Up at the crack of dawn to go to the capital to apply/complete forms for Rich. We drove an hour to the house of the yet another cousin. During the early morning preparation, cheese and crackers were breakfast. [Sidetrack: Dolores Claiborne, with Kathy Bates. In the movie she would say, “Cheese and crackers when you wanted to swear."
We were up at 5 a.m. for the drive to the capital. I knew Rich drove fast, but he has seemed to have gotten an extra dose of machismo as with a large portion of the men (some women as well) here in the D.R. Once at the agency, Junta Central Electoral Cedula, we waited and waited, and waited. While we sat in the initial reception area, Rosa applied her make-up as a man at first tried not to stare, but eventually had to comment as to the amount and time spent on applying her make-up. He was flirting with her, he made no qualms about that. He looked right through me and over to Rosa. There were a few minutes of conversation interspersed with Rich coming to and from the inner-office. The people don’t hesitate to stare at someone they find attractive, even when that someone is with a partner.
In the hallway, we continued to wait for the needed papers. I am told that things get done here when those in power want it to happen. Not unlike any other country. Small talk with the other people in the hallway. People passing by, complaining in unison. The short of the long, Rich could/should have had the necessary stamp on the first day he came here to the capital. NOT three days later and an overnight stay, instead dragging Rosa, Sacorro, and I along for the trip.
At different times I want to get on the next plane out of here because of the types/mentality of the people. Other times, like today at the beach when I felt uninhibited. I don’t think it had anything to do with the several beers I had consumed. As it happened, the music got into my soul, mind, and body. The next thing I knew, I was barefoot and dancing while all eyes were on me. It was great! Once I began, I couldn’t stop. Dancing such as this, when it comes, is like a trance. From the beach, we returned to the country club, where we are now at 5:30 p.m.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
D. R. Journal - Day Four
Sunday morning in the mountains of Jarabacoa. Last night after showering, I was exhausted to the point that I fell asleep while reading How To Make A Good Screenplay Great, for the second time. I believe we returned from the country club around 8pm. Soon thereafter, we had dinner, the chicken that I had seen hanging from a branch yesterday morning. It was definitely fresh. Beans and rice rounded out the meal, there was a salad, but I didn’t have room for anything else.
At one point, I remember Timo coming into the bedroom to check on me as I lay stretched out in the bed reading. I remember laughter and talking coming from the patio. I of course remember the music as I struggled to go to sleep. I remember Rich calling out to me, but I was too close to actually being asleep to move or respond. Today, he says he tried to wake me on three different occasions, of which I don’t remember.
Rich said the music was even louder than the last time. So much so that he had to stuff pieces of paper towels in his ears. He also said that the place, Leymel, was crowded, unlike the night before. I am glad I didn’t go and face those conditions.
The cabin we’re in belongs to an uncle, a manufacturer of pants in Santo Domingo. It is excellent! Being here makes me forget the conditions down below. It is a 2 ½ level, multi-room home. Tiled floors, wicker furniture, wood furniture, winding stoned staircases, natural wood windows and doors. Glass windows and doors. Fireplace. Two kitchens, one on each floor. Hammock upstairs (as I write from the main level). The house is inside a mountain that was hollowed out. This is living. The bathroom, dark browns, greens. Stenciled leaves along the walls. Scented candles. I love it.
This is a complete departure from Azua. One of the modern conveniences I have grown accustomed are highways which cut travel which cut travel time in half. In the Dominican Republic, I have yet to see a highway. We embarked upon our journey today and not reach out destination for what seems to have been a full three hours. Taking into consideration the two rest stops. We remained at the cabin for about an hour and a half venturing to the river at Jarabacoa. Nobel, Rich, and Timo rode a horse. There was a band playing merengue music atop a platform. Esmerlin, Helsin, Karen, Rich, Samuel, and I went into the river to watch the people playing in the water and listening to the music.
