And the heat wears on....

It is still pretty darn hot here, though it is feeling less humid. Today the sky is filled with big fluffy clouds that might join together and decide to make some rain. Before I left for Las Terrenas, the usual weather pattern here was very hot and oppressively humid in the morning and then an afternoon shower would cool things down. Since I've gotten back it hasn't really rained, so I guess we're in some other pattern, which is basically very hot in the morning, kind of hot in the afternoon and a little less hot in the evening.

Last night, my tour guide Ernesto met me at my apartment and took me out for dinner (well, I was paying, so I guess he drove me). First he took me on a brief tour of the Zona Colonial, but he wasn't explaining anything. We were listening to talk radio, which I decided is a really good way to be exposed to a lot of language and cultural information (remember that in Argentina) - I was kind of distracted listening to the radio, but finally I said, "Hey, you are not explaining anything!", at which point he said he thought I already knew the area and then pointed out some building and we parked. So much for the tour, but it was nice riding around the old streets and seeing these very old buildings from inside an air conditioned car.

After parking the car we walked out onto a big open plaza and we could see a very big old stone building on the other side. Ernesto explained that it was Colombus' house. It was pretty impressive. On the side of the plaza where we stood were a bunch of old buildings that had been converted into restaurants. All of them had tables outside and there were several kinds of music playing and a few people eating. It was a very beautiful scene and I felt like I was in a different city from the grimy, noisy Santo Domingo I thought I knew.

We walked around a bit and finally gave in to the pressure from a very pregnant woman to look at her menu. She represented a restaurant called Museo del Jamon ( ham museum), which was a Spanish restaurant. It seemed fine with me as the other option I could see was Thai sushi, and I didn't feel like looking at all of the menus.

We chose a table under an umbrella because my weather sense told me it was going to rain. We ordered seafood paella and sat and waited for about 20 minutes or so before it finally arrived. A few minutes before the paella came to our table , we got a basket of bread, which would have been really nice to munch on while we were waiting.

The paella was good and I really liked the atmosphere (maybe we'll go back there tonight). At one point, the wind whipped up and blew our umbrella from above our heads. They couldn't fix it, so they closed it. It turned out to be a really nice thing. The sky was filled with lightening like I have never seen. It was like we were watching fireworks. Big bolts of lightening, sometimes several at a time would shoot across the cloudy sky, illuminating everything before all went dark again.

I enjoyed talking to Ernesto and learning more about life in the DR. He said that most of the restaurants where we were were owned by foreigners. He explained that most Dominicans don't have the money to invest, they only make enough to survive. But foreigners can come in an invest a little money and create a business that becomes very lucrative. It's sad. It explains why all of the chic little shops in las Terrenas were owned by French (and others), while the Dominicans did things like motorcycle taxis and work in hotels. Ernesto also told me that the Haitians work in construction and on sugar cane plantations because the work is too hard for Dominicans. Ironic.

Today he picked me up at 8:00. He brought me a traditional Dominican breakfast, which is called mangú. It is a green plantain that has been boiled and mashed and is served with different things. We had it with fried egg and pickled red onions. It was good, but my stomach was a little raw this morning from not sleeping very well.

After breakfast we went for a drive down the coast to a place called Boca Chica. It is a sleepy little seaside town which is the main getaway for Santo Domingans. The beach was a beautiful white sand beach with crystal clear turquoise waters. There was a small island a bit out that you could swim to. We didn't stay, but only drove through and then continued further down to visit another little beach before returning back.

The whole time Ernesto was listening to talk radio, which started to get on my nerves after a while. I watched a bit of Fox News this morning before he came (it is entertaining in its stupidity) where the big news was that Scarlett Johanssen sends e-mails to Barack Obama --- oooh a scandal! This talk radio this morning reminded me of Dominican Fox News or Rush Limbaugh, or some other fat bag of hot air spouting nonsense. From what I could make out, the first show we were listening to the guy was complaining about the lack of Dominican airlines and the price of gas. He should spend a day living with the shoe shine boys to see what real problems are. The next program was some kind of psychiatrist, kind of like Frasier. On the way back to Santo Domingo was another program where they were talking about homosexuals in the military and the church. I thought, nothing better than homosexuals to get people to turn in to this stupid shit. One woman on the program said that as a journalist she had first hand knowledge of homosexual lifestyles when she went to a gay bar to cover a story about Satanic rituals that were performed there. Maybe she was talking about a drag show? I've been to lots of gay bars in my life, but have never seen or participated in a Satanic ritual.

I felt really frustrated because I could not understand all of the program and also that I could not respond to the bull they were putting out. I love it when so called Christians say things like this about people and yet no one challenges them on their beliefs - virgin birth, son of God, the bible being the ultimate word ( a book that has been rewritten and edited over thousands of years?). I don't want to offend anyone's beliefs, but I am tired of religious people using their fairytales to persecute other people. In this land where Colombus first started one of the world's largest genocides with the bible in his belt, it is to ironic that the bible is still used. I think the damn thing should be banned.

That's going to get me into trouble.

Life is hard here, but according to Ernesto, people enjoy life and like to party. I can see that as we ride through the poor neighborhoods and see people hanging out and music blaring. There are blackouts and the water goes off periodically, but it seems everyone has a generator that at least powers their music system.

We finished our tour by having lunch in a seaside restaurant a few blocks from my apartment. I had a seafood soup that was ok. Ernesto had grilled chicken that looked really good.

It has been a real treat meeting him and having him show me around. I feel like I got a little bit past the surface of this place which at first seemed very intimidating and sad.

My New Tour Guide

I think I was traumatized by the heat yesterday.

After cooling down for an hour in the internet cafe, I went to the supermarket and got some juice, yogurt and a few mangos. It turns out that even though I have a kitchen in my apartment, I can't cook because there are no pots or pans. My kitchen in Las Terrenas was really well stocked, it even had one of those little coffee pots where you put the water in the bottom and then the grounds and close it up and when the water boils it moves up to the top half and becomes coffee. It was nice being able to eat breakfast on my terrace, and also to eat lunch and dinner in.

So I left the supermarket laden with three bags of stuff (the bag boy gave me lots of unnecessary bags) and then I stopped at KFC because it had almost been an hour since I had last eaten. I figured I would eat lunch in my cool apartment (and decided to go the unhealthiest route possible). I got back to my place and was nearly dead from heat exhaustion by the time I climbed the stairs to my third floor apartment. The maid was just finishing up cleaning. I dropped my bags on the counter and made the mistake of opening my big mouth. I said "hace calor" (it's hot) and she agreed. She then proceeded to go into the bedroom and pick up the remote control for the air conditioner and tried for about 5 minutes to get the stupid thing to work. I would have been much happier if she had just left so I could strip down to my boxers and turn the damn thing on myself. But she stood there and she would turn it on but then for some reason she was not satisfied and she'd hit the button again and it would go off. The whole time I was getting more and more frustrated and wanting to just grab the remote out of her hand and push her out the door. Maybe she was waiting for some sort of tip or something, or else she just had no idea what she was doing. I drank some water, hoping it would cool me down. Finally, she left!

I went into the bedroom to find that the air conditioner was off! The little vent was closed, and it was sleeping like a baby. I looked around for the remote but could not find it. I searched on and under the bed, on the night stand, in the bathroom, in the living room, and it was nowhere to be found. I did a 2nd search, getting even hotter as my frustration level rose. Still, it was not anywhere to be found. I looked outside to see if she had dropped it outside my door, or if I could find her and ask her, but neither she nor the remote were there. Finally, I went downstairs and found her in the office. She said she had put it on the bed (or at least that is what I heard "en la cama"). I told her I didn't see it.

