Hotel Kaoba was a cool little place with a swimming pool, which Anders made frequent use of. I dipped in a couple of times, but did not do the exercise I would usually do with a pool at my disposal. Shit I am tired typing this. Will probably be brief (some people will rejoice). I seemed to be followed by dogs all round Cabarete because I would stop to stroke them. Bit like in San Cristobal only they did not follow me for my entire treck across town. I don´d even know what I´ve written in my book. I know I wanted to comment on the development along the roads in the North, the fact that Spanish appears to be a terciary language behind French and English. Also there were some tin and iron shacks erected as evidence of the former poverty, before the tourists came and homogenised everything, injecting a serious amount of cash into the local economy. Cabarete is another one of those one road towns we had stayed in, but was developed entirely for watersports, because the bay has perfect conditions for windsurfing and kitesurfing. Filip wanted to try the latter, but its prohibitively expensive on the budgets we were operating with.
In the morning the guys and I lost each other and spent a day just wandering aimlessly and reading. I bought some toothpaste, saw the town and read some of my book by the rocks. They chilled on the beach and we recovered some of the energy we had expended over the previous few days. Sadly the mini golf course in town was completely torn up and unplayable. Was looking forward to round two. Eventually we all met up in the evening and polished up a bottle of rum on the porch. The guys were studying at Florida University and their football team were playing in the national final that night against Oklahoma. We went to the Irish pub to watch the game, took in some banter with a Texas guy and watched the game. Filip had to go home early as a medical condition had flared up and Anders and I stayed for the end. it was a nip tuck game which the Florida Gators won 24-14 with the key winning touchdown coming with 3 minutes of play left. We went clubbing for a bit and then retired back to the hotel. The clubs play some really good dance music on the coast and I think Jonny would particularly enjoy the atmosphere in Cabarete. A beach town with a good vibe, although the food is nowhere near as good as Las Terrenas.
We grabbed a good breakfast in the morning and decided to go windsurfing. This was hilarious. Filip was still a little unwell but was the only one with any experience. He had previously surfed for 10 minutes. So Anders and I go to rent a board. Neither of us have a clue what we are doing. The guy asks us what experience we have. Anders says he has windsurfed a few times. this fallacy becomes clear when we clearly can´t articulate what our equipment preference is, when we did not identify the fin, but Anders keeps compounding it by answering a question on whether we have taken waves, with the answer of a few times back in Sweden. The guy knows we are talking shit (indeed he offers us lessons after watching how crap we were during the day), but gives us the board anyway. I persuaded Anders that we really should get insurance to cover the damage. We took the windsurf out and sucked at first. The first half hour session each (we shared a board) and we were both able to stand and raise the sail but not really go anywhere. The second session we were both actually windsurfing a bit. Enough to say I´ve done it. Anders managed 3-4 minutes for his best, mine was around 90 seconds. Filip recovered enough to have a go and only fell off 3 times in about 20 minutes. He was clearly miles better than us, but as a sailor he better understood the wind than us. The third afternoon session was where the wind picked up. It was far too strong for us and neither me nor Anders could surf at all in it. Even Filip struggled a bit. To make matters worse (I was hitting the water a lot) some local kids stormed my windsurf like pirates and I could not get them off. I firmly believed they would break it and I would have to explain how I was raided by little kids, but one of the kids called his friends off. I later found out Anders had been invaded by the same child pirates. It had been a good experience and I was a little sunburnt from it. Hey at least I would be less pasty now. Bout time the length of my trip I have been travelling.
My parents at this point were still incapable of following instructions as to what to do with the old passport and I was imagining returning to Santo Domingo only to be told that the application had not even begun yet. In fact form what I understand a copy of the old one was faxed over with no explanation and would probably just have complicated my situation. It was looking more forlorn for Canada and so we decided to head out for food. The German place was shut so we elected to sit at the waterfront in one of the club/restaurants. Our Dutch waitress was commenting on the cool English accent and we had to watch drinks for an English girl, while she went to fish her two naked lesbian lovers out of the Atlantic Ocean. I even bumped into my Haitian mate from the day before who was desperately trying to sell me drugs. We turfed in for the night and when I got back I realised I no longer had my bank cards. Shit. I only had 100 pesos left on me if that. Fuck. No passport and no money. Stranded and fucked. How was I going to get money. i can't even collect a money order as I have no way to prove who I am. We went frantically searching along the waterfront but the Dutch waitress insisted if things go missing in Cabarete they stay missing. Bugger. I got back and was drifting off when Anders said we should do something. i told him internet cafes were shut till the morning. So absorbed in my own problem was I that I had not even noticed the domestic disturbance to which he referred. We rushed out and an English woman was ranting in an argument with a local guy. At first glance it was clear she was his sugar mummy. Anders comforted her while she wept and cursed, the secutiry guard came along to see what was going on. She had left her room card in the guys room and Anders went to fetch it. This prompted a barrage from the local guy and I half expected to see him start shooting over the balcony. An American guy from New York approcahed us and asked what was up. They were fifteen Yankees on some charity work and sadly were already leaving the next day. Shit luck. Eventful night.
In the morning I got up at dawn, having not really slept at all. I scoured the streets, searching for what I knew in my heart was a vain search. None of the bars had seen anything and I got trapped in a metal shack while it hammered down with rain like the judgment of the almighty. What a shitty situation. No money, no cards, no passport, my only remaining shoes were drenched from the downpour and here I was miserably cowering in a shack. Funny how fortune is so fickle that it can change so dramatically in such a short period of time. From stagnation in Cancun, to elation in Puerto Rico, to absolute despair in the Dominican Republic. Still I could see a Lazarus like resurrection from the situation (Crime and Punishment was having a profound affect), but first I needed to block the cards and get cash. The irony was not lost on me cancelling the cards. Three days later I had phoned to unblock the cards, pissy they had blocked them. Now I was ringing to cancel those very same cards. I had to profess on my mum to send me an aid package with my card and book etc to Santo Domingo to pick up. The Swedish guys had offered to bail me out in my hour of need and save me from starving. They however were leaving on the wednesday and then I was fucked. The only option seemed to be to send the package to Jose in Santo Domingo and I contacted him for his address. He said it was ok to send it and here I was. Being saved by three guys I had not known 14 days earlier from the worst situation I have ever been in in my life. Or at least potentially the worst. No phone, no money, no means to contact people or travel around, no passport and no food in a country in which my linguistic ability was merely functional. It helps to reinforce your belief in the fundamental goodness of people and reinforce your trust in strangers. The other realisation was that that receipt for my passport, which I was clearly told not to lose, was also in the wallet. Crap I may have to pay twice. Or have to explain how I have lost the receipt for the replacement for a lost passport. That twist of fate was quite amusing though. At this point I thought I had also lost my online banking stuff and travel insurance, but that was not the case and I discovered I may even be able to get back 250 quid for the lost passport. When I unblocked the card with nationwide there was a total fuckwit on the other end of the phone. he could not find me on the database at all and then i found out he can´t spell. I would say S-H-A and he would reply S-A-H. Twice the idiot did this. S for sierra, H for hotel, A for alpha (using the police alphabet) and he replied S for sierra, a for alpha. Fucking hell. This guy was retarded. He eventually had to get his boss over so they could find me and cancel the cards. Ah I was not in the mood for him.
Having sorted out the logistics we met a Swiss girl for breakfast and then headed for Puerto Plata. Anders had been told by a Norwegian girl that it was a great place. These Canadians in the gua gua said it was a shithole and it was pissing down with rain. Filip and I were not too hopeful. The rain did ease off however and the city is kind of pretty. the city centre has been restored to colonial style, there is a cute bridge and a fort that skirts one corner of the town past the colourful Haitian district. The port even looked as I imagine African ports to be, with the pollution mixing with natural beauty. The oppressive sky, the smog, the ships, the mountains and the buildings lent the town a very ethereal quality. We got accosted by a Haitian salesmen/pimp and had to shake him off. In the evening we met the Swiss girl and Carlise and her friends from Miami came along. They had to sort something out but we did not see them again. Apparently they ended up in a Hells Angels bar up in Cabarete. The rest of us ate and drank then arranged to head to the Damajagua waterfalls in the morning.