Later we went to the waterfall, Salto en Jimenoa, where there were bridges suspended from the sides of the mountains. We went inside of the very cold water with its slipper rocks. There were rocks suspended for safety in the event of someone losing their balance, or in the case of a few obnoxious people, being pushed or distracted.
At one point, I remember Timo coming into the bedroom to check on me as I lay stretched out in the bed reading. I remember laughter and talking coming from the patio. I of course remember the music as I struggled to go to sleep. I remember Rich calling out to me, but I was too close to actually being asleep to move or respond. Today, he says he tried to wake me on three different occasions, of which I don’t remember.
Rich said the music was even louder than the last time. So much so that he had to stuff pieces of paper towels in his ears. He also said that the place, Leymel, was crowded, unlike the night before. I am glad I didn’t go and face those conditions.
The cabin we’re in belongs to an uncle, a manufacturer of pants in Santo Domingo. It is excellent! Being here makes me forget the conditions down below. It is a 2 ½ level, multi-room home. Tiled floors, wicker furniture, wood furniture, winding stoned staircases, natural wood windows and doors. Glass windows and doors. Fireplace. Two kitchens, one on each floor. Hammock upstairs (as I write from the main level). The house is inside a mountain that was hollowed out. This is living. The bathroom, dark browns, greens. Stenciled leaves along the walls. Scented candles. I love it.
This is a complete departure from Azua. One of the modern conveniences I have grown accustomed are highways which cut travel which cut travel time in half. In the Dominican Republic, I have yet to see a highway. We embarked upon our journey today and not reach out destination for what seems to have been a full three hours. Taking into consideration the two rest stops. We remained at the cabin for about an hour and a half venturing to the river at Jarabacoa. Nobel, Rich, and Timo rode a horse. There was a band playing merengue music atop a platform. Esmerlin, Helsin, Karen, Rich, Samuel, and I went into the river to watch the people playing in the water and listening to the music.
Later we went to the waterfall, Salto en Jimenoa, where there were bridges suspended from the sides of the mountains. We went inside of the very cold water with its slipper rocks. There were rocks suspended for safety in the event of someone losing their balance, or in the case of a few obnoxious people, being pushed or distracted.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
D. R. Journal - Day Three
This morning I was temporarily awakened by what I assume was the same rooster crowing at dawn. I went back to sleep after what was a long night barhopping and club-hopping only to end up at the first place we began, a place called Leymel. It rained last night which made all of the locals remain indoors, that was sight unto itself. Normally, the streets and porches are overflowing with the inhabitants of the different barrios. Each day that we are out and about, I am still in awe of the many classes of people. I am told that the police is on the take. Just yesterday, a policeman attempted to pull us over to find a reason to solicit money; we of course continued to drive.
Back to what was to be a night of carousing, which fizzled at best. We drove around to three places in total, stopping momentarily at a car wash-restaurant-bar with dancing. A number of the people drink, a lot! I can’t say that the people have drinking problems, i.e. are alcoholics, it is just a way of life.
The ones that drink do so before one o’clock in the afternoon. My biological donor is an alcoholic/drug abuser, seeing a drunk is old school for me. Personally, I like to drink red wine with cheese and dinner, but to drink just because you can escapes me.
In homes all over the world it is considered impolite to turn down an offer of food, drinking is an altogether different story. Furthermore not acceptting a second helping of food is considered in bad taste, for fear that you didn’t enjoy the first serving.
I’m feeling a bit put upon being asked to drink beer everyday, all day, thus far, as if I’ll change my mind. As I attempted to explain, I don’t want to drink just because it’s readily available and cheap. Call me rude, prude or a snob, but I don’t need or want to start a dependency upon alcohol.
So, where was I? Back to Leymel. The music was too damn loud!! My ears popped after going inside and my throbbing temples didn’t help matters as well. In New York or LA, clubs wouldn’t allow more men inside initially. The men would be kept outside to make it appear as if the place was hot, to stir up attention for those passing by. There were two or three attractive women inside, one in particular was gorgeous. I think of her being a model or Bond Girl. The music was the same the entire night we were there, with the exception of a few American songs at which I got onto to the floor a second time, the first being with Rosa. The second time I actually broke a sweat dancing to House and Reggae music.
