River Cluster, oh how I adore thee! Never in my wildest and wettest dreams did I think I would ever fall in love with the desolate land known as the River Cluster. During my Pre-Freshman Summer I made it my responsibility to pay my tithe at church, take confession, and recite the Virgin Mary every night so that I, Guensley Delva, would not land in The River Cluster. And in the twinkling of an eye, or rather the speed of an e-mail, my roommate writes: "Congratulations, you now live at the River, PREPARE TO DIE (with Sinister laughter in the background)." OK, so I exaggerated on the sinister laughter bit. Now correct me if I am wrong, but there are even rumors that Steven Spielberg wants to film a horror movie at the Hinman Lounge! Gasp, talk about sheer horror. But after going three days without running water while on my DOC trip (shout out to Trip Section F 62) I learned to treat the River Cluster as if it was the beloved East Wheelock Part Deux!
OK, so the River is practically a Foreign Study Abroad Program in Vermont. And yes, it takes eons to get to the Green. Now is it just me, or does anyone else notice that when one hears the word "river" in a sentence, a sharp cold pain goes down one's spine? But I will attest to this fact -- It's a hell of a lot better than sleeping in wooden shelters in the middle of nowhere. And a lot more normal than meeting the various H, Lodge, and Grant "CREWS."
The DOC Trip allowed me to appreciate the smaller things in life. Enjoy nature in its entirety. Form cliques with random individuals. Sugarcoat the conservatism of Dartmouth College. Laugh at corny jokes -- while still sober. (Yes, I know -- what a scary thought!) And of course, dance the beloved "Salty Dog" -- whose significance to an Ivy League school I have yet to understand.
Must the DOC trip be a right of passage? Growing up from the so-called mean streets of Miami where little Cuban boys are hijacked and our politicians can't speak a lick of English, climbing mountains was not on my list of things to do. Although reaching the summit of Mt. Parker and Mt. Resolution was a rewarding experience, my altruism kicked into high gear. What about my other friends who didn't climb the mountains, or kayak on the river, or labor "strenuously" at a time consuming Organic Farm?
With a school so dependant upon the existence of cliques and the hoards of people walking into Thayer Dining Hall, we must reevaluate the true purpose of the DOC trip. Question: am I the only one annoyed with cliques? You would think Dartmouth College, the ninth school in the nation, fifth among its Ivy League contemporaries, would at least transcend the pettiness of my former high school! Think about it, is it impossible for one to walk to a certain location without having a proverbial "Million some odd man/woman March" to a certain destination. Megan: "Hey Christie I'm going to Thayer to grab some grub, wanna come with me ..." Christie: "Sure, let me first go call Angela, Jason, Derrick, Rachel, Justin, Ashley, Suzanne, Laura, Richie and that weird looking guy we saw the other day at Ben and Jerry's." Are freshman trips a rite of passage, or a one-way ticket to exclusion? Or maybe I am talking out of navete again, and in reality life is simply a macrocosm of the superficiality of high school!
By the way: Laura, Jessie, Angela, Aaron, Marty, Eric, Robert, Craig, John number 1, Mark, Rachel, John number 2, Steve, Nick, Henry, Brenda, Anthony, and Gillian, are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?