The Swiss girl cancelled on us in the morning, but the others of us took some gua guas via Puerto Plata out to Danajagua. It costs $65 to go with a tour, but by going independently it cost us less than $20 each and that price does not change regardless of numbers. I had also got in contact with Morgane from new years to hang out with back in Santo Domingo as I was plotting what to do when I got back. My mum was not following instructions I gave her, although some of her alternative suggestions proved a better idea. They rented us rubber shoes at the waterfalls and I took a pair so as not to totally destroy my final pair. If I did not get to Canada I would have to get new ones in Santo Domingo. Our guide was a massive guy named Trunco (very well named) and we began the odyssey. These waterfalls are awesome. You effectively climb up through 27 waterfalls of varying difficulty and then on the way back you leap into pools and slide down rock slides. One of the coolest things I have done. Though I almost did not get too far. On the fourth waterfall I could not get up past the pressure jet and lost a shoe as Trunco eventually, at great personal effort, managed to haul me up. If this was only waterfall 4 how would I get to the top. Luckily I had less trouble with the other because I could get better purchases to use my upper body strength. Its definitely physical and the life jacket thing does not help because it makes you wider for water contact. On the way down we were leaping off ledges into these pools and sliding down natural water slides. The highest jump was about 7m. The others all came up with pithy phrases, while with my fear of heights, I uttered ´fuck thats high´and jumped. Wading through the river at the end, we ended up with gravel in our shoes and that chafed. It was an awesome day trip and well worth the time. I can see why Lonely Planet calls it the coolest thing to do in the Dominican Republic. When we got back Anders came down with an illness and Filip would be struck down later on. Filip and I went for a sunset swim in the sea and discussed the possibility of him coming down to Central America and Colombia for some more travelling. Also looked into doing the Tour D'Afrique, possibly when I finish up teaching in Argentina. We grabbed a late dinner from a shonky little place and turfed in. I still had no info on my package.
On our final day in Cabarete I woke up and checked online. My mum was off to the Fedex offices, although it would eventually be coming from UPS. Anders stayed in sick. Filip and I decided to head out to the surfer beach and walked along the rocky seafront, followed by a stray dog. There was even a mad horse that followed us for a while down the beach. All the surfing places appeared to be closed and so we just ate in a restaurant that cocked up our orders. The girl seemed to be struggling a lot with her job, but the setting was nice and relaxed so we eased into it. When we got back I went online to check how the package was doing. No news. Nothing at all. A spasm of fear shot through me like a knife. Crap it was not coming. They could not send it. Bollocks. I went back to the room and waited. I figured I would log on around 9pm and see. Then I got my message. My mum had buggered off to Niagara Falls, not thinking I may want to know whats happening to my only lifeline. It was coming from UPS and they had a tracker on it. I logged on and saw it was still in Canada. Come on, it can make it. I let Jose know it was coming. Marie-France got hold of me before I logged off and we chatted for nearly two hours until the woman at the desk booted me off. That night I did not sleep again and I realised that the moment this stress was eased I was going to be pretty sick from anxiety. I was almost a little faint as if in a dream for large segments of the day.
In the morning I awoke and dashed online. The package was in Miami Florida and still on course. It had passed through Louisville Kentucky in the early hours of the morning. Good it may still make it. We´d lost a room key and I hope Filip did not get charged for it. All the way back to Santo Domingo I was stressing. Would I get my card and package? Was I going to get my passport? Could I get hold of Jose? Would I be able to eat? How long was I stuck here for? Too many questions, too much dependence and helplessness.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Dominican Republic Part Two
The Caribe Express took us all the way to Sanchez on the peninsula of Samana. Here we disembarked and Anders was immediately swarmed by a bunch of guys on motorcycles. These are the notorious motoconchos. They seem to exist solely to try to charge tourists extroritonate amounts of money for very short journeys. After trying to grab our bags and harry us onto the bikes, they eventually settled for the blackmail tactic. Telling us the bus station was 2km away and that the last gua gua was about to leave. They would not give us directions and insisted we must ride with them. It was very difficult to shake them off and they persisted in dogging us for the half of the walk. The taxi drivers would also attempt to rip us off with their ridiculous demands en route. We were even prevented from asking locals for directions, because they refused to buck the will of the motoconcho mafia. Eventually we got far enough clear of them to ask for directions from some locals and found our way to the gua guas. We were bundled into a van and taken to a truck. The three of us clambered into the back and with the rest of the passengers were driven through 14km of winding scenic roads to the town of Las Terrenas. This town was buzzing with tourists of some hue and quad bikes that plied the local roads. There seemd to be a lot of good looking women in the local bars and we got ourselves a cheapish hotel near to the centre of town. It didn't look like much but we were paying $24 a night between 3 of us. I found out I was going to need to register my old passport as found, but this did not occur in a timely fashion and the next day we decided to head for the waterfalls.
The three of us managed to grab the back of another truck and head along to the El Limon waterfalls in the morning. At the town of El Limon we were ambushed by motoconcho guys again and one local French owner told us to tell them to fuck off and pointed us in the direction of the trail to the waterfalls. Most people hire horses to take on this trail. We were convinced we could do it by foot. At the entrance we were charged a nominal fee and Filip believed this was fraudulent but we paid it none the less. The horse guys insisted we needed a horse (and with hindsight they may have been right but we could have come in easily by foot from the other entrance we would later exit by. The trail was deeply muddy, slippery and sticky. We also had to ford 3 streams that accounted for one of the pairs of Ander's shoes. My feet were beaten up a bit and we all slip slided our way through the trail. Its not easy going and at one point I slipped, grabbed a fence poll and snapped it. One of the horse guys said I would have to pay, but I concluded that was ludicrous given it was just a wooden stake. Most everyone else had taken horses, but we did pass two other walkers on the trail. Once we arrived at the waterfall (after a reasonable treck) we were confronted with a 50 odd metre drop and a rather dirty looking drop pool. Still Anders had stacked it in the mud and needed to wash off. Anders and I entered the pool first and he found a route behind the waterfall which was cool, before we decided to swim through it and tag in Filip. The other two swam, while I fucked up taking a photo with the camera. Filip is a particularly good photographer with a camera far too high tech for someone who has not even used a disposable in five years. Afterwards we got chatting with a French girl and with my crappy Spanish we had a laugh and I discovered that most of the French people on this coast had mafia links. The town was crawling with French and Italian people. Its probably why we had such sensational food while we were in Las Terrenas. Really good food. Including the burgers and pizzas (both of which were far above the quality usually associated with such fare). When we got back to town I tried to draw some money on my credit card and realised that it too had been frozen. Shit. I had no money. No passport, one card on its way to Canada and the other two frozen. Fucking banks and their security checks. I would need to borrow off the two guys until the next morning when I could use Filip's skype to unblock both of the cards. On our way to the internet cafe we bumped into the three guys (Jose, Joe and Mathias) from new year and joined them for drinks later on. Options for diving and Las Haitises were opening up, while in the morning they were off on a wahlewatching trip and to a deserted island. We also bumped into the Yankee girls from new year. The girl studying in Portland was even planning on being in Buenos Aires when I was and I may end up having a study buddy for the course. Fortuitous luck. Mathias even had a spare apartment I could use in Santo Domingo if i needed to stay there for a prolonged period of time. There was a prostitute in a cowboy hat dancing at the bar, whom the guys took a liking too (seemingly a large proportion of the women here and in Cabarete are prostitutes and it must really suck for the local women who just want to come out and dance. They will in a lot of cases be ignored or propositioned because people would perceive them to be prostitutes). Joe even told me of a story where a Spanish guy on their scheme had met a girl and been taken to meet her grandparents. Once they got back to town they were about to have sex when she whispered in his ear "4,000 pesos". Myself and the two Swedish guys headed over to the bars on the waterfront (which the quad bike driver had shown us that night) and went dancing. Filip headed home early because of the rain. Anders got dancing with a local girl and managed to stop the place dead with his dance moves. For a gringo he can really move. Then she asked him if he wanted to come home with her and he realised she was also a prostitute. The girl then asked me if I wanted to by her a drink and if she could come home with me. Its the second time in my life I have been propositioned to buy someone a drink for no discernable reason. Anders and I then went to a techno club with strobe lighting that was cool. He was dancing with another French girl and I realised I had aged suddenly into the glorious age of 27. We wandered back in the rain as I realised at the end of the day your another day older, to steal from a London musical.