So we both went upstairs again and I went into the bedroom and moved the pillows to show her that it was not on the bed. She stood in the doorway and pointed to the wall, where she had placed the remote control in the holder that was mounted on the wall next to the door! I thanked her and she left, probably thinking I was an idiot. I was really hot and ready to pass out.

I turned the air conditioner on and closed off the bedroom so it would cool down and sat on the bed and ate my chicken strips and a few of the cold greasy fries and drank my "merengue" soda (which was a very strange flavor that I could only describe as bubble gum), and then I felt sick and lay down to take a nap.

I spent most of the afternoon resting, since it never rained and I imagined it was hot outside. At tbout 6:00, I went out for dinner.

I went to a little restaurant a few blocks away that is quiet and does not get hit with the shoe shine boys, beggars and prostitutes like the other restaurant I usually eat at. I ordered grilled chicken and got a piece of grilled chicken that was a breast, leg and thigh and was so dry I could hardly chew it. It came with a pile of very dry, hard white rice, and a tiny, teeny little pile of mashed potatoes with a sprig of parsley in it that was bigger than the pile of potatoes - I think the potatoes were there more as a garnish than as an actual part of the meal. Not a very good meal. Where was the delicious Carribean food I was expecting?

I went back to my apartment to recover from the meal. Since the restaurant was on a very busy square across from the Plaza de Independencia, and it was rush hour, my meal was spent breathing in car fumes and listening to incessant beeping as thousands of moving vehicles tried to make their way around this traffic circle that went around the plaza.

After watching a few dumb movies on TV I decided to head out for ice cream. It had started to rain, but only a light drizzle, so it was now hot and steamy, but there was still very little breeze. I walked down El Conde, the pedestrian street that runs down to Plaza Colon. It reminded me of a very run down, though more lively version of the very grand Avenida de Mayo in Buenos Aires. Along El Conde are lots of clothing stores, shoe stores, video arcades, etc., and also lots of very run down old deco buildings. It has definitely seen better days. But it certainly has character. Some stores were already closed, but there were still lots of people milling around.

I got a pineapple ice cream which was very yellow and had lots of chunks of ice in it. It was not that good. I decided to walk down to Plaza Colon and sit for a bit before returning to my room. I was beginning to really look forward to going home, as the end of my vacation really seemed to have turned into me finding ways to avoid the heat.

Plaza Colon was buzzing with activity as usual. People sitting at the cafe on the corner, other people sitting on benches, and some people looking like they were working (if you know what I mean). The millions of pidgeons that usually swarm around the plaza where asleep somewhere. The Hard Rock Cafe had tables set outside with torches and there was music coming from somwhere. Thunder rolled through the air and lightening lit up the sky threatening a very big storm, but still there was only a very light drizzle and the air was thick and humid.

As soon as I sat down a young man came over and sat with me. Of course I knew he was working me, but he seemed nice enough, so we talked a bit. He told me he was studying computers and was not currently in school and looking for a way to earn extra money. He said he had a car and would take me on a tour of the city if I would help him out.

It's funny because earlier in the day I thought that it would be nice if I could find someone to take me outside of this little area I've been staying in so I could see some of the rest of the city. It is not something I would want to do on my own, because it seems very difficult to get around here (even walking is tough). I was thinking about asking a taxi driver how much he would charge me for a half day tour or something like that, but I had not found anyone I felt comfortable asking yet, and hadn't really thought through what I wanted to do.

There is a group of tour guides who stand outside the "first" church in the "new" world, and one of them, after giving me a free tour inside the cathedral (which consisted of him giving me way too much information that I didn't need with numbers, names and dates I can not remember and had me trying to figure out how I was going to get away from him) offered to give me a private tour for $20. I had thought about that, but the guy talked way too much, and the 2nd time I saw him, and he again offered me a tour, he said in a very confidential kind of whisper that he would take me to a place where I could see them making jewelry and cigars and buy things at Dominican prices. I know this scam from Thailand where I went on a half day city tour that took me to three temples (when there are thousands) and ended with me going to a Thai silk factory and a wood working factory where I was expected to buy something (I didn't), and the tour guide would have received a nice comission which would have been paid for by yours truly (so much for the discount).

So, my two options for doing some sort of tour, approaching an unknown entity in the form of a taxi driver, or going with a very chatty guide with ulterior motives, were not that appealing.

And then I met Ernesto.

I felt a little uncomfortable trusting this guy, but he seemed pretty trustworthy. He was cute, which helped, but also he was very friendly and likeable. He had a very gentle, easygoing manner, was well dressed and smelled good. He offered me a ride back to my hotel.

He had a nice jeep kind of car and I liked the music he was playing. It was after seeing his car (which had air conditioning) that I decided I would give it a shot. I asked him how much he wanted and he said whatever I wanted to give him. Ugh! I hate being put in that position.

So we arranged for him to pick me up at 10 this morning. I thought he would be late. Instead he was 20 minutes early!

We started off driving along a road that runs along the coast, which turns out to be about three blocks from where I am staying. I had no idea it existed.

There are lots of big hotels and casinos along this road, which I didn't know were there. But there was also a lot of traffic that was going nowhere, so Ernesto turned off and took me through some of the neighborhoods. It was interesting to see a little of where people lived.

We went through Gazcue, which is a ritzy residential neighborhood with some big houses with big yards and nice tree lined streets. It is where the restaurant I went to with Miguel is located, but it was dark when we went and I was watching where I was walking, so I didn't see much. Now, in the comfort of this nice air conditioned car with nice music and a handsome nice-smelling man, I could sit back and enjoy the sights.

We next went through the National Autonomous University of Santo Domingo, which was founded in 1538 or something like that. We drove through the campus, which was huge, and it was a relief to see lots of students walking around. As poor as things seem here, there was this big public university which seemed to provide some hope for a better life for people. I was also relieved to see people of all colors on campus, so the university was not just reserved for the rich white kids (who probably study abroad). When we drove in the guard at the gate gave Ernesto a little laminated card. We drove out a different gate and Ernesto gave the card to the guard as we left. I asked him what the card was for, and he explained it was to prevent people who came without a car from leaving with one! Pretty clever.

We went through some moderate class neighborhoods, and Ernesto stopped for gas. He pointed out some shacks staked one on top of another with laundry visible hanging on every available outside surface. He said that was a low class neighborhood and they have only alleys, no streets, so you cannot drive through them. They reminded me of pictures I've seen of the slums above Rio. This is probably where the shoe shine boys live.

From there we went up a road through a lush high rise neighborhood with lots of new construction. From this road, there was a view down to the ocean, and a large park with a very big playground. I don't think the shoe shine boys from Plaza Colon are allowed to come here to play. We passed Sammy Sosa's house, which was a big mansion behind a big wall. It was such a contrast from the slums we had seen a few minutes earlier. This is where I would want to live if I lived in Santo Domingo, but I felt sorry for those who could not live behind these high rise, gated, secure walls.

We drove back towards the ocean and Ernesto told me about motels. He asked me if I knew what a motel was, and I responded that I thought I did. But this was a motel Latin American style. I'd seen them in Mexico and Costa Rica. So much for these Catholic countries morals.