More beer and dancing to the same blaring music in this club where the temperature was near freezing, the air-conditioner really worked. There is a culture here that I am not familiar, and I can’t say I would ever want to become comfortable. The host family I am staying with is a book unto themselves.
No one travels in a straight line here. Having plans or trying to set a time is all but impossible, at least with the host family. There are more detours than on a pirate’s map for a buried treasure. They know EVERYONE in and out of town!!! This causes tremendous delays when wanting to go somewhere at a specific time, but to say something seriously about it , or about the drunken bad driving of another would upset my hosts. So, in jest I say, “No Hay Lineas Directas Aqui”.
Back to what was to be a night of carousing, which fizzled at best. We drove around to three places in total, stopping momentarily at a car wash-restaurant-bar with dancing. A number of the people drink, a lot! I can’t say that the people have drinking problems, i.e. are alcoholics, it is just a way of life.
The ones that drink do so before one o’clock in the afternoon. My biological donor is an alcoholic/drug abuser, seeing a drunk is old school for me. Personally, I like to drink red wine with cheese and dinner, but to drink just because you can escapes me.
In homes all over the world it is considered impolite to turn down an offer of food, drinking is an altogether different story. Furthermore not acceptting a second helping of food is considered in bad taste, for fear that you didn’t enjoy the first serving.
I’m feeling a bit put upon being asked to drink beer everyday, all day, thus far, as if I’ll change my mind. As I attempted to explain, I don’t want to drink just because it’s readily available and cheap. Call me rude, prude or a snob, but I don’t need or want to start a dependency upon alcohol.
So, where was I? Back to Leymel. The music was too damn loud!! My ears popped after going inside and my throbbing temples didn’t help matters as well. In New York or LA, clubs wouldn’t allow more men inside initially. The men would be kept outside to make it appear as if the place was hot, to stir up attention for those passing by. There were two or three attractive women inside, one in particular was gorgeous. I think of her being a model or Bond Girl. The music was the same the entire night we were there, with the exception of a few American songs at which I got onto to the floor a second time, the first being with Rosa. The second time I actually broke a sweat dancing to House and Reggae music.
More beer and dancing to the same blaring music in this club where the temperature was near freezing, the air-conditioner really worked. There is a culture here that I am not familiar, and I can’t say I would ever want to become comfortable. The host family I am staying with is a book unto themselves.
No one travels in a straight line here. Having plans or trying to set a time is all but impossible, at least with the host family. There are more detours than on a pirate’s map for a buried treasure. They know EVERYONE in and out of town!!! This causes tremendous delays when wanting to go somewhere at a specific time, but to say something seriously about it , or about the drunken bad driving of another would upset my hosts. So, in jest I say, “No Hay Lineas Directas Aqui”.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
D. R. Journal - Day Two
This morning I was awaken by the sounds of a rooster crowing at 6:00 a.m. I reached up to peer through the window leading onto the patio to see several chickens, roosters and chicks strutting about on the patio. Last night I saw the dog and cat lounging about in the cool breeze. This morning, after falling asleep a second or third time, I was awakened by the blaring sounds of merengue music. At some point, I remember smelling fried foods, hearing the sizzle of a pan.
Once again from the vantage point of the patio window, I looked out to see Richard and Rosa having breakfast. After brushing my teeth, I ventured out to the patio and a breakfast I would not have expected; fish soup and fried fish [bones and head included]. One must get accustomed to the flies and mosquitoes.
The majority of the houses here don’t have windowpanes as I we have in America. The reason being the temperature is so hot, and most likely this being a Third World country, they are not too keen on air-conditioners. The cost of living, I’m told is a mere twenty dollars a day, and that most people earn two-hundred dollars a month. I know I couldn’t live here, nor would I want to live here. The areas I have seen thus far range in people, as it pertains to a class structure, not uncommon in any other part of the world. There are areas or districts I’d call modern, but in those same areas there are shacks in clear sight, off to the side and in thick tree-lined areas. Jungle or wooded areas.