I woke on the sunday to realise it was my birthday and I had now been travelling for 5 months. Ollie was at his halfway point, I was rapidly approaching my one third marker. We went and sorted out my cards with skype. The nationwide guy gave me some bollocks about withdrawing too much money in one day (his maths did not add up) and eventually concluded I should have let them know I was travelling (I had done). I had had to draw a lot of money to pay for the new passport which had alarmed them. I was also instructed to keep the receipt to proove I had paid, but thats another story. In the night our clothes we had left outside were battered with rain, but the ceiling was also cracked and we were surrounded by little puddles and dripping water all around us. This necessitated a room change. The incessant rain and the fact we did not know what hotel we were in (we had told the guys the night before we were staying in their hotel) meant we missed the island trip and I was suspicious of our neighbour. He appeared to be an old French man with a very young girl companion. Filip figured he was her guardian, I figured he was Roman Polanski mark II. We spent the day hanging on the beach (unusual for me) and then went and played some mini golf. This was the first time I'd played since the States (following my resurrection of pool in Puerto Rico). The course was suitably tough, including one hole where you had to drive it across about 50 yards of grass with some metal polls in front. Anders had opened up a lead and I was miles behind. Then on that long hole I managed to smash my club in half and break it completely into two pieces. Shit. How much was that going to cost. We now had two clubs. Ironically my game improved. By the end of hole 14 we were all on level scores. By hole 18 Filip was one shot up on me and I one shot up on Anders. We all had one hole in one for tie breakers. Filip went first and shot three. I shot two making it a tie. Anders shot two and was out. Only not. I'd added up the scores wrong and it was a three way tie. Sudden death shootout. I holed my shot (woohoo). Anders was up next. He holed it. I turned to mark it down. And groans. It had hit the back and ricocheted back out, like a penalty hitting the crossbar. Agonisingly close. Filip up next. He missed. A squeaker of an end and a really close good game of golf. Now for the broken club. The security guard had been menacingly watching us closely with his shotgun but had wandered off. I returned sheepishly to the hut to pay. The man was not in. We did a drop and run, buggering off to go and eat a birthday meal at the waterfront. The meal was good and they did not charge us for some of it (I had managed to avoid paying the golf and for the beach chairs. My luck was in sortof). Anders and Filip gave me a rousing Swedish birthday song, we went out for some drinks and then hit the sack with Haitises in the morning.
The three of us were up early and headed to Sanchez by combi to get ahead of the Taiwanese embassy and the three guys. They had transport, but could not fit us in. We arrived at the boat dock and were accosted by tour guides offering us ridiculous prices of 1,500 pesos each. Not sure how we could communicate we left Anders at the dock (he would end up negotiating a price with an amiable captain, who was married to his American sugar mummy and used her money to woe Dominican women when she was at home in the States) and went in search of a phone. Filip did one better and spotted the cars. I chased down the hill and got hold of them, informing them we needed to drive to the other port. The Taiwanese guy had driven a shrewd deal for boat the day before and figured with 16 of us he had a lot of room to bargain. I went back down to fetch Anders. The boat captain had offered 3,000 pesos for 3. I told him we were 16 now and he almost choked on his chicken. He offered us 10,000 for everyone. After playing good cop, while Anders was ultra good cop, we convinced him the Taiwanese guy was ultra shrewd and would only give him one shot for his best price. He dropped to 9,000. I grabbed the head of the Taiwanese expedition and informed him of the deal and I figured he could get 8,000. He went in for 6,500 but settled for 8,000 and some drinks. The 16 of us eventually boarded the boat and they took us across the choppy waters to Nacional Park Los Haitises. We were taken into some caves that were very pretty, with some crappy cave paintings (not as good as New Mexico) and the tour guide tried to bullshit us as to how caves were formed. To me this was more entertaining than getting an actual explanation. We were then taken through some mangrove swamps, for a coastal tour, to a fishermans village, to a deserted beach for some cuba libres and finally to a cool underground cave river. It was a pleasant day trip even if my arse hurt a lot when we eventually got off the boat. The captain had entertained us a lot with his stories and we had all caught up with each other and some really good conversations. Once we got back we went to the pizza place and Anders and I had a good chat over some beers on the porch. We had a conversation on many things and found out we come from similar backgrounds and I got to know him a lot better. Though he did say I was someone who listened through relating my own stories, which is a true observation and yet he is only the second person to point that out. Anders decided that he was going to skip the expedition to Las Galeras and the diving the next day and so it would be just Filip and I.
Filip and I got up very early (too early and not early enough as we just missed a gua gua and had to wait for one hour. We had decided to go all the way across the peninsula and back in one day. We took guaguas to Samana, which is a pretty little port town, with a bustling market and three bridges linking three islands just offshore. From there we picked up a guagua to the one horse town that is Las Galeras. If you go there bear in mind they have no cash machines and luckily I had enough cash on me to lend Filip 3,000 pesos for the scuba diving. We debated a lot of things on the way up, while Filip took shots of locals. Once in Galeras we found the diving would be ot exactly what Filip wanted to do and not for a cheap price either. I opted against snorkeling and would not have been able to afford it anyway with no option for a cash machine. Filip discussed a scheme of his for private government advice and I believe it could work, but I don't think he has as much faith in his own idea in and of itself. While Filip dived (a two dive trip, the first apparently basic, the second apparently really great weaving through the coral) with some Russians, I wandered through the private beaches of the exlcusive hotels. Lots of lazy package tourists and one phenomenal French girl. It really is quite pretty along the coast and away from the dustbowl town. Lots of sand and green plants and wild horses. I eventually met Filip again and we headed back. We debated a lot again and I came to believe we shared a lot of similar philosophies. I certainly think we travel in a similar way or that we look for similar things from our trips. Although I did learn the benefit of defining a concept that you debate. We debated for half an hour on the merits of giving advice, sometimes heatedly, only to realise we define giving advice differently and that if you take that variance into account we actually agreed with each other. Rather amusing and a good life lesson. When we got to Samana there were only guaguas as far as Limon so we took them. Getting to Limon we were informed there were no more guaguas and we should take a motoconcho. Fuck them I can walk 14km. Although one guy was incredulous as Filip jumped onto hsi motorbike and rode it around a few corners down the road. Once he was restored to the pavement we continued walking and tried to flag down vehicles. Eventually we thumbed down a truck driver to take us for 200 pesos after Filip had said he was Polish. His theory is you should say you are from poorer countries and then you get cheaper deals. Seems to work. Get all your internet done as well before you head to Galeras. The average is 40 pesos an hour here in the Dominican Republic, but this place charged 3 pesos a minute. We arrived back and crashed ready for the long haul in the morning.
We had decided we could go all the way to Cabarete by gua gua and this would necessitate 4 of the little vans. In the end we only saved a fraction of the cost but it was fun negotiating. We paid 50 pesos each to Sanchez (standard), 60 pesos to Nagua (probably 10 too much), 100 I think to Rio San Juan (probably 60-80) and 80 to Cabarete (Filip reckons we could have got 50 or 60). Overall we paid 290 pesos each. We were quoted 440-500. So you can really haggle down. We did get some cracking answers to our questions as well. "How much does it cost?" "No problem". Well it could be a problem, but you need an answer and definite price before you step into the vehicle. Another one of "how much does it cost?" "Yes, yes, get in". Buggers will try to take you for some extra cash. Filip reckons you need to see them almost crying before you have got a good price, but Anders was loving the haggling, if not the guaguas. I had Filip say how much he preferred to ride on the backs of trucks only minuted before Anders told me how much he preferred the vans. Anyway we arrived in Cabarete with time to spare and checked into our Hotel Kaoba for 5 nights (it would become 6 as we had a spare one to kill). This would be our home until those two guys ended up shooting off back to Florida (Both were working as research assistants as part of their masters programs back home).