This motel area was very similar to the ones I'd seen before. Lots of very fancy looking motels with high walls, and lots of Vegas like decoration outside. You enter the motel through a small portal where you pay through a window to a person you can not see and who can not see you (this is what Ernesto told me, we didn't actually do this). Then you drive up to a garage which closes behind you and from the safety of your garage, you enter your room. The whole thing is about DISCRETION. So, married guys can bring their mistresses, or misters, or unmarried couples can find a safe place to have fun while still living at home. I've come to really appreciate these things about countries that supposedly have such strict moral standards. These open secrets, which allow people to have fun and still maintain the appearance of conforming.

I remember in Costa Rica where I was lucky enough to meet a very nice guy who also gave me a very grand tour that when we were in the motel neighborhood, my friend (whose name I can't remember now) told me that you could see guys driving around alone who were talking to themselves, so people joked that they were riding with ghosts. Actually, they were driving with another person who had their head down out of view so that no one could see them as they entered the motel!

From the motel zone (which I would love to see at night) we headed back down the ocean drive to a restaurant where we had goat stew, a very typical Dominican dish. I had mine with yucca and Ernesto had his with tostones (fried plaintains) - we had Presidente, Dominican beer, which tasted a lot like Miller to me.

Ernesto is very sweet and he was an excellent tour guide. He showed me everything there was to see here, from the different neighborhoods, the motels, the views, the national theater, the presidential palace, the post office and even the US Embassy. We had a nice lunch and he took me back to my apartment.

On our drive, he asked me if I could tell him how to study English. I asked if he had a computer, because I was going to recommend some internet sites, and I was surprised to find out he didn't, even though that was his major in university.

I brought my old MAC laptop with me, thinking I would give it to Anthony to donate to Casa Rosada, a house for orpans with AIDS. Before I left I had been reading on his website about it and he was asking for donations of books, crayons etc. I lucked out and happened to be at Alta Books ( my publisher ) right before I left and they were giving away lots of free books, so I was able to fill a suitcase with childrens books in Spanish which I gave to Anthony to give to Casa Rosada. But when I asked him if they needed a laptop, he said he wasn't sure and has since not gotten back to me on it.

My laptop has not really served me as well as it should have. From the time I bought it, I found it hard to use and it really only came in handy between the time my old computer died and I got a new one. I really wanted to give it to someone rather than lug it home again and give it to Goodwill.

So I gave it to Ernesto. I don't know if he will be able to make good use of it or not, but I hope so.

After we played with the computer a little and I reset the passwords for him he said he was going to go home, but offered to pick me up later for dinner (of course I am paying, which I don't mind at all if it means not having to eat KFC again). He also offered to take me to the beach tomorrow, which at first I was not too keen on doing since I just came back from a week at the beach, but then I thought it would be fun to see some places closer to Santo Domingo that he liked (and also I had so much fun on our tour earlier today that I thought it would be fun to do), and we'd probably have lunch at a nice place right on the beach. But hanging over me like a dark cloud was the issue of the money.

Finally I told him that I wanted to discuss it, and again he said that I could give him whatever I wanted.

I just went for it and offered him $100 for the two days, plus an extra thousand pesos ($30) if he took me to the airport on Thursday (that is what I would have paid a taxi). He said ok with a very sly smirk and I was not sure if it was a good smirk or not, so I asked him if it was ok, and he said yes. So I don't know if I am paying him a ridiculous amount by Dominican standards or not, but meeting him has really changed the feeling of this, the end of my trip. He´s a really nice guy, he seems very trustworthy and I like spending time with him. And now I don't have to worry that at the end of this trip he's going to ask me for some ridiculous amount of money, and I don't have to worry about how I am getting to the airport or how much it will cost me (because even taxi fares are not really that clear).

So I am off now to pick up a fruit salad from one of the vendors on the street (that I only noticed today), and then take a nap before dinner.

HELLA HOT!

It is really hot here and it is only 10:30. I hope it rains today.

Well, any weight that I might have lost from all of my walking and exercising on the beach at Las Terrenas has probably come back to me just this morning. I've had three meals already.

I started off with what I thought was breakfast at the little joint on the corner near where I'm staying. I think it's called Paco's or something like that. My stomach was not quite awake yet, so I just had fruit, toast and coffee. I went for a little walk but it was too hot (it was only 7 a.m.) so I headed back to my room. I read in my guide book a little about the things I could see and decided I wanted to go souvenier shopping.

All of the guidebooks and online guides I've read caution people not to wear shorts because you will "stand out" as a tourist, so I changed from the shorts I wore to breakfast (because frankly I don't care about standing out, but the guide book also says that some places are off limits if you are in shorts or tank tops) and I put on these nice light cotton pants I got at Banana Republic before I left.

I decided I was going to start off at Plaza Colon, where the "first" church in the "new" world is (along with a statue of Columbus himself).

There is a nice cafe/restaurant there and by the time I got there I was hungry, so I had a pineapple juice and a pork sandwich, which was toasted white bread with roast pork, tomato and lettuce. It was pretty good and not too much food. Meal number 2.

I walked down the street that runs alongside Plaza Colon and passed a few gift shops. All of them had the same mass produced junk in the windows. Lots of colorful little figurines, faceless dolls, pen holders with dolphins and waves and palm trees. Some people tried to encourage me to enter, which for me is an automatic reason to keep going. One store didn't seem to have anyone in it but as I looked inside I saw a man sitting behind the counter as if he were a jaguar waiting to pounce. I kept walking.

I walked around some of the old streets for about two blocks and was so hot I decided to head back to Plaza Colon where I found a bench under a tree and sat for a bit. There was hardly any breeze and it was pretty hot.

I decided I would head to this internet cafe and spend some time here cooling down while I give the maid time to clean my room. On the way I passed more gift shops with more junk. In one shop I went to see some small paintings I had looked at before that I was thinking about buying. I thought they were Haitian paintings, but when I looked again I saw that they were painted by some German guy who has lived here for 30 years. Somehow buying paintings made by a German ex-pat didn't seem right. Instead I went to the little bar in the shop and got a coffee and a piece of cake and sat at a table looking out on the street. Meal number 3. It was only 10:00.

I decided I am going to go back to my hotel and put on my shorts and maybe even a tank top. I don't really care at this point what the guy books say or what people think. It is too hot to be wearing long pants, and way too hot to be wearing a jacket, but believe it or not, I have actually seen people wearing long sleeve shirts and jackets!

There are some interesting characters here. I like sitting on Plaza Colon and watching people. There is a group of shoe shine men who sit around and chat, every now and then someone will go over to them and shine their shoes. Then some shoe shine boys come through and try to steal customers from them. A security guard usually chases them away if they become too aggressive. There were some women today who were staring at me and I figured they were prostitutes. One very tall woman with very high heels walked around selling newspapers. I would describe her as a Dominican bombshell (if she is Dominican). I've seen her before, but today she was quite the sight. I really wish I could have taken a picture of her.

She was wearing skin tight jeans which could have been painted on her. Of course they were low riding and they had little diamond butterflies on her butt, which was quite substantial. She was wearing a denim type vest as a top that was cut to her mid-driff and very low cut at the top, it closed with string instead of buttons and had some diamonds (or rhinestones) decorating it. She was also quite substantially endowed up top and when she walked there was a lot of jiggling going on. She had long, wavy hair, and a pierced belly button, and her skin was coal black and shiny.

