Boca Chica - Mouth of Hell

Ok, Boca Chica does not really mean mouth of hell, it's small mouth or something like that, but it certainly seems like the gate to hell. I shoulda done my homework, is all I can say. Problem is, I've been to many places and never found a place to be completely and utterly disagreeable....until now. I arrived by taxi from Santo Domingo. I asked the girl in the office of my hotel how much my taxi would be and she called and asked and was told 800 pesos - a little over $10. Not bad for a 30 minute taxi ride. When I got in the taxi, I asked the driver. He radioed in and asked and the dispatcher told him 800 pesos, which he repeated to me. "That's fine" I said. As we almost reached the entrance to Boca Chica the driver told me that he told me it was 800 pesos, but he had to give the girl at the hotel 100 pesos tip. What did that mean for me?, I asked him. He said he was just letting me know and if I wanted to give him a tip.... I told him he had quoted me a fare of 800 pesos, but I ended up giving him the 100 pesos anyway. It was the beginning of the adventure. When I called to change my reservation from tomorrow to today because the place I was staying in Santo Domingo was so noisy and moldy and I had to get out, I asked them when I could arrive. They told me anytime after 11. I couldn't get here soon enough and ended up arriving around 11:30. The guy at the desk told me my room was not ready because checkout was at 2. I put my things in an empty room and went down to check out the beach. From what I remembered from when we passed through last year, it was beautiful. Well, my memory was a little distorted. Parts of the beach were beautiful. There was white sand and blue water, but in the distance you could see big tanks from some sort of refinery or concrete mill. The beach is not very big, but as I walked along I was acosted by just about every person I passed. People pointing to tables for me to eat or drink, guys offering me girls and massages, women smiling at me and touching me. On top of that, it was the hottest day since I've been here and the sun was beating down mercilessly. Eventually, I couldn't take it any more and went up to the street, thinking I'd find a nice place to eat. There were no nice places to eat. This is the Carribean, but apparently Carribean food is hard to come by. Mostly there were pizza shops, Italian restaurants, and Swiss food (whatever that is). Signs advertising that they change euros gave me an idea of the type of tourists who come here. I walked back to my hotel feeling like I'd made a big mistake. I ended up eating a hamburger in the little restaurant at my hotel next to the pool because it was all they had. I gave half of it to a kitty who was sleeping under the table. A big Dominicanorker (Dominican from New York) sat by the pool drinking beer and talking to a guy in the water. Two women came down for a swim and the other guy left but the DRNYer started talking to the women and drinking more beer. The women told the maid to turn the music up, which she did. I was sweating bullets. I was feeling like this was not the relaxing get-away I was looking for. I was wondering what was taking so long to get my room ready. The Newyorminicano started getting louder. I took off my shoes and stuck my feet in the pool, thinking I would cool down. I didn't. Finally a guy came and told me he was ready to bring my luggage up. Maybe this is what the hold up was? This guy wasn't around? I had seen the maid cleaning the room that turned out to be mine and didn't see anyone check out, so I believe the room was available and clean, but the guy to carry my bag was not here. I came up to the room, which is ok, but was hot. Turned on the a/c and it took forever to cool down. The a/c is a little noisy and only cools the bedroom. I'm sitting in the living room with all of the doors and windows open and am still sweating, even though it has cooled down outside. The Newyorminicano got louder as more of his friends arrived and he drank more beer. I was thinking that I needed to get out of here and checked online to see what options I had. Then everyone at the pool left and it got quiet (it is noisy again now). I thought, "well, I have a pool here, even if I won't be going to the beach (because it is obvious I won't be able to relax on the beach) - I have a decent apartment, and I have some good books, maybe I can stay a week". After taking a nap, I went to check out the main drag and pick up some things at the supermarket. As I was walking down a group of young guys approached me, speaking loudly (I think they might have been drunk or high) and asked me where I was from. I tried to wave them away. The most aggressive of them said something about Italy, and asked again where I was from, so I said, "Italia". I'm not sure why. Probably Italians have more money than Americans these days with the strength of the Euro. He kept following me, talking fast and shoving a card in my face. I kept gesturing for him to go away until finally I just stopped and threw my meanest, most threatening look at him. He said something to me and turned around and left. It was at that moment that I decided it was time for me to leave too. I came back and e-mailed Playa Colibri, the beautiful place I rented an apartment at last year. I had the beach to myself most of the week I was there, except for a cute little boy with dreadlocks and a dog. There was a good supermarket and the kitchen was well stocked. I left feeling relaxed and the whole time I was there I felt very safe and comfortable. Hopefully I will be leaving the mouth of hell tomorrow.