The three of us managed to grab the back of another truck and head along to the El Limon waterfalls in the morning. At the town of El Limon we were ambushed by motoconcho guys again and one local French owner told us to tell them to fuck off and pointed us in the direction of the trail to the waterfalls. Most people hire horses to take on this trail. We were convinced we could do it by foot. At the entrance we were charged a nominal fee and Filip believed this was fraudulent but we paid it none the less. The horse guys insisted we needed a horse (and with hindsight they may have been right but we could have come in easily by foot from the other entrance we would later exit by. The trail was deeply muddy, slippery and sticky. We also had to ford 3 streams that accounted for one of the pairs of Ander's shoes. My feet were beaten up a bit and we all slip slided our way through the trail. Its not easy going and at one point I slipped, grabbed a fence poll and snapped it. One of the horse guys said I would have to pay, but I concluded that was ludicrous given it was just a wooden stake. Most everyone else had taken horses, but we did pass two other walkers on the trail. Once we arrived at the waterfall (after a reasonable treck) we were confronted with a 50 odd metre drop and a rather dirty looking drop pool. Still Anders had stacked it in the mud and needed to wash off. Anders and I entered the pool first and he found a route behind the waterfall which was cool, before we decided to swim through it and tag in Filip. The other two swam, while I fucked up taking a photo with the camera. Filip is a particularly good photographer with a camera far too high tech for someone who has not even used a disposable in five years. Afterwards we got chatting with a French girl and with my crappy Spanish we had a laugh and I discovered that most of the French people on this coast had mafia links. The town was crawling with French and Italian people. Its probably why we had such sensational food while we were in Las Terrenas. Really good food. Including the burgers and pizzas (both of which were far above the quality usually associated with such fare). When we got back to town I tried to draw some money on my credit card and realised that it too had been frozen. Shit. I had no money. No passport, one card on its way to Canada and the other two frozen. Fucking banks and their security checks. I would need to borrow off the two guys until the next morning when I could use Filip's skype to unblock both of the cards. On our way to the internet cafe we bumped into the three guys (Jose, Joe and Mathias) from new year and joined them for drinks later on. Options for diving and Las Haitises were opening up, while in the morning they were off on a wahlewatching trip and to a deserted island. We also bumped into the Yankee girls from new year. The girl studying in Portland was even planning on being in Buenos Aires when I was and I may end up having a study buddy for the course. Fortuitous luck. Mathias even had a spare apartment I could use in Santo Domingo if i needed to stay there for a prolonged period of time. There was a prostitute in a cowboy hat dancing at the bar, whom the guys took a liking too (seemingly a large proportion of the women here and in Cabarete are prostitutes and it must really suck for the local women who just want to come out and dance. They will in a lot of cases be ignored or propositioned because people would perceive them to be prostitutes). Joe even told me of a story where a Spanish guy on their scheme had met a girl and been taken to meet her grandparents. Once they got back to town they were about to have sex when she whispered in his ear "4,000 pesos". Myself and the two Swedish guys headed over to the bars on the waterfront (which the quad bike driver had shown us that night) and went dancing. Filip headed home early because of the rain. Anders got dancing with a local girl and managed to stop the place dead with his dance moves. For a gringo he can really move. Then she asked him if he wanted to come home with her and he realised she was also a prostitute. The girl then asked me if I wanted to by her a drink and if she could come home with me. Its the second time in my life I have been propositioned to buy someone a drink for no discernable reason. Anders and I then went to a techno club with strobe lighting that was cool. He was dancing with another French girl and I realised I had aged suddenly into the glorious age of 27. We wandered back in the rain as I realised at the end of the day your another day older, to steal from a London musical.
I woke on the sunday to realise it was my birthday and I had now been travelling for 5 months. Ollie was at his halfway point, I was rapidly approaching my one third marker. We went and sorted out my cards with skype. The nationwide guy gave me some bollocks about withdrawing too much money in one day (his maths did not add up) and eventually concluded I should have let them know I was travelling (I had done). I had had to draw a lot of money to pay for the new passport which had alarmed them. I was also instructed to keep the receipt to proove I had paid, but thats another story. In the night our clothes we had left outside were battered with rain, but the ceiling was also cracked and we were surrounded by little puddles and dripping water all around us. This necessitated a room change. The incessant rain and the fact we did not know what hotel we were in (we had told the guys the night before we were staying in their hotel) meant we missed the island trip and I was suspicious of our neighbour. He appeared to be an old French man with a very young girl companion. Filip figured he was her guardian, I figured he was Roman Polanski mark II. We spent the day hanging on the beach (unusual for me) and then went and played some mini golf. This was the first time I'd played since the States (following my resurrection of pool in Puerto Rico). The course was suitably tough, including one hole where you had to drive it across about 50 yards of grass with some metal polls in front. Anders had opened up a lead and I was miles behind. Then on that long hole I managed to smash my club in half and break it completely into two pieces. Shit. How much was that going to cost. We now had two clubs. Ironically my game improved. By the end of hole 14 we were all on level scores. By hole 18 Filip was one shot up on me and I one shot up on Anders. We all had one hole in one for tie breakers. Filip went first and shot three. I shot two making it a tie. Anders shot two and was out. Only not. I'd added up the scores wrong and it was a three way tie. Sudden death shootout. I holed my shot (woohoo). Anders was up next. He holed it. I turned to mark it down. And groans. It had hit the back and ricocheted back out, like a penalty hitting the crossbar. Agonisingly close. Filip up next. He missed. A squeaker of an end and a really close good game of golf. Now for the broken club. The security guard had been menacingly watching us closely with his shotgun but had wandered off. I returned sheepishly to the hut to pay. The man was not in. We did a drop and run, buggering off to go and eat a birthday meal at the waterfront. The meal was good and they did not charge us for some of it (I had managed to avoid paying the golf and for the beach chairs. My luck was in sortof). Anders and Filip gave me a rousing Swedish birthday song, we went out for some drinks and then hit the sack with Haitises in the morning.
The three of us were up early and headed to Sanchez by combi to get ahead of the Taiwanese embassy and the three guys. They had transport, but could not fit us in. We arrived at the boat dock and were accosted by tour guides offering us ridiculous prices of 1,500 pesos each. Not sure how we could communicate we left Anders at the dock (he would end up negotiating a price with an amiable captain, who was married to his American sugar mummy and used her money to woe Dominican women when she was at home in the States) and went in search of a phone. Filip did one better and spotted the cars. I chased down the hill and got hold of them, informing them we needed to drive to the other port. The Taiwanese guy had driven a shrewd deal for boat the day before and figured with 16 of us he had a lot of room to bargain. I went back down to fetch Anders. The boat captain had offered 3,000 pesos for 3. I told him we were 16 now and he almost choked on his chicken. He offered us 10,000 for everyone. After playing good cop, while Anders was ultra good cop, we convinced him the Taiwanese guy was ultra shrewd and would only give him one shot for his best price. He dropped to 9,000. I grabbed the head of the Taiwanese expedition and informed him of the deal and I figured he could get 8,000. He went in for 6,500 but settled for 8,000 and some drinks. The 16 of us eventually boarded the boat and they took us across the choppy waters to Nacional Park Los Haitises. We were taken into some caves that were very pretty, with some crappy cave paintings (not as good as New Mexico) and the tour guide tried to bullshit us as to how caves were formed. To me this was more entertaining than getting an actual explanation. We were then taken through some mangrove swamps, for a coastal tour, to a fishermans village, to a deserted beach for some cuba libres and finally to a cool underground cave river. It was a pleasant day trip even if my arse hurt a lot when we eventually got off the boat. The captain had entertained us a lot with his stories and we had all caught up with each other and some really good conversations. Once we got back we went to the pizza place and Anders and I had a good chat over some beers on the porch. We had a conversation on many things and found out we come from similar backgrounds and I got to know him a lot better. Though he did say I was someone who listened through relating my own stories, which is a true observation and yet he is only the second person to point that out. Anders decided that he was going to skip the expedition to Las Galeras and the diving the next day and so it would be just Filip and I.