After breakfast, I showered in COLD water, and then we went on a wild goose chase in an attempt to get Richard’s passport renewed. The bottom line is that he has to go to the capital on Monday. There was this guy with a mini-binder that approached in hopes of securing a renewed passport. Walking up a street and around another corner, Rich had to get a new passport photo. Going to some building, a civil service agency of sorts, Rich was still unable to secure the necessary document because of his not having an original document listing his Dominican social security number.
Stopping off en route to the beach to meet yet another one of Rich’s soon-to-be brother-in-laws, five in total. This one owns two stores. While there, I had a chance to ride a scooter. I’ve never ridden a scooter before, so on the first attempt he showed me how to operate the scooter. The heat was beating down on my head; the only thing I could think about was crashing, being involved in some horrible accident and having to be transported to a third world hospital. Fortunately we were successful, there were no major accidents. I learned how to maneuver the scooter.
Back inside the colmado, the merengue music was in full force, flies buzzing about, and beer was steadily consumed by the locals while children were at play. People here tend to stare at someone new, just because they are not from their territory. I think it a bit rude to park yourself in a comfortable position and gawk at another person. The first two days thus far there has been an insistence for me to drink Presidente beer. I remember Rich saying back in the states that he couldn’t wait until he arrived, that he would drink with no apparent end in sight.
The race has begun! Various patrons enter and depart the dimly lit colmado. There is one particular child that has taken a shine to me, albeit to eventually ask for money. As we were about to leave, he asked for a recuerdo. A memory of my having been there, and his having met me. So, I gave him a computer-generated business card with my production company’s name and e-mail address. This didn’t sit too well with the young tyke, he insisted upon un recuerdo de ti while extending his hand. Rich informed me that if given money, he’d remember me for a long time to come. I gave him a total of one U.S. dollar; his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He even had the nerve to check its authenticity. Earlier during our stop at Alberto’s store, Rosa had given us a scare when she disappeared without a trace on the scooter. It turned out that she had gone to visit a nearby uncle.
My first memory of the beach, Monte Rio, is one of filth. I’m trying to remember more about our first trip to the beach. But it escapes me. I remember having to go to the toilet and not having a place to go. I walked away from the water and through a maze of buildings high atop a mountain in search of a hidden area. I only peed, not comfortable and or not being able to pull my pants down outside. I had taken along sheets of a legal pad to serve as paper to clean myself. Anyway, walking down the mountain, I noticed that there was a pool atop a country club of sorts and then proceeded to walk to the front of the seemingly isolated locale. There was no activity in front, which leads me to believe that passersby were not welcomed. Returning to the area we had decided to sit, I found the others tanning, or at least trying. I think at some point we headed to LuPrisma country club where the Pujols are members.
Once again from the vantage point of the patio window, I looked out to see Richard and Rosa having breakfast. After brushing my teeth, I ventured out to the patio and a breakfast I would not have expected; fish soup and fried fish [bones and head included]. One must get accustomed to the flies and mosquitoes.
The majority of the houses here don’t have windowpanes as I we have in America. The reason being the temperature is so hot, and most likely this being a Third World country, they are not too keen on air-conditioners. The cost of living, I’m told is a mere twenty dollars a day, and that most people earn two-hundred dollars a month. I know I couldn’t live here, nor would I want to live here. The areas I have seen thus far range in people, as it pertains to a class structure, not uncommon in any other part of the world. There are areas or districts I’d call modern, but in those same areas there are shacks in clear sight, off to the side and in thick tree-lined areas. Jungle or wooded areas.
After breakfast, I showered in COLD water, and then we went on a wild goose chase in an attempt to get Richard’s passport renewed. The bottom line is that he has to go to the capital on Monday. There was this guy with a mini-binder that approached in hopes of securing a renewed passport. Walking up a street and around another corner, Rich had to get a new passport photo. Going to some building, a civil service agency of sorts, Rich was still unable to secure the necessary document because of his not having an original document listing his Dominican social security number.
