I'm back in Santo Domingo and it's nice to be here.
I got up really early, I'm not sure why. I might have slept about 5 hours last night. After watching a movie that I've only seen when I am traveling (it might have been the last time I was here that I saw it several times) with Janet Jackson called "Why did I get married?" or something along those lines (I actually enjoyed it - again), I tried to go to sleep, but couldn't sleep. I sat on my terrace a bit until the mosquitoes started to feast on me and then went to bed. I woke up and could not fall back to sleep, so I went out into my kitchen/living area and the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. I decided I would enjoy the "amanacer" (a word I really like in Spanish, meaning the "dawn", but in Nicaragua after the revolution, countless songs talked about the "amanacer" - which was soon snuffed out by Reagan's dirty war.....)
Anyway, I took my time sipping coffee, playing on the computer, watching the sun light the sky and hearing the birds begin to awaken. I packed up, ate a light breakfast and wheeled my broken suitcase (the new backpack with wheels that I bought just a few months ago at Macy's in Philly didn't survive its 2nd flight) and began checking out.
The sweet young man who has been so helpful was there, smiling as usual. I asked him where he was from because I thought he was Haitian, but perhaps could have been French. He confirmed he was from Haiti. He seems extremely well educated, and dresses in very fashionable/casual chic.
I asked him to call me a taxi even though I had promised El Chivo, the grandpa who brought me from Sanchez, that I would call him on my return.
The taxi arrived and was a nice, comfortable, air-conditioned mini-bus. The driver was very nice and we chatted on the way up over the hills from Las Terrenas to Sanchez. His Spanish had a very different quality to it and I imagined if I had been able to speak to anyone in that area, I might have found that it was a regional variation.
As soon as we left the beach road and ventured into Las Terrenas town, signs of the French influence disappeared and was replaced by Dominicans, dark-skinned, walking, three on a motorcycle, trucks carrying construction workers, market stands with fresh fruit, meat laying out in the open air, auto parts, etc. It occurred to me that with all of these people that I was seeing, I had never seen any of them at the beach, or swimming in the ocean. Perhaps there was another more local beach that they went to. Perhaps they were prohibited from mixing with the tourists, or using the "french" beaches. I found it odd.
Up we went over the hills, through several small villages. I asked my driver if the people who lived there were "campesinos", thinking that a campesino was a farmer. He told me they were and that many of them worked in Las Terrenas, some were moto-concho drivers, and some worked in agriculture. I then realized there was a difference in meaning and my question might have seemed a bit odd to him. He then pointed out the different things they were growing - corn, coconuts, a sort of rubber tree. As we swept up over the mountain he pointed down to the bay where the whales come every winter. Every person who has driven me up over that mountain has pointed out that bay, well, except for El Chivo, because he was too busy complaining about how there were no tourists.
We pulled into the bus station, well, more like a bus stand, at about 9:15. The Caribe-Tours website said the bus left at 9:30. It was the last bus in the morning, according to the website, which is why I was worried about oversleeping and therefore didn't sleep well (oh, so there was a reason for it).
The young man in the ticket office (who I remembered from last year) told me there was a bus at 9:30 that took the old highway, and one at 10:30 that took the new one. Ugh, I wish it had said that on the website.
I told him the 9:30 one was ok. I had calculated arriving in Santo Domingo around 1:30, eating lunch, and checking in whenever I could (check-in was supposed to be at 3, so I didn't want to arrive too early). I figured I could sleep on the bus.
If I had taken the 10:30 bus, I would have had a shorter time on the bus, but would have had to wait for an hour in the bus staion where there was an extremely loud radio program blaring that sounded like it was horse racing (it was coming from inside the office and also from the street - I think everyone in Sanchez could hear it).
I saw El Chivo wobble down the street in front of the bus station. I was hoping he would not see me.
As the bus pulled up, I pulled my broken suitcase down the driveway, and there was
El Chivo waiting to open the door on the side of the bus to load luggage (I think I was supposed to tip him for that, but I didn't). I was hoping he would not recognize me.
He looked at me fiercely and said something about a guagua. Guaguas are these funky old mini-busses that are jam-packed full of people and spew black smoke as they roam around Santo Domingo. I knew what he was asking me, but I pretended I didn't understand as I threw my bag in the compartment and headed towards the bus door. Again he said something about which guagua I took. I told him I didn't understand, and he said "unh?" as I climed the stairs and boarded the bus. I am sure he was putting some kind of curse on me.
I settled in to my seat and off we went, through countless little villages that line the coast. I remembered much of the scenery from last year when I came in the other direction. Little shacks, many of which were quite cute, painted in different colors, or some just made of cinder blocks with corrugated tin roofs. After reading about how the poor in Haiti live, with mud floors and banana leaves for roofs that do nothing to keep out the rain, these little shacks looked kind of luxurious. Dignified poverty was a term used a lot in Mountains Beyond Mountains (my book for this trip), and I was thinking that perhaps this is what that meant. All poverty being relative (whatever that means).