Filip and I got up very early (too early and not early enough as we just missed a gua gua and had to wait for one hour. We had decided to go all the way across the peninsula and back in one day. We took guaguas to Samana, which is a pretty little port town, with a bustling market and three bridges linking three islands just offshore. From there we picked up a guagua to the one horse town that is Las Galeras. If you go there bear in mind they have no cash machines and luckily I had enough cash on me to lend Filip 3,000 pesos for the scuba diving. We debated a lot of things on the way up, while Filip took shots of locals. Once in Galeras we found the diving would be ot exactly what Filip wanted to do and not for a cheap price either. I opted against snorkeling and would not have been able to afford it anyway with no option for a cash machine. Filip discussed a scheme of his for private government advice and I believe it could work, but I don't think he has as much faith in his own idea in and of itself. While Filip dived (a two dive trip, the first apparently basic, the second apparently really great weaving through the coral) with some Russians, I wandered through the private beaches of the exlcusive hotels. Lots of lazy package tourists and one phenomenal French girl. It really is quite pretty along the coast and away from the dustbowl town. Lots of sand and green plants and wild horses. I eventually met Filip again and we headed back. We debated a lot again and I came to believe we shared a lot of similar philosophies. I certainly think we travel in a similar way or that we look for similar things from our trips. Although I did learn the benefit of defining a concept that you debate. We debated for half an hour on the merits of giving advice, sometimes heatedly, only to realise we define giving advice differently and that if you take that variance into account we actually agreed with each other. Rather amusing and a good life lesson. When we got to Samana there were only guaguas as far as Limon so we took them. Getting to Limon we were informed there were no more guaguas and we should take a motoconcho. Fuck them I can walk 14km. Although one guy was incredulous as Filip jumped onto hsi motorbike and rode it around a few corners down the road. Once he was restored to the pavement we continued walking and tried to flag down vehicles. Eventually we thumbed down a truck driver to take us for 200 pesos after Filip had said he was Polish. His theory is you should say you are from poorer countries and then you get cheaper deals. Seems to work. Get all your internet done as well before you head to Galeras. The average is 40 pesos an hour here in the Dominican Republic, but this place charged 3 pesos a minute. We arrived back and crashed ready for the long haul in the morning.
We had decided we could go all the way to Cabarete by gua gua and this would necessitate 4 of the little vans. In the end we only saved a fraction of the cost but it was fun negotiating. We paid 50 pesos each to Sanchez (standard), 60 pesos to Nagua (probably 10 too much), 100 I think to Rio San Juan (probably 60-80) and 80 to Cabarete (Filip reckons we could have got 50 or 60). Overall we paid 290 pesos each. We were quoted 440-500. So you can really haggle down. We did get some cracking answers to our questions as well. "How much does it cost?" "No problem". Well it could be a problem, but you need an answer and definite price before you step into the vehicle. Another one of "how much does it cost?" "Yes, yes, get in". Buggers will try to take you for some extra cash. Filip reckons you need to see them almost crying before you have got a good price, but Anders was loving the haggling, if not the guaguas. I had Filip say how much he preferred to ride on the backs of trucks only minuted before Anders told me how much he preferred the vans. Anyway we arrived in Cabarete with time to spare and checked into our Hotel Kaoba for 5 nights (it would become 6 as we had a spare one to kill). This would be our home until those two guys ended up shooting off back to Florida (Both were working as research assistants as part of their masters programs back home).
Dominican Republic Part One
At the airport I ended up drawing out less money than I paid in charges, because I really had not sussed out the exchange rate correctly. And to think i teach maths. Pity my students. I was trying to figure out in my head how much it was going to cost to get to town by taxi, when I was approached by a Swedish guy who was headed in the same direction. This was the beginning of my odyssey with Filip and Anders. They would bail me out of shitty situations over the next couple of weeks and I effectively turned their holiday into one long charity volunteering session. But all that was for the future. Anders managed to haggle the taxi driver down to 25 dollars and we headed into the zona colonial. They had lost their Caribbean Lonely Planet in Rincon while surfing and it turns out we´d been on the same flight into Santo Domingo. When we arrived in the centre, the taxi driver could not find their place and the hotel could not find their reservations. I was going to walk on from there to the place I'd booked but they suggested I share the room if I wanted and cut the costs. Considering I'd booked the other place with a now cancelled card (meaning there was no danger of them charging me) I took them up on the offer. The room was kind of smallish and had only two beds. The guys would end up having to share for the whole trip and I did feel a mix of guilt and relief that I always ended up with my own smallish bed. We went out to take a look at the town and concluded it was pretty, but not as nice as San Juan. Like a shabbier version. We had an overpriced dinner that was quite nice, although I don't think Filip enjoyed his that much and settled in. In the morning I woke up and I had no passport. Shit. Fuck. I don't think I was as concerned as I should have been at the time as I figured I had time for a replacement, but I knew I was in trouble and I knew Haiti was out of the question. Which was crappy as I figure the two of them may have come along.
I spent the morning frantically searching around town for the passport to no avail and then we met up and toured around the fortress. It was fairly run down but they do allow you to play around with the military equipment onsite, which enabled me to learn a little bit about Swedish military service. I talk so much and we travelled together for a reasonable amount of time that we both got to learn an awful lot about how the other country functions. On the whole I was not disappointed with the insight into Swedish functionings as I have long thought they may be the next evolutionary step in human governance following the last step taken by the Yankees 250 years ago. I decided to dash across town to see if I could get some information from the UK embassy on the island. At the same time Filip had lost his bank card. It turns out he had left it in the machine the night before after admonishing me for doing the same thing 5 seconds beforehand. I had even been shown his bank card when I had gone to the bank looking for my passport but was obviously unaware of this. Anders later let me know in Las Terrenas that they had initially thought I stole it. Only natural. I had irrationally thought they may have stolen my passport, but it was evident I would have more use for their bankcard than they for my passport. Ah the hazards of things going missing when relationships are untested. Anyway they got their card back from the bank. In my rush to get to the embassy I realised I had forgotten to actually check where it was specifically. I ended up charging down one road, getting pissed on by yet another rain storm (I know I always mention rain and it seems I get a lot, but actually I have had lots of sun and sure as hell don't miss the English winter) and ducking into the Marriott hotel for directions. They phoned up and found the place and their taxi driver offered to take me for 300 pesos. A ridiculous amount. I protested that it was only 2km away and the desk girl said it was way more than that. It was actually 1.5km but the building is hard to spot. No flags and buildings like at home. The UK embassy is on the 7th floor of a nodescript concrete tower block that would not look out of place South of the river back home. After all this effort I discover the embassy is bloody shut (missed it by half an hour) and I would have to go back the next day.
