Reflections

It's been almost a month since I posted, making me an atrocious blogger. I think it's because everything seems so normal now. I guess after 3 1/2 months in a place the remarkable becomes normal. In a week's time I'm going to fly to Boston and head up Cape Cod to Provincetown where I'll be for the summer. I've got a job in a restaurant and a place to stay, so the plan is to work and earn a load of tips there so I can come back here in September with lots of dollaz to rent a nice apartment. So with this big change coming up, I've been reflecting on my time here so far, and trying to figure out what I've learned. Here is what I have managed to put into words thus far:

1 - Sometimes lack of organisation makes things more efficient. I am working in a bar/restaurant at the moment as well as the school for some extra cash. The other night, we ran out of tequila. I called the liquor store and 10 minutes later they delivered it. We run out of anything, we can call a motoconcho guy and get him to go to the supermarket for us. In restaurants at home, everything would be done in a big stock order, delivered regularly and charged to an account - you can't just call a dude at 11pm and have him drop over a bottle of tequila.

2 - You can plan things if you want, but you can't get pissy when they don't work out as planned.

3 - Dominican people never say no to you, even if the question is "Are you a doctor?" This is why you need recommendations of where to go.

4 - You can be very pleasantly surprised at the service you get. I broke my phone's screen, went to get it fixed. The guy charged me e25, which is good for an iPhone screen and fixed the screen but then I couldn't make calls. He swore it would fix itself overnight. I got annoyed and wasn't going to pay him, so he said he would put the broke screen back on. I paid him resentfully and took my phone home. Sure enough, the next morning it worked perfectly. I think I need to go back and apologise,

5 - If you are white you can just stroll into fancy hotels and enjoy their pools and showers and sun loungers.

6 - People here live with very very little, and though I think I am living with little here, in reality I am a privileged spoilt little brat.

7 - Sometimes you can be smart and get great prices on touristy things because you speak Spanish and can bargain. Sometimes that bites you in the ass. Illustrated below.

7a - Some friends and I wanted to go to Parque Nacional Los Haitises, which is a a collection of islands and mangrove forests where the Taino, the indigenous people of this region lived and where Carribean pirates stashed treasure. It's about USD $70 for a day trip there, so we figured we could find something cheaper. Usually if you ask a Dominican they'll have a "cousin" who can sort these things out. Sure enough, we got quoted the price of e25 each for a trip out of Sanchez, a nearby town. Some chancer who called himself Chocolate (yes, really) met us at the guagua stop in Las Terrenas and we got the guagua to Sanchez. We got off in Sanchez and Chocolate hopped out, leaving us to pay his fare (red flag number one). He brings us down some alleys to a little beach with falling apart houses to our boat, a blue fibreglass fishing boat, as basic as they get. 3 little benches, max 7 people. Chocolate passed us on to a fisherman who assured us he knew all there was to know about the National Park (see point no. 7 above) They took the motor out of their house and attached it and off we went. Despite lots of comments from all the locals about how calm the water was and how lucky we were, it was a rocky rocky ride. The boat slammed down on the waves and made the top half of my jaw hit the bottom half like a movie clapperboard. About every two seconds. There were some lifejackets sitting on the floor of the boat, and I was the only one wearing one. It was my Mom´s birthday, and it´d be forever ruined if I died that day.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Wet n´ Wild

Irati with the fresh sea spray in her face

After 25 minutes of bumpy, fearful discomfort, we made it to the islands, where we quickly realised our guide/fisherman/some dude who happened to be standing near the boat when we turned up knew nothing beyong that these were in fact islands where Taino used to live. He took us to an island that had a load of soldiers on it from where they were trying to control forest fires. They were bemused at all these white people in a fishing boat. We sailed into a cave and around some islands where we oohed and aahed at the seabirds, then he took us to a big cave where we could get out of the boat and walk around. This cave had Taino cave art in it. We were quickly confronted by a tourism board woman who asked us to pay 200 pesos (€4). We had been told, when the price of our trip went up by 200 pesos, that it was to cover the cost of the park, which is what we told the tourism lady. She looked pissed off. We looked through the cave, saw the cave art - a kind of a fish face scratched onto a rock - and went on. Then our fisherman guide said that was it, and we were heading back. We felt sure there was more to this trip, more to see, but he assured us we had seen it all. This is a fine example of point number 3 above - a fisherman, despite what he might tell you, is not a tour guide. If you want a tour guide, you gotta pay for one.

"When did the Tainos live here?"

"Oh, a long time ago."

"Yes, but how long?"

"Really long ago."

So began our homeward journey, which was considerably worse than the outbound one. We had to sit on the floor of the boat because it was bouncing so much. We were soaked through and blinded by high powered jets of salt water pummelling us. It was funny, for about 5 minutes, then we just kept laughing because we didn´t know what else to do. Another Dominican experience, survived and learnt from!

Camp of the soldier men

It´s a cave

Cobweb-like tree stuff

Mangroves

More mangroves

Cave dwellers

Check out my tan.

The annoyance at getting such a crappy tour was totally overcome by giddiness at surviving it, so we celebrated the way most Dominicans do on a Sunday - we drank beer and rum at a watering hole to blaring salsa and bachata music. We were in total countryside, outside of a small town called Sánchez, at a natural pool packed to the brim. We were the only white people (no tourists in Sánchez) and they looked bemused when we got up and danced bachata, badly.

Mother and child, twerking.

Of dubious cleanliness, but refreshingly cold.

I´ve got more to tell before I leave this crazy land for the USA, but it´s late and I have to sleep. I was meant to post this last night, Sunday 7th, but there was a power cut. The power stayed out all night and nobody in my house slept, because we need fans on us to sleep in this heat. It was gross and sweaty and suffocating. Then this morning when I was going to work, there were fires in the street being cleared up, burnt out washing machines and mattresses, and it turns out there were riots last night because the police shot dead a local 18 year old who didn´t stop at a checkpoint when told to. The rioters tore/knocked down the power lines. It was quieter than usual on my street, because nobody had any electricity to blare music. So more about riots and police tomorrow, because now I´m going to point my fan at my bed and climb under my mosquito net. Goodnight.