You'd think that she might be working the streets, but she really seemed to honestly be selling newspapers. I guess some guys buy the newspapers from her just so they can get a closer look. I have to give her credit for looking like she does and working to make an apparently honest living (though who knows what she is really up to).

It was after watching her that I decided that I could wear shorts. I am after all a tourist, and despite my best efforts to blend in here, I have not been mistaken for a Domincan yet (though quite a few people thought I was Italian, and most people don't guess that I am American).

I still have more time to kill, so I guess I will check out the Daily Show and see what my pal Jon Stewart has been up to.

Sleepy Sunday in Santo Domingo

I'm back in Santo Domingo. Left Las Terrenas this morning, after my morning walk and exercise on the beach and a breakfast on my terrace. Santo Domingo feels like a dump in comparison, at least my apartment does. But it's good to be back and on my way home.

I got to the bus station by 9:15 even though I didn't want to be there until 10, my bus left at 10:30. The taxi driver was at my hotel early this morning when I checked out, so we left as soon as I was finished paying.

When we got to the bus station, there was a bus there. It was going to Santo Domingo. I bought my ticket and went to board, but the driver wouldn´t let me on. The guy who sold me the ticket told me there was another bus that was taking the new highway that left at 10:30. It only took 2 hours. The other bus sat there spewing fumes for an entire hour until my bus arrived. In the meantime, I sat and watched two guys play checkers until the one sitting next to me started singing this song he made up about beating the other guy's butt (that's what it sounded like to me), so I moved outside to sit in the shade, where it was actually cooler and the bus fumes were not getting trapped like in the little open-air waiting room at the bus station.

I watched life in Sanchez, which was pretty much like life as I've seen it everywhere else. Lots of people hanging out, guys grabbing their crotches, people on motorcycles, horses, jeeps, trucks, and of course lots of people beeping.

Finally at 10:30, my bus arrived. We started off and finally we were on a brand new on ramp to the new highway. But I guess the highway is REALLY new because in many parts it was still a dirt road. A nice dirt road, but a dirt road nonetheless. It even went through some small villages, intersecting them in half.

I got to Santo Domingo and to my apartment earlier than I expected. Anthony was as unhappy to see me as he was at the airport. I had to sit and wait in the little office while he got my room ready. He has a guy who sits in the office and plays on the computer all day. So I sat and watched this guy play on the computer while I waited.

Finally, I went up to my room, unpacked, sprayed some lavendar to get rid of the funky smell and went out to eat lunch.

There is a nice little open air cafe on the main plaza across from the first Cathedral in the New World. For some reason, while the rest of the streets are stifling in the afternoon heat, this place had a nice breeze. I ate my lunch while thousands of boys asked me if I wanted them to shine my sandals. Guys walk buy selling CDs, one boy was selling puppies, and lots of people were just hanging out. This plaza is at the end of a pedestrian walkway, my hotel is at the other end. It is a nice walk, and I enjoy watching people on the way and while I am there. Things seem very quiet today. Many of the shops are closed and with the heat there are not a lot of people out. I'm on my way back to my hotel after I pick up a few things at the store where the clerk will not smile at me or say thank you.

Just Hanging Out

Life in Las Terrenas is pretty laid back for me. I've settled into a routine pretty much. I get up early, mostly because I go to bed early. I can only take so much TV watching. The reception is not that good and there is not much on that I want to watch. I've been watching lots of Family Guy reruns, as well as Everybody Loves Raymond and Just Shoot Me. By 9 p.m., I've usually had enough. I start my day off with a walk and some exercises on the beach while a parade of Haitians go off to build new apartments for rich tourists. Today my exercise consisted mostly of walking. I walked for about an hour and a half as Las Terrenas began to wake up. Aside from the construction workers, there were a few fisherman and eventually a few other tourists on the beach. By 7:30, it was hot and the sun was starting to warm things up. I went inside, took a shower and ate breakfast. My meals are pretty consistent. For breakfast, I have some papaya with lime, a cocktail of plain drinkable yogurt with guava nectar, muesli with yogurt and coffee. Lunch has been tuna with carrots, onions and vinegar and oil along with some cheese and crackers. Dinner has been whole wheat pasta with either tuna, or Serrano ham and blue cheese. Aside from some mosquito bites and a sunburn that is healing, I am feeling very healthy. After my morning exercises and breakfast, I settle in to read a little. I have several books with me that I am enjoying. They all consist of exercises to examine our thoughts, and talk about the connections between our thoughts and our lives - health, relationships, money, etc. I've been doing affirmations to stop the itching from the mosquito bites, which seem to help. Normally mosquito bites swell up and almost get infected on me. These have only been slightly irritating, though right now they are itching me again -- "I am free of all irritations, all is well... I am free of all irritations, all is well..." By the afternoon usually it starts to rain. I take that as an opportunity to take a nap, usually after I've had my lunch. Then I read a little more and when the rain stops go for a walk or a swim. By the time it starts getting dark, I am ready for dinner. After dinner I turn on the TV and watch whatever is on, alternating between sitcoms and CNN, which is kind of comical in itself. I was happy to see that Obama finally got the nomination, or at least he got the delegates he needed to clinch it. Hillary, I see, has not really conceded yet. What is wrong with that woman? Now I can see why the right wingers hate her so much. She is going to alienate herself from everyone. As much as I like it here, I am not sure if I will come back. I don't like being so isolated from the people who live here. There are really no opportunities to meet local people, other than those who work in our complex, but they don't seem to interact too much with the guests. The Haitian construction workers seem nice enough. Yesterday one of them spoke to me a little on his way to work. He told me he has been here for 7 months, but doesn't like it. He was not happy to have had to leave his home and live in this place, just working all the time. It is really sad that so many people in the world have such a hard life. I keep thinking about what I could possibly do to help them, but the problem seems so overwhelming. Yesterday afternoon I was sitting on the beach and a guy came up on a motorcycle. He asked me if I wanted to go see this waterfall called El Limon. About 1,000 other people have asked me as well. To get to El Limon, you go by motorcycle, then get on a horse, while a guide walks along side you. It's a bit too colonial for my tastes. Plus, I'm not a bit fan of waterfalls, ever since I got a leech when I went to a waterfall in Indonesia. Anyway, I told him I didn't want to go to El Limon, then he asked me if I wanted to go out on his boat. I declined. He offered to catch lobster and cook it for me on the beach. I told him I had eaten. Finally, he told me he hadn't eaten, his wife and daughter were in the hospital and he needed milk for his baby. I told him I didn't have any money. He said I must not have any kids because he was worried about his children and I would not walk two minutes to go get some money. He was good. I actually believed he was telling the truth. He seemed very upset, and very humble about asking me for money. He offered me just about anything a tourist could want to try to earn some money, but since there are not a lot of people here, people like him who depend on tourism to make a living are really not doing very well. I told him I needed a ride to Sanchez on Sunday. He said if I gave him some money so he could buy medicine and milk for his kids, he would take me. I went to my room and got 400 pesos, about $12. Afterwards I kept thinking that he is not going to pick me up on Sunday. I also started thinking that maybe he would pick me up and then rob me. Thoughts of being tricked, swindled, etc., ran through my head. But then I remembered asking the universe to show me a way to help people. This guy showed up and needed help. Even if it was to by beer, the people here obviously have so little compared to what I have. Giving this guy $12 will do very little to solve anyone's problems, but if it means his kids get to eat and get some medicine, then I am happy to take the chance at being swindled. I'm off to pick up my laundry now which is going to cost me more than what I gave this guy yesterday.