I was passing back through the museum district so I stopped off to see the modern art museum. It was an interesting place and the first gallery I had been to for ages. Standouts included a Miro painting of a person painting a painting. Yep like it says. There was alos an exhibition obsessed with breasts and a wedding dress that had lots of plastic headless grooms sticking out of it. Following this I ducked into the Museum of the Dominican Man. It was an interesting museum but not that exceptional. The exception was the display on the Dominican Carnival upstairs which was colourful and quite intimidating with the costumes. Would be a fun place to be for the carnival and at the rate my passport is being replaced I may be able to experience it firsthand. Though I still aim to be in Guatemala or El Salvador. Once I left the museum I figured I should report the loss to the tourist police. This is a small office with one desk in the middle of town. The guy clearly could not be arsed and the fact I did not know my own passport number or where I was staying (I did not book it) did not help. He filled out a letter for me in Spanish explaining what I needed from the main police station and so I headed out that way. Eventually after asking many people for directions I came to the main police station and as I was headed in I was stopped by the security guard. "no tiene pantalones". What? I could not enter because I did not have any trousers. Shit. I had put all my clothes in the laundrette in the morning and was in swimming trunks. So I could not enter the police station. I rather forlornly explained in Spanish that my clothes were in the laundrette, that I did not have a passport and that I needed a form. I looked rather forlorn and useless, like a kid on the first day of school, as I handed him my Spanish slip of paper. He clearly thought I was so pathetic he would permit me to flaunt the rules and he let me head to the reception. This was in the side of the building and composed of one woman on a chair with a phone. Not even a desk. She got annoyed at me for interrupting her conversation and sent me round the corner to what looked like a mobile home. Inside were two detectives who were clearly about to head off home and had no interest in my case. The fact my Spanish sucked and I did not know my passport number pissed them off more. Well pissed them off as much as you can piss off someone who is disinterested. I offered what I believed it to be and they printed up a police report with a guessed passport number and my name spelt incorrectly despite my doing it letter bby letter. I met up with the other guys and we had wanted to see the baseball (home side was away) or cockfighting (nothing till january), so we walked around and ended up watching 'Body of Lies' which was not bad and started the first of our many incessant discussions on politics. I had almost lost my cards in the cinema and I should have realised that these Banana Republic shorts were a liability (they were what I wore when my mp3 player went, when my passport went and when my cards would eventually go). Obviously they design pockets for easy loss in America. Or maybe there was a curse of the lost Banana Republic haunting me. After all I had visited the country they had ruthlessly exploited for many years (Guatemala and its the actual Banana Company) and thats where the curse started. Its all clear now. The Banana Republic and Peter Frampton were out to haunt all my movements. Bastards. Not sure how I shake this curse. Maybe I will have to offer up a sacrifice to a volcano up in Guatemala next time I am there. Or hunt down and kill that little shit that started my bad luck rolling.
In the morning I got up and headed for the passport office again. I found out the emergency passport only flies you directly home. That sucked. I checked flights at one point when i hit a low and figured it was the easiest option. Flights home started from 1000 pounds. That option was quickly scrapped. At this point Haiti was up in smoke and Canada was a problem. A passport takes up to 20 days as it has to be dealt with in Mexico City (great) because they have a biometric passport manufacturer. Tomorrow was a bank holiday and I would only have 1 hour to gather everything I needed impossible. I filled out the form and got them to check it over. So far so good. I needed two passport sized photos. This was done by a guy they recommended who takes shots with a camera against a white wall that he digitally edits. It looks like one of those lead x-ray machines and fires the camera shot at you. He doctored it well. It took ages to find him in the first place, because the first 20 people I asked had no idea where it was (even though it was on the opposite side of the road right in front of their faces). That killed any chance of getting the application started that day. Now I had two more problems. One was that the government had threatened me that if I lost another passport I may not be entitled to a new one as I had lost so many. I knew we had dug up one of the old ones and sent a message to my dad to send it in to the passport office to speed things up. Ten days later he eventually sent it in. That must have sped it up loads. My mum phoned the passport office after Anna (an Argentine friend of mine) had contacted her from Ireland via facebook. Sometimes you wonder how people coped before internet. They said I would at least get a trail one year passport to see if I could be trusted. Another obstacle covered. Finally the vouch on the passport. It needs to be someone who is a British citizen and has known you for two years. Hmm. I knew noone on the island and certainly no British citizens. If there was noone I could use a local who had known me for 2 years. I had been on the island 2 days. Shit. Finally they suggested I could use my hotel manager. I tried to clarify, because its a small hotel and the owner only speaks Spanish. They said it was ok. I doubted this all the while, but the application is apparently being processed in Mexico as I speak so it must be ok. Anyway I get back to the hotel and explain to the assistant who speaks some English what I need from the owner. So the three of us sit in a room and I try to explain in Spanish what he has to write. He fills in the back and says he has known me for 2 years, even though its barely 2 minutes. I then fill out a mock passport photo so he can copy exactly what I wrote, but I end up spelling it letter by letter in Spanish and the first time he runs out of space. I could see that coming, but its hard to explain in Spanish to someone who is helping you out. Eventually we bundle through the process and I have two signed photos (hmm did something to the keyboard there and lost brackets. I only wanted one signed but did not know this yet as I missread it). I had 13 days from the 2nd as the office was closed on the 1st but everything was prepared and I would give it the best shot I had. It was now I realised that the Yankees might be really pissed that I lost a ten year visa in the Dominican Republic and you may well see me ending up on the baseball roster in the Major League Baseball. I am bound to get an arse raping when I next head through US airspace and I am going to avoid it if possible. Though Jose, the guy I am staying with works for the US embassy here and maybe able to soften the landing if I turn myself in here before I fly.
Later that evening (stress dying down a little bit) I met the other guys and we had some drinks before heading out for new years eve. We ended up eating in a place called El Museo de el Jamon (the museum of ham). It was expensive but the food was sensational. They took a long time to deliver and new year struck with us watching the fireworks exploding over us for new years eve. Was a cool place to spend it and a complete contrast to the piss up in the Dublin tavern for the year before. Afterwards I was supposed to meet a couchsurfer Alejandro at around half past one outside our hotel for a late party. We wandered along the waterfront and got there just in time to grab a lift with him, his mate Rafa (who insisted he could get me any drug I wanted even I did not want any) and a girl from New York. They whisked us across town to a private party on the rooftop of a penthouse. The place had a swimming pool and a cool view across the western part of the city. We met the host Carlise (whose mum was Miss Dominican Republic 1977) and a plethora of her friends. There was a musical therapist, the guys we came with, a French/Spanish girl called Morgane who was quite cute and offered me a place to stay if I got stuck here. She also scared the shit out of me by insisting that another English guy named Joe had taken 8 months to replace his passport. Oh well better sink in for the long haul. I then met Joe, a German guy named Mathias and Jose (who is currently hosting me after bailing me out of another problem). We also met a whole bunch of other people, but they were the main actors. On the saturday 14 of them were heading out for a two day party on a deserted beach out in the west. If we could get a car we could join them as their cars were full. We could not and so we did not. Shame as it would have been fun. The three of us chatted with a bunch of people and then helped them carry stuff at 5am to the after party in Carlise's flat. We stayed till around 7am and then headed out after getting Jose and Carlise's numbers. The three of us walked back along the malecon, past scores of the good looking and the drunk strewn across the waterfront like debris from a new year´s storm. We eventually found a breakfast place where I collapsed mid sentence. The other slowly faded as well and after the Hilton had wanted to charge us a mini mortgage for breakfast we made it back.
On the 1st we got up late and what a cracking start to 2009 I had had. Great party, but I had no passport and I think this would sour my mind for most of my time here in the Dominican Republic. We were so late we just set off for Boca Chica beach in the east of the city (a recommendation from someone at the party) and chilled on the beach. We all went for swims in the water, which was shallow enough to walk all the way out and really clear and pretty. Anders and I even played some water rugby with some of the locals before grabbing some local food and watching the sunset at the beach. We had to stand for a fair way on the way back in the gua gua and Anders even got hazed by some of the locals on the way back. Completely knackered off only four hours sleep we flopped back to the hotel, where the hotel owner offered me any assistance he could provide and tomorrow morning was the day of reckoning with the passport before we could get out of the city. The others had become incredibly bored and disheartened with the city, because they had to kill time. I was so stressed and preoccupied with the passport that I did not have time to get bored, but as we had decided to travel together I had effectively detained them the extra day on account of my passport requirements.
I decided to take the other black photos along with me and my carefully prepared passport pack. Good job I bdid, given my miscalculation. Makes the old adage that everything has a use and don't discard anything or close any doors unless you have to, because you never know when they may come in handy. I got to the office and they mentioned how the photo needed to be blank. Thank god I had brought the alternative. It was also then that they informed me that because I had lost a previous passport it would take extra time to do background checks and the passport would take between 4-5 weeks. Shit. I could speed it up by getting them a photocopy of the passport or sending the old one in, but both of those were not provided from the other end in England. So I was going to have to sit it out and the odds of it arriving on time now were minimal. Bollocks. It was also a bank holiday weekend that weekend so they would not be able to send the passport application in until the following tuesday at the earliest. An 8 day turnaround from the Dominican Republic to Mexico and back was nevr going to be a possibility. I met up with the other guys who were very eager to get out. They had suggested Cabarete or Playa Limon, but I theorised if any of the guys could join us from new year, they could only do so the weekend after this, because this weekend they were out at the beach. So we opted for Las Terrenas out on the Samana Peninsula and set off on a bus from Caribe Tours.