Stopping off en route to the beach to meet yet another one of Rich’s soon-to-be brother-in-laws, five in total. This one owns two stores. While there, I had a chance to ride a scooter. I’ve never ridden a scooter before, so on the first attempt he showed me how to operate the scooter. The heat was beating down on my head; the only thing I could think about was crashing, being involved in some horrible accident and having to be transported to a third world hospital. Fortunately we were successful, there were no major accidents. I learned how to maneuver the scooter.
Back inside the colmado, the merengue music was in full force, flies buzzing about, and beer was steadily consumed by the locals while children were at play. People here tend to stare at someone new, just because they are not from their territory. I think it a bit rude to park yourself in a comfortable position and gawk at another person. The first two days thus far there has been an insistence for me to drink Presidente beer. I remember Rich saying back in the states that he couldn’t wait until he arrived, that he would drink with no apparent end in sight.
The race has begun! Various patrons enter and depart the dimly lit colmado. There is one particular child that has taken a shine to me, albeit to eventually ask for money. As we were about to leave, he asked for a recuerdo. A memory of my having been there, and his having met me. So, I gave him a computer-generated business card with my production company’s name and e-mail address. This didn’t sit too well with the young tyke, he insisted upon un recuerdo de ti while extending his hand. Rich informed me that if given money, he’d remember me for a long time to come. I gave him a total of one U.S. dollar; his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He even had the nerve to check its authenticity. Earlier during our stop at Alberto’s store, Rosa had given us a scare when she disappeared without a trace on the scooter. It turned out that she had gone to visit a nearby uncle.
My first memory of the beach, Monte Rio, is one of filth. I’m trying to remember more about our first trip to the beach. But it escapes me. I remember having to go to the toilet and not having a place to go. I walked away from the water and through a maze of buildings high atop a mountain in search of a hidden area. I only peed, not comfortable and or not being able to pull my pants down outside. I had taken along sheets of a legal pad to serve as paper to clean myself. Anyway, walking down the mountain, I noticed that there was a pool atop a country club of sorts and then proceeded to walk to the front of the seemingly isolated locale. There was no activity in front, which leads me to believe that passersby were not welcomed. Returning to the area we had decided to sit, I found the others tanning, or at least trying. I think at some point we headed to LuPrisma country club where the Pujols are members.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
D. R. Journal - Day One
After anticipating my trip to the Dominican Republic for approximately three months, I am finally on Dominican soil.
Running around at the last minute to buy items; scuba suit, beach shoes, and assorted knick-knacks. I began at West 4th under heavy clouds. Window-shopping was never one of my strong suits; I could not locate anything that captivated me long enough to buy.
Walking uptown, as I stopped into Disc-o-Rama’s West 4th location, they are still out of Rendezvous by Cassandra Wilson. As I continued farther, I stopped into the Union Square location of Disc-o-Rama; they too were sold out of Rendezvous.
Walking into Paragon Sports with no great hopes or expectations, I tried to find nylon running jackets. They were all too expensive and or not the color I wanted. Back downstairs, I ventured over to the men’s swimsuits where I was approached by a rather jovial Latin female salesperson. She offered up wit, sass and a helpful hand. We picked out several suits, and when all was said and done, I opted for a green Speedo bikini.
Now, all I then needed was a scuba suit to complete the vacation wardrobe. Going upstairs to the underwater equipment I was confronted with the exorbitant prices and constricting design of the Body Glove line of scuba suits. Going round and round, I saw on the wall display pool shoes. I tried on two different styles and colors, and opted for a pair of blue Speedo beach shoes.
As I was trying on the shoes, several swim tops caught my eye. Heading to the dressing room, I tried on three O’Neil ultraviolet tops, with the help of the attractive Latin female salesperson. I purchased a blue and a green swim top.
