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.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Friday, May 30, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
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.
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.
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