I spent the morning frantically searching around town for the passport to no avail and then we met up and toured around the fortress. It was fairly run down but they do allow you to play around with the military equipment onsite, which enabled me to learn a little bit about Swedish military service. I talk so much and we travelled together for a reasonable amount of time that we both got to learn an awful lot about how the other country functions. On the whole I was not disappointed with the insight into Swedish functionings as I have long thought they may be the next evolutionary step in human governance following the last step taken by the Yankees 250 years ago. I decided to dash across town to see if I could get some information from the UK embassy on the island. At the same time Filip had lost his bank card. It turns out he had left it in the machine the night before after admonishing me for doing the same thing 5 seconds beforehand. I had even been shown his bank card when I had gone to the bank looking for my passport but was obviously unaware of this. Anders later let me know in Las Terrenas that they had initially thought I stole it. Only natural. I had irrationally thought they may have stolen my passport, but it was evident I would have more use for their bankcard than they for my passport. Ah the hazards of things going missing when relationships are untested. Anyway they got their card back from the bank. In my rush to get to the embassy I realised I had forgotten to actually check where it was specifically. I ended up charging down one road, getting pissed on by yet another rain storm (I know I always mention rain and it seems I get a lot, but actually I have had lots of sun and sure as hell don't miss the English winter) and ducking into the Marriott hotel for directions. They phoned up and found the place and their taxi driver offered to take me for 300 pesos. A ridiculous amount. I protested that it was only 2km away and the desk girl said it was way more than that. It was actually 1.5km but the building is hard to spot. No flags and buildings like at home. The UK embassy is on the 7th floor of a nodescript concrete tower block that would not look out of place South of the river back home. After all this effort I discover the embassy is bloody shut (missed it by half an hour) and I would have to go back the next day.
I was passing back through the museum district so I stopped off to see the modern art museum. It was an interesting place and the first gallery I had been to for ages. Standouts included a Miro painting of a person painting a painting. Yep like it says. There was alos an exhibition obsessed with breasts and a wedding dress that had lots of plastic headless grooms sticking out of it. Following this I ducked into the Museum of the Dominican Man. It was an interesting museum but not that exceptional. The exception was the display on the Dominican Carnival upstairs which was colourful and quite intimidating with the costumes. Would be a fun place to be for the carnival and at the rate my passport is being replaced I may be able to experience it firsthand. Though I still aim to be in Guatemala or El Salvador. Once I left the museum I figured I should report the loss to the tourist police. This is a small office with one desk in the middle of town. The guy clearly could not be arsed and the fact I did not know my own passport number or where I was staying (I did not book it) did not help. He filled out a letter for me in Spanish explaining what I needed from the main police station and so I headed out that way. Eventually after asking many people for directions I came to the main police station and as I was headed in I was stopped by the security guard. "no tiene pantalones". What? I could not enter because I did not have any trousers. Shit. I had put all my clothes in the laundrette in the morning and was in swimming trunks. So I could not enter the police station. I rather forlornly explained in Spanish that my clothes were in the laundrette, that I did not have a passport and that I needed a form. I looked rather forlorn and useless, like a kid on the first day of school, as I handed him my Spanish slip of paper. He clearly thought I was so pathetic he would permit me to flaunt the rules and he let me head to the reception. This was in the side of the building and composed of one woman on a chair with a phone. Not even a desk. She got annoyed at me for interrupting her conversation and sent me round the corner to what looked like a mobile home. Inside were two detectives who were clearly about to head off home and had no interest in my case. The fact my Spanish sucked and I did not know my passport number pissed them off more. Well pissed them off as much as you can piss off someone who is disinterested. I offered what I believed it to be and they printed up a police report with a guessed passport number and my name spelt incorrectly despite my doing it letter bby letter. I met up with the other guys and we had wanted to see the baseball (home side was away) or cockfighting (nothing till january), so we walked around and ended up watching 'Body of Lies' which was not bad and started the first of our many incessant discussions on politics. I had almost lost my cards in the cinema and I should have realised that these Banana Republic shorts were a liability (they were what I wore when my mp3 player went, when my passport went and when my cards would eventually go). Obviously they design pockets for easy loss in America. Or maybe there was a curse of the lost Banana Republic haunting me. After all I had visited the country they had ruthlessly exploited for many years (Guatemala and its the actual Banana Company) and thats where the curse started. Its all clear now. The Banana Republic and Peter Frampton were out to haunt all my movements. Bastards. Not sure how I shake this curse. Maybe I will have to offer up a sacrifice to a volcano up in Guatemala next time I am there. Or hunt down and kill that little shit that started my bad luck rolling.
In the morning I got up and headed for the passport office again. I found out the emergency passport only flies you directly home. That sucked. I checked flights at one point when i hit a low and figured it was the easiest option. Flights home started from 1000 pounds. That option was quickly scrapped. At this point Haiti was up in smoke and Canada was a problem. A passport takes up to 20 days as it has to be dealt with in Mexico City (great) because they have a biometric passport manufacturer. Tomorrow was a bank holiday and I would only have 1 hour to gather everything I needed impossible. I filled out the form and got them to check it over. So far so good. I needed two passport sized photos. This was done by a guy they recommended who takes shots with a camera against a white wall that he digitally edits. It looks like one of those lead x-ray machines and fires the camera shot at you. He doctored it well. It took ages to find him in the first place, because the first 20 people I asked had no idea where it was (even though it was on the opposite side of the road right in front of their faces). That killed any chance of getting the application started that day. Now I had two more problems. One was that the government had threatened me that if I lost another passport I may not be entitled to a new one as I had lost so many. I knew we had dug up one of the old ones and sent a message to my dad to send it in to the passport office to speed things up. Ten days later he eventually sent it in. That must have sped it up loads. My mum phoned the passport office after Anna (an Argentine friend of mine) had contacted her from Ireland via facebook. Sometimes you wonder how people coped before internet. They said I would at least get a trail one year passport to see if I could be trusted. Another obstacle covered. Finally the vouch on the passport. It needs to be someone who is a British citizen and has known you for two years. Hmm. I knew noone on the island and certainly no British citizens. If there was noone I could use a local who had known me for 2 years. I had been on the island 2 days. Shit. Finally they suggested I could use my hotel manager. I tried to clarify, because its a small hotel and the owner only speaks Spanish. They said it was ok. I doubted this all the while, but the application is apparently being processed in Mexico as I speak so it must be ok. Anyway I get back to the hotel and explain to the assistant who speaks some English what I need from the owner. So the three of us sit in a room and I try to explain in Spanish what he has to write. He fills in the back and says he has known me for 2 years, even though its barely 2 minutes. I then fill out a mock passport photo so he can copy exactly what I wrote, but I end up spelling it letter by letter in Spanish and the first time he runs out of space. I could see that coming, but its hard to explain in Spanish to someone who is helping you out. Eventually we bundle through the process and I have two signed photos (hmm did something to the keyboard there and lost brackets. I only wanted one signed but did not know this yet as I missread it). I had 13 days from the 2nd as the office was closed on the 1st but everything was prepared and I would give it the best shot I had. It was now I realised that the Yankees might be really pissed that I lost a ten year visa in the Dominican Republic and you may well see me ending up on the baseball roster in the Major League Baseball. I am bound to get an arse raping when I next head through US airspace and I am going to avoid it if possible. Though Jose, the guy I am staying with works for the US embassy here and maybe able to soften the landing if I turn myself in here before I fly.