I dozed off for a bit and we pulled into our first stop, Nagua. It is a cute little town with lots of cute little shops with brightly-colored hand painted signs on the buildings.
We traveled a little more along the coast and passed some incredible, virgin beaches lined with palm forsests. I fantasized about setting up some sort of retreat center that would be open to the community there for free, would emply anyone who wanted a job, would be self-sustaining (growing its own food) and environmentally friendly (solar power, and all of that). Maybe it's better that those beaches remain untouched.
I fell asleep again and must have missed the miles and miles of palm plantations. When I woke up we had begun our ascent into the mountains (I think). I don't remember the order, but we passed through some mountains which I assume were rain forest because it was raining and we crossed some pretty mighty rivers. People lined the road selling coconuts, and then beautiful tropical flowers. We then passed through a rice growing region and I saw rice fields in every stage, from those being freshly planted, those that were fully grown, those that were overgrown, those that were burnt, and those being plowed. I wondered how long it would be before the US began forcing government subsidized rice on the Dominicans and drive these rice-growers out of business - the same thing we did to Haiti, contributing greatly to their inability to sustain themselves now.
As we headed down the mountain, signs of city life began to appear. More crowded living conditions. People sitting around with nothing to do. Traffic. A TV-tel (a motel with TVs, which I thought was a funny thing to advertise).
We pulled into Santo Domingo and I saw lots of people, men and women, walking among the traffic, selling gatorade, bottled water, ice cream, snacks, all competing for the few people willing to buy their wares. I wondered how much they could make in a day, if they made anything.
Our bus pulled in, I got in a taxi and am now in my hotel. This is the third place I have stayed in Santo Domingo. It is a hotel in the Colonial Zone, much closer to the tourist area than the two places I stayed before. I have a nice clean room with no kitchen (since the two apartments I rented before had kitchens and no utensils, I decided to skip the kitchen). There are no horns honking outside of my window (though there is a yappy dog), and other than the air-con not being very cold, it's very nice. I just had lunch sitting on the front terrace overlooking the Conde, a little pedestrian shopping area that reminds me of the old downtowns we used to have when I was growing up before malls put most downtown areas out of business.
Because it rained today it was quite pleasant outside - almost cool, with a really nice breeze and very little sun, keeping it cool.
I'm ready to take a nap and then might meet up later with someone I met online (perhaps a date?)
Tomorrow I am going to brave the heat and the hawkers and explore the colonial zone to take some pictures.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The Journey Is Half the Fun
I'm back in Santo Domingo and it's nice to be here.
I got up really early, I'm not sure why. I might have slept about 5 hours last night. After watching a movie that I've only seen when I am traveling (it might have been the last time I was here that I saw it several times) with Janet Jackson called "Why did I get married?" or something along those lines (I actually enjoyed it - again), I tried to go to sleep, but couldn't sleep. I sat on my terrace a bit until the mosquitoes started to feast on me and then went to bed. I woke up and could not fall back to sleep, so I went out into my kitchen/living area and the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. I decided I would enjoy the "amanacer" (a word I really like in Spanish, meaning the "dawn", but in Nicaragua after the revolution, countless songs talked about the "amanacer" - which was soon snuffed out by Reagan's dirty war.....)
Anyway, I took my time sipping coffee, playing on the computer, watching the sun light the sky and hearing the birds begin to awaken. I packed up, ate a light breakfast and wheeled my broken suitcase (the new backpack with wheels that I bought just a few months ago at Macy's in Philly didn't survive its 2nd flight) and began checking out.
The sweet young man who has been so helpful was there, smiling as usual. I asked him where he was from because I thought he was Haitian, but perhaps could have been French. He confirmed he was from Haiti. He seems extremely well educated, and dresses in very fashionable/casual chic.
I asked him to call me a taxi even though I had promised El Chivo, the grandpa who brought me from Sanchez, that I would call him on my return.
The taxi arrived and was a nice, comfortable, air-conditioned mini-bus. The driver was very nice and we chatted on the way up over the hills from Las Terrenas to Sanchez. His Spanish had a very different quality to it and I imagined if I had been able to speak to anyone in that area, I might have found that it was a regional variation.
As soon as we left the beach road and ventured into Las Terrenas town, signs of the French influence disappeared and was replaced by Dominicans, dark-skinned, walking, three on a motorcycle, trucks carrying construction workers, market stands with fresh fruit, meat laying out in the open air, auto parts, etc. It occurred to me that with all of these people that I was seeing, I had never seen any of them at the beach, or swimming in the ocean. Perhaps there was another more local beach that they went to. Perhaps they were prohibited from mixing with the tourists, or using the "french" beaches. I found it odd.
