tú): Parcero, si quiere uno, agarrémoslos ya mismo.
Buddy, if you want one, let’s grab them right now.
Cliente colombiano (usted): De una, hermano. ¡Qué pilas!
Let’s do it, bro. How sharp!
Dependiente (DR): Aquí tienen. Les incluyo las velas de una vez.
Here you go. I’ll throw in the candles right away.
Cliente (tú): Se lo agradezco. Ojalá no tiemble otra vez.
I appreciate it. Hopefully it won’t shake again.
Sharpening Your Ear Between Santo Domingo and Medellín
Switching countries every few months is my secret language gym. Dominican Spanish douses you in Caribbean cadence, clipping endings—“bulto” sounds like “bul-toh”—while Colombian paisa Spanish rises and falls like Andean topography, adding affectionate diminutives such as linternita. Bounce between them and your listening agility skyrockets. You’ll recognize that when a Dominican says “pila” she might mean a lot, whereas a Colombian saying “¡Pilas!” urges you to pay attention. The same word, two vibes. That dance keeps you humble, playful, and ready to upgrade your Spanish Vocabulary every layover.
If you’re drafting your own emergency kit, narrate the process in Spanish. Walk through the apartment declaring, “Voy a guardar el agua potable aquí” and “El botiquín va arriba del bulto.” Record yourself, play it back on the plane to Bogotá, and eavesdrop on paisas discussing their terremoto del 99 memories. Your ear will calibrate in real time, turning classroom phrases into heartbeat instincts.
Most importantly, remember that language is a survival tool but also a bridge. The next time the ground shakes and neighbors pour into the hallway, you’ll not only know what to grab—you’ll know what to say, and how to say it in the rhythm of the people beside you.
Have you spotted other cross-country quirks that saved your hide—or at least spiced up your Spanish Vocabulary? Drop them in the comments. Let’s build a multilingual safety net together.
Nos leemos pronto,
James