More rain

Yesterday it rained off and on throughout the day. It is very nice when it rains. A calm stillness comes over the place and construction workers stop working unless the rain continues and then they start up again with the hammers and saws.

Today I got up early and went for a walk and did some yoga on the beach. I was the only one on the beach and only one set of footprints preceeded me in the wet sand (plus a few dog prints). The sky was gray and the ocean was a beautiful shade of turquoise and dark green.

I went up to my apartment and made coffee and it started to rain again. This rain was different. It was not a big furious storm that was going to pass through, but rather a steady, light rain that looked like it was here to stay for a while. I enjoyed my coffee and the morning coolness that the rain brought with it.

I think I got too much sun on my first day because my chest and back are still feeling hot. Normally I might burn a little but by the next day I tan, but this burn does not seem to be fading. So I put a wet washcloth in the freezer and then put it on my skin. I enjoyed my coffee, watching the rain and cooling myself with a cool washcloth.

I needed to take clothes to the laundry and was waiting for the rain to let up. Finally it slowed and I made my way down the beach road, which is now almost like a river. Fortunately, there are lots of places to walk that motorcycles and trucks can't go where the sand is still sand and not big puddles. I can't figure out why the beach road makes these big puddles and yet the sand next to it seems to absorb the water. Maybe they put a different kind of dirt down to make the road, or maybe because cars, trucks and motorcycles are pressing the sand down it can't absorb the water. Anyway, it is a big mess. People on motorcycles go by with big stripes of mud up their backs. As I walk in it with my flip flops, they fling little pieces of mud up on me. It takes longer to walk along the beach and not on the road, but it is infinitely less messy.

I found a little laundry at the end of the beach road. The woman who works there smiles and even said good morning. As I wiped the sweat off my brow, she said, "que calor" - the closest thing to a conversation I have had since I´ve been here, other than with the nice young man and French woman working at my hotel. I almost feel like I'm on retreat. There are not a lot of people at my hotel, and the construction workers who I see walking back and forth all day don't speak (if they did I wouldn't understand them since I think they all speak French). Other people that I've said hello to, such as the security guards who sit around our complex at night with big rifles acknowledge my hellos, but don't respond - they answer more with very subtle eye movements that let me know they are alive, but that's about it.

And so it looks like today is going to be another laid back day with the rain cooling things down and keeping people off the beach. I'll still go for a swim becasue I love swimming in the rain. I´m also going to cook my own meals from now on. The food I´ve had has been good, but not nearly as enjoyable as sitting on my own terrace with a glass of wine eating some delicious food I´ve concocted from the ingredients I got at the French supermarket. The other night I made some whole wheat penne with tuna, olives, garlic and onions in a white wine sauce. I had two glasses of Argentine wine and a delicious mango for desert. I'm going to walk to the supermarket now and pick up a few more things so that I can eat at home for the rest of my stay here, especially if it's going to be raining, it will be really nice to be able to cook and sit on my terrace enjoying the rain with a delicious home cooked meal.

Ala

It's been raining a lot since I´ve been here. Now I understand why the beach road is always so full of puddles, or small lakes, as it were... Monday it started with a short shower, which was really lovely. I was on my terrace and suddenly felt a new coolness in the air, and heard a sizzling sound. It was the rain. I watched as people came running up from the beach with towels over their heads, thinking it was kind of silly because they were in their bathing suits after all. After the rain stopped, I went down to the beach. There was one couple there, French, of course. The woman was topless, of course. It was kind of hot. I went for a swim. The water is beautiful, very clear, shades of turquoise much like the colors of my room. There are little patches of sea grass or something that create these interesting designs in the water. Because there is a sand bar or a reef a bit of a ways out, there are no waves. The water is calm like a lake. Maybe even calmer. It is so beautiful and so relaxing juyst to float in the water and look up at the sky and the palm trees. As I did this I heard a little splashing sound approaching. I looked up to see an adorable little boy with dreadlocks being tagged along by a very sweet German Shepard. The boy bounced around making sure he was getting my attention, which he was. Partly I was concerned that he was out there alone swimming, even though the water wasn´t deep or in any way dangerous, he seemed a bit small to be out there alone, but partly I was watching him because he was so cute and was having so much fun and I kind of wanted to speak Spanish with someone! Then it started to rain. Since I was in the water, and already wet, I decided to stay. I looked out at the ocean in front of me and watched as raindrops hit the smooth surface of the water and bounced up again. It was the most amazing site. The little boy with dreadlocks bounced around behind me. I turned around to smile at him and he smiled back. His dog stood at the edge of the water looking very unhappy. The little boy with dreadlocks got out of the water and tried to pull him up to a spot under a palm tree where it was not as rainy. The dog started to move, but then decided he wasn´t going anywhere, and slouched down in the sand trying his best not to get wet. The little boy with dreadlocks came running back and splashed around in the water again. I asked him, " your dog?" and he said "yes, his name is Ala". I thought it was ala, as in wing, but as I type this I wonder if it might have been Allah?

The French

I woke up very early this morning, partly because I went to sleep very early last night. I was exhausted after four nights of trying to sleep through honking horns and the sounds of merengue going until midnight (and 2 a.m. on Friday and Saturday). Santo Domingo was noisy, and Las Terrenas is VERY quiet, except for some froggy things and crickety things that were kind of singing me softly to sleep last night. I decided I wanted to go out early and beat the heat and find the laundry and supermarket. I didn't stop to think that nothing would be open at 6 a.m. though. I walked down the muddy, puddly, dirt road to the paved road that led into town. I had actually gone out last night and bought coffee and condensed milk, so I'd already had my coffee this morning. As I walked towards town, I passed a parade of very dark men heading in the other direction. I started to guess that they were Haitian because they seemed to be speaking some sort of French or Creole. I thought that every country has someone who is at the bottom who does the dirty work. We have the Mexicans, in Costa Rica it was the Nicaraguans, in Singapore, it was the Indonesians and Filipinos... here it seems to be the Haitians. I got onto the main street which was buzzing with motorbikes, trucks and ATV (all terrain vehicles that tourists look really stupid driving around on), but aside from a few very humble looking stalls, nothing was open. I found the Plaza where the supermarket was and a guy was washing off the pavement outside the door. I thought maybe I was in luck. He told me they were closed. I asked what time they opened and he said 8:30. It was 7:15. So I walked outside and sat under a little roof and watched everyone passing by. After a while I got tired of the exhaust fumes and walked a little further down the street until I found a little bakery. I bought a cookie and some orange juice and sat there listening to the music that was playing very loudly and watching the activity outside. People were moving in all directions, on foot, on bicycles, on motorcycles, in big trucks, in small trucks, in vans, SUVs, Jeeps, and ATVs. It was quite a beehive of activity. Eventually I thought I should leave the young guy working in the bakery alone again, and I went back to Plaza Rosada where the supermarket was. The little cafe in the center was now open, so I went and got a fruit plate. The cafe is run by a French woman and Plaza Rosada seems to be France Central. Lots of French people came in to the cafe and kissed everyone - on both cheeks, which I found a bit more pretentious and not as endearing as the Argentine one kiss. And then there was a crisis. The coffee maker was not working. A mob of very concerned French people were standing there looking worriedly at the coffee machine while the young black Dominican girl who worked there spoke to someone on the phone. Two impatient French guys got behind the counter and tried to fix the machine, but to no avail. The kisses became less passionate and everyone sat down to wait. I got up and went to the supermarket, which was finally open. At first I had a little basket because I didn't plan to buy much, but since this is France central, there were so many tempting things in the supermarket, unlike the mini market I went to last night that reminded me of pictures I saw of Zimbambwean supermarkets, or Russia under the communists. Here there was fresh French bread, cheeses, wines from all over the world, cured meats, yogurt, pasta, cous cous. I finally had to get a regular shopping cart as I loaded it up, not worried about how I would get it to my hotel, because the supermarket had a service to send groceries to your home. All of the negative feelings I was having for the French as I watched them stress over the broken coffee machine and wondering why they seem to be everywhere and always on vacation disappeared as I reveled in the bounty that was here precisely because of them. If Americans were the ones setting the tone in this supermarket, there would not have been nearly as rich a selection of food. I took a motorbike taxi back to the hotel, which was a lot easier than walking on the dirty, muddy, puddly road. As I sat on my terrace waiting anxiously for my groceries to arrive it started to rain. It was a beautiful rain that poured down into the garden, running off of the pastel buildings in the complex and making all of the colors from the grass and the trees and the flowers to the buildings and the sky, seem so vibrant. Finally, my groceries arrived. I had some smoked sausage pepperoni like thing a hunk of bread and went down to the pool as the maid cleaned my room. Ah, this seems like the life!