Running home to begin packing, I then decided to wash the half-full Army bag of dirty clothes. Long before this time; 7:15 p.m., it had begun to rain. Rushing to the laundromat to place the clothes in the washing machine, and shortly thereafter to go to Petland to buy cat food and vitamins for Clancy and Maxie.
Back home, and finally beginning to pack, Rich called to tell me what time he’d picked me up. I spent the night at Rich’s house prior to the flight.
I didn’t really sleep at Rich’s. It’s always a strange to sleep in a different bed, not your own. Not knowing what to expect on the trip ahead of me, I listened to a variety of CD’s. Up until the last minute, and on into the next morning Rosa, Rich, and Samuel were packing.
The cab ride to the airport was a bumpy one, the driver was Dominican, the music was loud, and the conversation was loud and incoherent. The cab ride seems to have set the tone for different aspects of the trip.
Standing in line at Newark Int’l Airport, we were advised of the new rules regarding carry-on luggage. For luggage that doesn’t fall under the new bylines, there is a cost per pound over the allotted weight.
The trip to the Dominican Republic falls under Semana Santa, leading up to Good Friday and Easter. I take it a number of people are traveling to DR to celebrate with their families and friends.
The flight had a few moments of turbulence, crying and irritable toddlers, and harried flight attendants. We landed safely without incidence at Las Americas International Airport in the capital city of Santo Domingo.
Once inside the airport [small by US standards], I had to pay a ten dollar fee for a Tourist Pass. Thinking back to the flight, Samuel met an attractive caramel-skinned Dominicana, who fortunately had an empty seat next to her during the journey. He was in his glory, flirting left and right. I can only imagine what he may have promised her. Walking through the airport, towards the exit we were ushered by the customs checkpoint because the official knew the Pujols.
Outside of the airport, we waited briefly as the family members arrived to take us to the family home. I was immediately covered in the tremendous heat and humidity in Santo Domingo. The pick-up area was cluttered with people arriving, it was loud, busy, and it appeared that it would be easy to get lost in the confusion of this foreign land. We stood on the curb for what seemed to be a long time before we actually boarded the vehicles to depart.
Making our way to the parking lot, I knew everything would be different from that point forward. The Jeep overheated, which lead me to believe that it would be a while before we left. This wasn’t the case. Shortly thereafter we were en route, or so I thought. We drove no farther than a few kilometers before pulling over to the side of the road and they began drinking Presidente beer, acting as if they were in a college fraternity [ pouring beer over each other’s heads], and your basic Latino machismo.
Driving down the main road leading away from the airport, on the left there was the sea, on the right businesses and homes. We drove for hours in circles, one of the brother’s wives had to return a work-related document, locating the agency consumed the better half of the day. At intermittent points during this excursion, I fell asleep in the backseat of the Jeep, sweating profusely even though the air-conditioner was operating.
After running the necessary errands [why on the day of our arrival, who knows], we stopped to have something to eat, and they drank more beer. The food was good, the atmosphere festive, and the conversation loud. The meal was complete and we were once again on the road. Hours later, and I do mean hours later we finally reached our destination in Azua, a town approximately an hour and a half outside of the capital. What made it seem such an ordeal was the constant stopping to buy beer, to urinate on the side of the road, and the way in which Timo drove [like a racecar driver]?
Arriving at the Pujols residence is a bit cloudy now, after the fact as I look back on my trip to the Dominican Republic. I remember being introduced to the remaining family members, Soccoro and Arturo, Rosa’s parents. I remember going out onto the patio and looking about, surveying what would be my temporary residence for twelve days. I remember being told which room I would sleep. I may have even looked around the room in search of a mosquito net. I was just glad to be stationary, and able to go off on my own to settle down from my arrival with its many twists and turns.
Running around at the last minute to buy items; scuba suit, beach shoes, and assorted knick-knacks. I began at West 4th under heavy clouds. Window-shopping was never one of my strong suits; I could not locate anything that captivated me long enough to buy.