Up we went over the hills, through several small villages. I asked my driver if the people who lived there were "campesinos", thinking that a campesino was a farmer. He told me they were and that many of them worked in Las Terrenas, some were moto-concho drivers, and some worked in agriculture. I then realized there was a difference in meaning and my question might have seemed a bit odd to him. He then pointed out the different things they were growing - corn, coconuts, a sort of rubber tree. As we swept up over the mountain he pointed down to the bay where the whales come every winter. Every person who has driven me up over that mountain has pointed out that bay, well, except for El Chivo, because he was too busy complaining about how there were no tourists.
We pulled into the bus station, well, more like a bus stand, at about 9:15. The Caribe-Tours website said the bus left at 9:30. It was the last bus in the morning, according to the website, which is why I was worried about oversleeping and therefore didn't sleep well (oh, so there was a reason for it).
The young man in the ticket office (who I remembered from last year) told me there was a bus at 9:30 that took the old highway, and one at 10:30 that took the new one. Ugh, I wish it had said that on the website.
I told him the 9:30 one was ok. I had calculated arriving in Santo Domingo around 1:30, eating lunch, and checking in whenever I could (check-in was supposed to be at 3, so I didn't want to arrive too early). I figured I could sleep on the bus.
If I had taken the 10:30 bus, I would have had a shorter time on the bus, but would have had to wait for an hour in the bus staion where there was an extremely loud radio program blaring that sounded like it was horse racing (it was coming from inside the office and also from the street - I think everyone in Sanchez could hear it).
I saw El Chivo wobble down the street in front of the bus station. I was hoping he would not see me.
As the bus pulled up, I pulled my broken suitcase down the driveway, and there was
El Chivo waiting to open the door on the side of the bus to load luggage (I think I was supposed to tip him for that, but I didn't). I was hoping he would not recognize me.
He looked at me fiercely and said something about a guagua. Guaguas are these funky old mini-busses that are jam-packed full of people and spew black smoke as they roam around Santo Domingo. I knew what he was asking me, but I pretended I didn't understand as I threw my bag in the compartment and headed towards the bus door. Again he said something about which guagua I took. I told him I didn't understand, and he said "unh?" as I climed the stairs and boarded the bus. I am sure he was putting some kind of curse on me.
I settled in to my seat and off we went, through countless little villages that line the coast. I remembered much of the scenery from last year when I came in the other direction. Little shacks, many of which were quite cute, painted in different colors, or some just made of cinder blocks with corrugated tin roofs. After reading about how the poor in Haiti live, with mud floors and banana leaves for roofs that do nothing to keep out the rain, these little shacks looked kind of luxurious. Dignified poverty was a term used a lot in Mountains Beyond Mountains (my book for this trip), and I was thinking that perhaps this is what that meant. All poverty being relative (whatever that means).
I dozed off for a bit and we pulled into our first stop, Nagua. It is a cute little town with lots of cute little shops with brightly-colored hand painted signs on the buildings.
We traveled a little more along the coast and passed some incredible, virgin beaches lined with palm forsests. I fantasized about setting up some sort of retreat center that would be open to the community there for free, would emply anyone who wanted a job, would be self-sustaining (growing its own food) and environmentally friendly (solar power, and all of that). Maybe it's better that those beaches remain untouched.
I fell asleep again and must have missed the miles and miles of palm plantations. When I woke up we had begun our ascent into the mountains (I think). I don't remember the order, but we passed through some mountains which I assume were rain forest because it was raining and we crossed some pretty mighty rivers. People lined the road selling coconuts, and then beautiful tropical flowers. We then passed through a rice growing region and I saw rice fields in every stage, from those being freshly planted, those that were fully grown, those that were overgrown, those that were burnt, and those being plowed. I wondered how long it would be before the US began forcing government subsidized rice on the Dominicans and drive these rice-growers out of business - the same thing we did to Haiti, contributing greatly to their inability to sustain themselves now.
As we headed down the mountain, signs of city life began to appear. More crowded living conditions. People sitting around with nothing to do. Traffic. A TV-tel (a motel with TVs, which I thought was a funny thing to advertise).
We pulled into Santo Domingo and I saw lots of people, men and women, walking among the traffic, selling gatorade, bottled water, ice cream, snacks, all competing for the few people willing to buy their wares. I wondered how much they could make in a day, if they made anything.
Our bus pulled in, I got in a taxi and am now in my hotel. This is the third place I have stayed in Santo Domingo. It is a hotel in the Colonial Zone, much closer to the tourist area than the two places I stayed before. I have a nice clean room with no kitchen (since the two apartments I rented before had kitchens and no utensils, I decided to skip the kitchen). There are no horns honking outside of my window (though there is a yappy dog), and other than the air-con not being very cold, it's very nice. I just had lunch sitting on the front terrace overlooking the Conde, a little pedestrian shopping area that reminds me of the old downtowns we used to have when I was growing up before malls put most downtown areas out of business.
Because it rained today it was quite pleasant outside - almost cool, with a really nice breeze and very little sun, keeping it cool.
I'm ready to take a nap and then might meet up later with someone I met online (perhaps a date?)
Tomorrow I am going to brave the heat and the hawkers and explore the colonial zone to take some pictures.
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