Meet Me In Sanchez ... or don't

I left Santo Domingo on Sunday morning. Took a taxi to the bus terminal, and as I was standing in line for my ticket another woman just stood right in front of me. What the hell???!!! Ok, I see I need to be tougher. As soon as she finished, I went to step up to the window and someone else tried to squeeze in there, but I was not about to let it happen twice. I pushed my way up to the window where the young woman looked really upest that she had to sell me a ticket.

Onward.

I told her I wanted a ticket to Sanchez. She grimaced. I asked her how much. I forget what she said, because I was so conscious of people behind me waiting for any opportunity to squeeze in front of me and because I couldn't really hear very well through the little hole in the thick glass. So I gave her a thousand peso note just to be sure. She barked at me, "one?" and I said yes.

I asked her when we would arrive and she held up four fingers. I said, "four o'clock?" and she grumbled, "no four hours".

She pushed the ticket through the window opening and sort of threw the change through as well. I gathered up the crumpled bills and then went to look for a phone to call Playa Colibri, the hotel I was going to, so that I could tell them what time I would be in Sanchez and they could send a taxi to meet me.

There were no pay phones visible anywhere. I went up to the 2nd floor and there was a call center that was closed. A woman was sitting behind a desk next to the cafeteria, I assumed she was there to answer questions. She was playing with her cell phone. I asked her if there was a place I could make a call. She said the call center was closed. I asked if there was any other place. She said no. The whole time she did not look up from her cell phone (which now that I think about it, would have been a good place to make a call).

Now I was getting kind of desperate because I had no idea where Las Terrenas was or how I would get there if the hotel did not send someone to Sanchez to meet me. I walked around the bus terminal looking for someone who looked friendly and might let me use their cell phone and saw a travel agency. I thought, at least I can try.

I went in and the woman was sort of friendly. She kind of smiled when I said good morning. I explained the situation and she sort of reluctantly looked at the phone number I gave her. I told her I would pay her. She took the number and made the call. I told her I needed to tell them I would be in Sanchez in four hours. She relayed the message for me.

Now I could relax.

I didn't know how much to pay her. I stood up, not really intending to pay because I didn't know what would be an appropriate amount, but I stuck my hand in my pocket anyway. She motioned no to me through the thick glass that separated us. I thanked her and left, feeling like for the first time someone had actually helped me and been kind of nice about it.

I got on the very cold bus and continued reading my favorite book, Eat, Pray, Love. I've done my share of eating, but I thought maybe I should pray and love a little. We made our first stop and almost everyone got off the bus. I stayed on because I didn't see any need to get off. I used the bathroom at the back of the bus. New people got on the bus and we continued on. It was really cold on the bus.

We passed through some really beautiful countryside. Lush green fields, rolling hills, palm plantations, forests... I slept, I read, and then I started to worry. I thought the bus was making several stops before Sanchez, but Lonely Planet said Sanchez was 2.5 hours from Santo Domingo. The stop we made was 2 hours into our trip. The crabby girl at the bus station said four hours. Who was right? Should I trust her, or Lonely Planet? I started to wonder if maybe I missed my stop. I started to think about how I would get back to Sanchez if I had missed it. I worried that someone would be there waiting for me. Then I started to tell myself that everything would be ok. In Eat, Pray, Love, my favorite book, the Indonesian medicine man tells Liz that we all have four brother spirits that protect us. I started to pray to my brother spirits.

We made another stop. This time I paid attention. It was Nagua. Was Nagua before or after Sanchez? I prayed to my brother spirits.

From Nagua we were now on the coast. We passed along some beautiful undeveloped coastline. There were no big hotels, no fancy resorts, just pure beach with palm trees that were in kind of a messy state. From there we headed inland a bit and traveled along a river until finally we arrived at Sanchez.

Whew!

I got off the bus and there were some very eager men outside to help me with my luggage. I knew we were no longer in Santo Domingo. They actually communicated instead of grunting at me. One of them helped me with my bag. They asked if I was going to Las Terrenas. I told them I was. Turns out they were taxi drivers. Well, one was a taxi driver, the other a motorcycle taxi driver. I told them someone was meeting me. As we were 10 minutes early, I guessed that my real driver would be there soon with a card with my name on it and the logo of my hotel, as promised in the e-mail I got from Maria before I left.

I went to the small bus station and waited for my driver.

I waited.

And waited.

It was now after 2 and my driver was not there.

The young guy with the motorcycle sat outside the station picking at the skin on his leg. Finally, he turned to me and asked me if I wanted to call to see if they were coming. I said yes. I gave him the phone number and he passed it through the glass to the guy in the window at the bus station. The guy called and handed me the phone.

I said in my best Spanish, because everyone in the bus station, the clerk, two taxi drivers and one passenger, was listening to me..."hello, this is Richard Kappra... I am in Sanchez... is someone coming...for me...?" the man on the other end said, "no". I said, "oh". I was confused. I thought this was all arranged.

Anyway, the guy was very nice and proceeded to tell me all of the options I had to get to Las Terrenas. I could take a public bus, or I could take a gua gua, which is a kind of mini van thing that I had a very bad experience with in Indonesia (I got on but couldn't get off without climbing over people and it was very messy). He didn't mention the two options that were standing right in front of me, a taxi and a motorcycle taxi.

I thought I would go with the taxi because I had my backpack, but when I hung up the phone, and said no one was coming, the motorcycle guy asked me if I wanted to go by motorbike. I pointed to my backpack and asked if it was ok and he said yes.

And so off we went, with me on the seat behind this guy and my backpack balanced on the handlebars of the motorcycle.

We went up some hills and through some very hilly, windy, foresty roads. The rear tire needed air, or I needed to lose weight (or both), but as we went along and I felt the cool fresh air hitting my skin, I started to get really glad that no one came to pick me up. It was absolutely beautiful as we crossed this low mountain range (hills actually) that separated Sanchez from Las Terrenas. At one point we could see Samana bay, where the whales come every year from January to March. I started to drink in the sights and smells, trying to remember every detail, the feel of the air on my skin, the smell of the vegetation wet with humidity, the smell of wet dirt, the smell of all of this mixing with the gas fumes from the motorcycle. We started winding down towards sea level and it began to get warm again, but was still very humid. All along there were signs telling us how many kilometers it was to Playa Colibri. At least I picked a place that believed in advertising!