Walking uptown, as I stopped into Disc-o-Rama’s West 4th location, they are still out of Rendezvous by Cassandra Wilson. As I continued farther, I stopped into the Union Square location of Disc-o-Rama; they too were sold out of Rendezvous.
Walking into Paragon Sports with no great hopes or expectations, I tried to find nylon running jackets. They were all too expensive and or not the color I wanted. Back downstairs, I ventured over to the men’s swimsuits where I was approached by a rather jovial Latin female salesperson. She offered up wit, sass and a helpful hand. We picked out several suits, and when all was said and done, I opted for a green Speedo bikini.
Now, all I then needed was a scuba suit to complete the vacation wardrobe. Going upstairs to the underwater equipment I was confronted with the exorbitant prices and constricting design of the Body Glove line of scuba suits. Going round and round, I saw on the wall display pool shoes. I tried on two different styles and colors, and opted for a pair of blue Speedo beach shoes.
As I was trying on the shoes, several swim tops caught my eye. Heading to the dressing room, I tried on three O’Neil ultraviolet tops, with the help of the attractive Latin female salesperson. I purchased a blue and a green swim top.
Running home to begin packing, I then decided to wash the half-full Army bag of dirty clothes. Long before this time; 7:15 p.m., it had begun to rain. Rushing to the laundromat to place the clothes in the washing machine, and shortly thereafter to go to Petland to buy cat food and vitamins for Clancy and Maxie.
Back home, and finally beginning to pack, Rich called to tell me what time he’d picked me up. I spent the night at Rich’s house prior to the flight.
I didn’t really sleep at Rich’s. It’s always a strange to sleep in a different bed, not your own. Not knowing what to expect on the trip ahead of me, I listened to a variety of CD’s. Up until the last minute, and on into the next morning Rosa, Rich, and Samuel were packing.
The cab ride to the airport was a bumpy one, the driver was Dominican, the music was loud, and the conversation was loud and incoherent. The cab ride seems to have set the tone for different aspects of the trip.
Standing in line at Newark Int’l Airport, we were advised of the new rules regarding carry-on luggage. For luggage that doesn’t fall under the new bylines, there is a cost per pound over the allotted weight.
The trip to the Dominican Republic falls under Semana Santa, leading up to Good Friday and Easter. I take it a number of people are traveling to DR to celebrate with their families and friends.
The flight had a few moments of turbulence, crying and irritable toddlers, and harried flight attendants. We landed safely without incidence at Las Americas International Airport in the capital city of Santo Domingo.
Once inside the airport [small by US standards], I had to pay a ten dollar fee for a Tourist Pass. Thinking back to the flight, Samuel met an attractive caramel-skinned Dominicana, who fortunately had an empty seat next to her during the journey. He was in his glory, flirting left and right. I can only imagine what he may have promised her. Walking through the airport, towards the exit we were ushered by the customs checkpoint because the official knew the Pujols.
Outside of the airport, we waited briefly as the family members arrived to take us to the family home. I was immediately covered in the tremendous heat and humidity in Santo Domingo. The pick-up area was cluttered with people arriving, it was loud, busy, and it appeared that it would be easy to get lost in the confusion of this foreign land. We stood on the curb for what seemed to be a long time before we actually boarded the vehicles to depart.
Making our way to the parking lot, I knew everything would be different from that point forward. The Jeep overheated, which lead me to believe that it would be a while before we left. This wasn’t the case. Shortly thereafter we were en route, or so I thought. We drove no farther than a few kilometers before pulling over to the side of the road and they began drinking Presidente beer, acting as if they were in a college fraternity [ pouring beer over each other’s heads], and your basic Latino machismo.
Driving down the main road leading away from the airport, on the left there was the sea, on the right businesses and homes. We drove for hours in circles, one of the brother’s wives had to return a work-related document, locating the agency consumed the better half of the day. At intermittent points during this excursion, I fell asleep in the backseat of the Jeep, sweating profusely even though the air-conditioner was operating.