I counted the kilometers down, 13, 10, 9, 500 meters... my butt was sore and my legs were aching. My shoulders were getting a little too much sun, but I was having a great time!

We rolled into Las Terrenas down main street, or I think it is Avenue Duarte... I saw lots of people looking at us as we rolled by. I thought they must have thought I looked quite a sight with my hair standing straight up from the wind and the back tire of this motorbike straining under my weight. As we got closer to the beach, traffic became less and less, and so did the road. Eventually we were on a dirt road that alternated between being wet dirt, mud and huge puddles. Finally, we arrived at Playa Colibri.

I walked up to reception and the guy behind the desk immediately knew who I was. With a big smile (I think the first I have seen so far) he greeted me and said, "Mr. Kappra, look how you came here!" There was a young French girl behind the desk too. They both complimented me on my Spanish, checked me in and the smiling young black guy behind the desk took me to my room.

My room is at the very back of the complex, which at first kind of bugged me because I asked for an ocean view. We went up three flights of stairs to the top floor, he opened the door and I felt a wave of relief wash away all of the worrying and panicking from the bus and motorcycle rides.

I knew the place was decorated in turquoise and other pastels, because I had seen pictures on the website, but I didn't think it would look as nice as it did. We walked into a big airy kitchen with a table and sofa that opened up to a terrace with another table and two big chairs. He showed me the bedroom with a big bed and lots of light streaming in through the turquoise shutters. I loved it! He kept telling me I had the most beautiful apartment. I agreed, but think he probably said that to all of the guests!

I like my apartment because it is the last one and from my terrace I can see the ocean in one direction and in the other direction there are only trees and some views of the hills I came across on the motorcycle. There is a big beautiful tropical garden in the center of the complex and it is so peaceful and beautiful. I'm in paradise!

One Thing I LOVE!

Being an Italian from New Jersey, from a family that yells to communicate, I often feel like I overwhelm Californians and put people off. When I joke with people saying things like, "What the hell did you do that for?", they don't notice that I am smiling, and they resond as if they thought I was seriously angry and I feel like I've hurt them and I resolve never to talk to people like that anymore... until the next time I do it.

Argentines kind of yell, and I like that. People have passion and they get excited about things and they use hand gestures when they talk and get excited and yell.

But the Dominicans seem to out-do the Argentines. In the few days I've been here, I have witnessed several good-natured yelling matches. They make me stop and listen, and I smile, because everyone is yelling, and smiling and laughing. It is really very funny.

Yesterday morning the heat was oppressive. There was not a breeze to be found anywhere. Even the pidgeons in Plaza de Colon were not moving. I found a bench under a tree. A group of tour guides were standing around yelling at each other. It was so hot, none of them approached me and tried to convince me to go on a tour which included visiting an amber factory where I could buy things at Dominican prices... Two of the tour guides came over to the bench next to me where a young guy was sitting playing with his cell phone. They started yelling at him. One on each side of him. Both were yelling at the same time. They were telling him to call someone, but they were yelling. They were all smiling. The young guy finally made the call. I told Miguel about this and at first he did not understand what I was talking about, partly because he cut me off before I finished explaining. He told me that people get angry. But this was not anger. This was feigned anger, if anything. It was joking anger. I understand this, because this is what I do, but people don't get it.

I like seeing it because it makes me realize that it is part of who I am and I just happen to be living in a state where people are afraid to show any emotion and want to be all Zen about everyting they do. I don't do anger much anymore, but I miss feigned anger. It seems to be a nice way to release some things that get bottled up inside of us. Maybe this is why in general, in spite of the crabby people working in stores, the heat, and the car horns, people here seem very content.

Here not to serve you

I thought people would be really friendly here. I thought Anthony was just a pissed off New Yorker who was really bothered by the heat, but that otherwise I would be greeted by smiling, friendly tropical faces who would be happy to serve me in restaurants, stores, internet cafes, etc.

I was wrong.

There is a little bodega, a corner store, at the end of my block. On my first morning, I went in and bought some orange juice, bananas and water. The guy who was working there seemed pissed off that he had to serve me and take my money. I didn't think much of it.

That night I went back to get a big bottle of water. I had to wait for the same guy to finish standing behind the counter before I could ask him if they had big bottles of water. In my best Spanish, I asked. In his best Spanish he said "no". He did not smile at me and laugh as I imagined people here would do. Did I get this fantasy from a movie?

Yesterday I went to the same store because I wanted to buy a telephone card. A different guy was working there. I was glad because I thought maybe he would be friendlier. I was wrong.

I asked if they had telephone cards (again, after waiting for him to be ready to recognize that I was there - it wasn't like he was busy or anything, he just wasn't ready for me).

He asked me what service I wanted. I wasn't sure, so I said, in my best Spanish, "I am not sure, what do you have?", expecting him to pull out some cards and show me my choices. Instead, he called over to a guy who was sitting at the counter drinking a beer and asked if he could translate. The guy, who appeared to be a typical tourist like you would see in a movie, wearing shorts, flip flops, and his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, asked me what I needed. I told him I needed a telephone card. He told the guy behind the counter that I needed a telephone card, using exactly the same words I had said earlier, which seemed to be not understood. The tourist, who I guessed was German or Scandinavian, so I'll call him Hans, then said, what kind of card do you want. I told him I did not know, and he said, "you know, like Verizon, Nextel...", then I understood the confusion, and said, "ah no not for a cell phone, for a public phone". Hans had a hard time explaining this to the guy behind the counter, so I took over translating for him. The guy behind the counter, who I will call Jose, because it's easier, replied to Hans, but Hans was confused, so I explained to Hans and Hans explained to Jose, and the whole thing was getting frustrating and confusing, partly because Hans did not speak Spanish as well as I could and partly because Jose had a frigging nasty attitude. Maybe it's the heat.

Finally, Jose gave me a card and Hans explained to me how to read the directions on the back of the card. I left, feeling a little put off.

When I had my date with Miguel, I was sharing with him some of my observations. One of them was this, that people in stores seem a bit angry. Miguel confirmed this observation. As I was about to tell him my story about the telephone card, he began speaking over me until finally he wrestled the conversation ball out of my hands and told me about his frustrating experience with the cable guy (I think that is a universal experience). I decided at that point that I was not going to tell Miguel any more stories, but at least I learned that this lack of customer service is apparently a national thing and has nothing to do with me being a tourist, not understanding how to talk to people or anything like that. Maybe it's the heat.

An Internet Date

I posted a personal ad on a gay website and have gotten thousands of responses. It's funny, because it is the same ad that is available for guys in San Francisco, but I never get any responses there. There was a feature where I could say I was visiting the Dominican Republic and guys here could see it. I'm serious about the thousands of responses - well, maybe not thousands, but lots.

So yesterday I met a guy named Miguel who is an intern at a hospital, studying to be a doctor. After some miscommunication (even though he speaks English and I speak Spanish) we finally met. He came up to my apartment and we talked a bit. He saw Eat, Pray, Love and asked me about it. I told him a little about it and how much I am loving it. We were both hungry and he volunteered to take me to a restaurant that serves typical Dominican food. I have not had many good meals here so far, so I was really happy about that. I was wearing long cotton pants, black sandals and a black t-shirt. He looked at me and asked , "Are you wearing that?" - it reminded me of this Deborah Tannen book called "You're wearing that? - Communication between mothers and daughters". It was the first of many times that I felt he was talking to me like somone's mom. The 2nd time was right after that when he lifted my eyelids and told me to go wash my eyes. I get this sleepy stuff caught in my eyelashes and never knew one could wash one's eyes. I said "ok, mom" and went and washed my eyes, feeling like our date was going to be a bit dreadful.

We talked about how we could go to this restaurant. It was not in the Zona Colonial, which I was glad about because I wanted to see some of the rest of the city. We had different transportation options - taxi, or carrito. A "carrito" is like a taxi, but people share them. I remember these from Nicaragua. You'd hop in one that was going in the direction you wanted to go but other people would get in and out along the route. I remember them being kind of fun.

We walked outside and it was rush hour, which meant lots of cars honking. I saw one car hit a guy who was crossing the street. He was wearing shorts and sandals, so I assumed he was a tourist. He started yelling at the driver. I watched to see what happened, but the driver kept driving and the guy kept yelling. We crossed the street in the middle of the street and cars stopped and let us cross, so I don't know how the guy with the shorts was able to get hit - maybe he just wasn't paying attention.

We went to a place where there were some carritos parked. Miguel told the driver where he wanted to go. He got in one car that was empty but they told him to get in another one. He got in the car which was full except for the space he took. At that point there was one person in the front and three in the back, making the car seem full. Miguel said "get in". I thought he was joking. I said "really?", and he said "yes". I said, "really?" thinking he was joking. He got out. I thought he had been joking. Then he said, "ok, we'll walk". Now I was confused.

As we walked, we went back and forth deconstructing what happened. Turns out he was serious. I was suppoed to get in this car and sit on his lap. I am glad I didn't.

It was not really far to walk to the restaurant. I was very hungry and a little tired because I had't had my nap. We were walking to a residential area called Gazcue. We were walking along a major traffic route with lots of people blowing their horns - I guess because there were cars in front of them and they wanted them to move. There was no where to go.

Fortunately, it wasn't that hot.

The restaurant was named "el Conuco" and was very cute. A big space filled with all kinds of colorful things - flowers, baskets, drums, fake people standing behind fake fruit stalls. It was like being in a museum. We went for the buffet so that I could try everything. I had some yummy chicken, a nice beef stew, steamed veggies, rice, macaroni salad and I put this sauce made from vinegar, tomatoes and other spices on everything. It was really good. We went on to have some kind of soup with meat and plantains and finally for desert, sweet plantains in some kind of dark brown sauce (maybe brown sugar or molasses) and some other very sweet things.

Our dinner conversation was ok. Miguel, I was learning, had a bit of an attitude that turned me off. He seemed kind of pissy. Several times I tried to speak and he cut me off. That made me not want to say anything else. I asked him some questions about the Domincan Republic and he answered me, but seemed to blame the people here for their condition, even though he admitted that it is only a handful of very rich people who control all of the wealth (where is that not true?). As the night wore on, I realized I was not going to want to see Miguel again.

Horns

I´m staying in the Colonial Zone. This is where the ¨first¨church, hospital, and other things in the Americas are. Columbus´brother founded Santo Domingo. I don´t know where Chris was at the time. Maybe already dead. Anyway, it is a quaint zone with some pretty streets, pretty old buildings and a nice pedestrian area called El Conde ( the count).

I don´t know what the rest of the city is like, but it seems that there are no stop signs here. So as people approach intersections they beep their horns. There is a constant honking of horns all day (and all night) long. It's kind of bothersome. I wonder if you get used to it.

Drivers seem to like blowing their horns. If a guy on a bicycle loaded with pineapples is moving slowly down the street or an old lady is crossing or the wind is blowing, people honk their horns. If someone is blocking the road, people beep their horns, which I've never understood, because if you are blocking traffic, I think you know you are blocking traffic and making a lot of noise doesn´t do much to clue you in to something you are already probably aware of. I saw this in Mexico City when I was waiting for Turibus outside of the Museum of Anthropology. When a taxi stopped to let people out or pick people up, the drivers behind them honked. I don't know what they expected the taxis or passengers to do. I wonder if Buddhists honk their horns. I don't remember this being a problem in Thailand.

First Impressions

I´ve been here since Wednesday, today is Saturday. That makes this my fourth day if you count the night I arrived. I decided I should start blogging for several reasons. First of all, I found a nice internet cafe with good music and a girl who sits at the desk and sings, it is air conditioned and is a good place to escape the heat while I wait for the maid to clean my room, and I´m finding this place very interesting and want some time to reflect. Even if no one reads my blogs, maybe some day I´ll pull from them and write a book (I´m reading Eat, Pray, Love now and LOVE it!), or maybe when I´m old and senile, I can come back and read about my adventures.

I kind of got a feeling for the Dominican Republic right away in the airport. I was seated in row 10, so I was close to the front of the plane. That meant I was able to scoot off the plane and be very early arriving at immigration. But as I arrived and walked through the maze I saw people who were getting to the front of the line and being greeted by a man who sent them over to the side of the arrival hall where there was a small desk with a sign that said ¨Tourist Cards¨or something like that. As I got near I heard him tell about the 15th person that she needed a tourist card, and as she turned around and went over to the little desk I followed her and stood in line to get my tourist card, which cost me $10. Then I got back in the line, walked through the maze and stepped aside for the continuous flow of people who were being told that they needed to go and get their tourist card. I thought that this guy probably tells thousands of people a day that they need a tourist card, but I guess no one has figured out that the system might be a little inefficient.

Finally it was my turn to get my passport checked. The officer checked it and then passed a passport to the guy in the next cubicle. I stood there waiting only to realize that my passport was on the desk in front of me. Nothing was said to indicate we were finished. The officer just sat there waiting for me to realize I was done. I said ¨Gracias¨and left.

I then went to baggage claim where my bags were among the last to come off, changed money and then exited, looking for my ¨smiling and friendly driver¨as was promised on the website of the place where I am renting an apartment.

I wasn´t sure if I had sent Anthony, the guy who runs (owns?) the building where I am staying, my flight information, so I was worried that no one would be there to pick me up. I also didn´t have the address of the apartment building and with the hours I spent in Miami airport, I was unable to find an internet cafe (it always amazes me how advanced the rest of the world, i.e. Thailand, is when it comes to airport amenities), so I wasn´t able to get the address (I was trying the morning I left but my computer would not turn on and Super Shuttle came before I was able to get it). So anyway, I exited the secure area and saw people lining the exit hall waiting to meet people. There were a few people there with signs, but none of them had my name on them. I started to get worried. I walked back again as people exiting gave me puzzled looks (since I was walking against the flow of traffic) and I did not see my name. I got more worried. Then I saw outside that there was a non-smiling man with a sign with my name on it. I smiled and walked towards him, but he did not smile. He introduced himself as Anthony. I guess the smiling men were not available.

Anthony is from New York, I think the Bronx or Queens. He seemed a little pissed off. I don´t think it was me, or the heat, or the fact that he had to pick me up at the airport, I kind of get the feeling that this is how he normally is.

After stopping for gas, and driving about 30 minutes, we arrived at the apartment building. It was really hot. It was late and I was tired. Anthony showed me my apartment, gave me my orientation and I went to bed. I slept well.