After running the necessary errands [why on the day of our arrival, who knows], we stopped to have something to eat, and they drank more beer. The food was good, the atmosphere festive, and the conversation loud. The meal was complete and we were once again on the road. Hours later, and I do mean hours later we finally reached our destination in Azua, a town approximately an hour and a half outside of the capital. What made it seem such an ordeal was the constant stopping to buy beer, to urinate on the side of the road, and the way in which Timo drove [like a racecar driver]?
Arriving at the Pujols residence is a bit cloudy now, after the fact as I look back on my trip to the Dominican Republic. I remember being introduced to the remaining family members, Soccoro and Arturo, Rosa’s parents. I remember going out onto the patio and looking about, surveying what would be my temporary residence for twelve days. I remember being told which room I would sleep. I may have even looked around the room in search of a mosquito net. I was just glad to be stationary, and able to go off on my own to settle down from my arrival with its many twists and turns.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
¿Tiene Miedo?
Obstacles are what you see when you take your eyes off the goal.
You should really check that noise in the kitchen.
It's your fault if you're not able to watch the sunrise.
Go ahead, do it.
No one's stopping you.
See if I care.
Time, as uncontrollable as the wind.
How does man contain it in a box?
Everyone will say, “I told you not to do that anymore!"
Three-thirty in the morning, the police draw the chalk outline where the intruder now lies.
You're not upset about the stain on the carpet, are you?
Aren't you relieved?
It could have just as easily been you lying there, motionless.
Go back to bed, and this time try to get some sleep.
You'll feel better after coffee in the morning.
You should really check that noise in the kitchen.
It's your fault if you're not able to watch the sunrise.
Go ahead, do it.
No one's stopping you.
See if I care.
Time, as uncontrollable as the wind.
How does man contain it in a box?
Everyone will say, “I told you not to do that anymore!"
Three-thirty in the morning, the police draw the chalk outline where the intruder now lies.
You're not upset about the stain on the carpet, are you?
Aren't you relieved?
It could have just as easily been you lying there, motionless.
Go back to bed, and this time try to get some sleep.
You'll feel better after coffee in the morning.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Outdoor Café
Row seventeen, seat two.
French is the language of choice.
Restless abandon.
Leg, back, and arm extensions aren't the best in that position, but sleep in her lap all the same.
The bear in row fifteen, seat one, is calling out for a mate through ritualistic snoring.
The girl adjacent departed because she wasn't interested or the noise prevented her from sleeping.
Pit stop in a capital city.
Picking up and dropping off travel aficionados before breaking for the border.
The waitress wasn't pleased to meet anyone, her behavior not quite professional.
The selected officials search through the human cargo for contraband.
Restless energy waiting to be released on the other side.
Arriving with expectations of grandeur, only to amble aimlessly about the area.
The local inhabitants are of course different, primitive in their dress, inhibited in their actions.
The whisper-quiet ride and cleanliness of the subway system exceeds those back home.
Amused at the amusement park, shaken, rattled, and turn upside down and inside out.
Dos margaritas, sin sal, por favor.
Gracias.
French is the language of choice.
Restless abandon.
Leg, back, and arm extensions aren't the best in that position, but sleep in her lap all the same.
The bear in row fifteen, seat one, is calling out for a mate through ritualistic snoring.
The girl adjacent departed because she wasn't interested or the noise prevented her from sleeping.
Pit stop in a capital city.
Picking up and dropping off travel aficionados before breaking for the border.
The waitress wasn't pleased to meet anyone, her behavior not quite professional.
The selected officials search through the human cargo for contraband.
Restless energy waiting to be released on the other side.
Arriving with expectations of grandeur, only to amble aimlessly about the area.
The local inhabitants are of course different, primitive in their dress, inhibited in their actions.
The whisper-quiet ride and cleanliness of the subway system exceeds those back home.
Amused at the amusement park, shaken, rattled, and turn upside down and inside out.
Dos margaritas, sin sal, por favor.
Gracias.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)