Later that evening (stress dying down a little bit) I met the other guys and we had some drinks before heading out for new years eve. We ended up eating in a place called El Museo de el Jamon (the museum of ham). It was expensive but the food was sensational. They took a long time to deliver and new year struck with us watching the fireworks exploding over us for new years eve. Was a cool place to spend it and a complete contrast to the piss up in the Dublin tavern for the year before. Afterwards I was supposed to meet a couchsurfer Alejandro at around half past one outside our hotel for a late party. We wandered along the waterfront and got there just in time to grab a lift with him, his mate Rafa (who insisted he could get me any drug I wanted even I did not want any) and a girl from New York. They whisked us across town to a private party on the rooftop of a penthouse. The place had a swimming pool and a cool view across the western part of the city. We met the host Carlise (whose mum was Miss Dominican Republic 1977) and a plethora of her friends. There was a musical therapist, the guys we came with, a French/Spanish girl called Morgane who was quite cute and offered me a place to stay if I got stuck here. She also scared the shit out of me by insisting that another English guy named Joe had taken 8 months to replace his passport. Oh well better sink in for the long haul. I then met Joe, a German guy named Mathias and Jose (who is currently hosting me after bailing me out of another problem). We also met a whole bunch of other people, but they were the main actors. On the saturday 14 of them were heading out for a two day party on a deserted beach out in the west. If we could get a car we could join them as their cars were full. We could not and so we did not. Shame as it would have been fun. The three of us chatted with a bunch of people and then helped them carry stuff at 5am to the after party in Carlise's flat. We stayed till around 7am and then headed out after getting Jose and Carlise's numbers. The three of us walked back along the malecon, past scores of the good looking and the drunk strewn across the waterfront like debris from a new year´s storm. We eventually found a breakfast place where I collapsed mid sentence. The other slowly faded as well and after the Hilton had wanted to charge us a mini mortgage for breakfast we made it back.
On the 1st we got up late and what a cracking start to 2009 I had had. Great party, but I had no passport and I think this would sour my mind for most of my time here in the Dominican Republic. We were so late we just set off for Boca Chica beach in the east of the city (a recommendation from someone at the party) and chilled on the beach. We all went for swims in the water, which was shallow enough to walk all the way out and really clear and pretty. Anders and I even played some water rugby with some of the locals before grabbing some local food and watching the sunset at the beach. We had to stand for a fair way on the way back in the gua gua and Anders even got hazed by some of the locals on the way back. Completely knackered off only four hours sleep we flopped back to the hotel, where the hotel owner offered me any assistance he could provide and tomorrow morning was the day of reckoning with the passport before we could get out of the city. The others had become incredibly bored and disheartened with the city, because they had to kill time. I was so stressed and preoccupied with the passport that I did not have time to get bored, but as we had decided to travel together I had effectively detained them the extra day on account of my passport requirements.
I decided to take the other black photos along with me and my carefully prepared passport pack. Good job I bdid, given my miscalculation. Makes the old adage that everything has a use and don't discard anything or close any doors unless you have to, because you never know when they may come in handy. I got to the office and they mentioned how the photo needed to be blank. Thank god I had brought the alternative. It was also then that they informed me that because I had lost a previous passport it would take extra time to do background checks and the passport would take between 4-5 weeks. Shit. I could speed it up by getting them a photocopy of the passport or sending the old one in, but both of those were not provided from the other end in England. So I was going to have to sit it out and the odds of it arriving on time now were minimal. Bollocks. It was also a bank holiday weekend that weekend so they would not be able to send the passport application in until the following tuesday at the earliest. An 8 day turnaround from the Dominican Republic to Mexico and back was nevr going to be a possibility. I met up with the other guys who were very eager to get out. They had suggested Cabarete or Playa Limon, but I theorised if any of the guys could join us from new year, they could only do so the weekend after this, because this weekend they were out at the beach. So we opted for Las Terrenas out on the Samana Peninsula and set off on a bus from Caribe Tours.
Puerto Rico
The flight over to Miami took me over Cuba, the Florida Keys and the Everglades. All of them looked quite cool and reinforced my belief that I would have to properly visit the home of Horatio Caine (coolest ginger man in the world, narrowly shading the Ginger Wizard). Miami airport was kind of weird. It was strange being back in an English speaking place. My natwest card was no longer working either, because the Yankee banks had decided I was an imposter. I also got bollocked for putting Puerto Rico as transit on the visa. How was I to know? Its not a state, but its not an independent country. The Yankees can call it whatever they like, but as an Englishman we recognise a colony when we see one. It was a short stopover to grab food and Rolling Stone magazines special on Barrack Obama. Was a cool read. I hopped back on a plane and it was off to Puerto Rico, where I would now have to rely on my credit card for the first time on this trip.
I arrived in the tropical caribbean to be greeted by drizzly rain (man that shit follows me everywhere. Must have an English seeking tracker). The bus also did not stop for me so I walked off across the airport and round some estates until I grabbed a bus to the old town. Only it tookk me to a pretty convention centre instead and I opted to walk from there. My hotel, which my dad's girlfriend had kindly booked for me appeared closed. In fact it looked like a derelict shithole of a building. I rang the doorbell. No answer. Bugger. Shit. I had to find somwhere else (I learnt later from some Swedish guys that Lonely Planet had fucked up the address. I should sue their BBC arses for the $200 additional costs they generated for me. I checked into Da House around the corner and this place was really nice. I had a real bed, a real Yankee style shower, artwork in the room, a nice layout and a hottub on the roof of the building. The only problem was a door that was so stiff I had to break into my room everytime I wanted to enter or exit. This was expensive, but Puerto Rico is a really expensive island. I wrote it off in my head as this being a 5 day holiday in the middle of 18 months of travelling.
I contacted the couchsurfer Kathy and headed off to a random neighbourhood in the middle of the night for some christmas food. I had to grab a bus to the local train station. A local guy helped me out with directions and we chatted for a while, although he could not comprehend how I spoke English when I wasn´t an American (this is the fourth English speaker I have met who does not realise the English speak English. You´d figure it was self explanatory. Anyway I lept onto the efficient overhead train that seemed modelled on LAX and its transport system. Only this one was much more efficient. Some old guy accosted me and helped me to find a telephone at the other end. This really was a friendly place. Like being back in the south. I rang Kathy and she turned up with her sister to pick me up. Kathy was hot and her sister Vanessa was even hotter. I would come to form a distinct opinion on Puerto Rican women after meeting their good looking cousins and seeing the reams of stunning women around San Juan in the days to come. Its no surprise they have won the second highest number of miss worlds, I just want to know which country beats them. San Juan is by far the fittest place I have ever visited and if you are a woman in San Juan and stunning, you would be merely average. This place is to women, what Venice is to picturesque cities. The two of them drove me to their place where I met a couple of couchsurfing guys from Texas, a fair few family members and some interesting guys from the US coast guard. The coast guarders told me some interesting stories of their drunken antics, women chasing and drug busting all while plying myself and them with 151 proof rum. We danced a bit and drank and chatted away until around 4am before one of the cousins gave me a lift home. We planned to meet up again, but for one reason or another it did not happen. Both of the sisters were stunning and good conversationalists. I would begin to love San Juan, while seemingly noone else I met did. Odd that. I think it would make my top five US cities, possibly slotting in just behind Denver.
In the morning it was Feliz Navidad and my second christmas away from home. The first one had been in Istanbul and had been an interesting experience. Due to rain I would end up eating Wendys for dinner, which is no real substitute for my dad's cooking (roast duck, roast potatoes in duck fat, pork and apple stuffing, yourkshire puddings and broccoli in cheese). Damn just typing that makes me hungry and my food today is going to come from the cheap gypo pizza place I have found in Santo Domingo. I had woken up late and headed down to El Batey (where Benicio Del Toro drank filming Rum Diary and apparently a Hunter S Thompson esque drinking establishment). It rocked. Graffiti on the walls, kick arse rock jukebox, two pool tables tucked away with those half queues you need when the walls are too close. My kind of place and just like the funky jive bars in the south. You can even whip up a conversation as I did with the barmaid and a couple from New York (One was a PTI, the other was a woodwork teacher. Both were cooler than that sounds). We yapped about all sorts and I now had one Puerto Rican for statehood and one for independence. You can see the divide cleaving the people like a knife. We drank in there for 3 hours before I decided to wander around the town. Its jaw droppingly pretty. Colonial forts, crumbling walls, tucked away alleys, swaying/drifting trees and a real sense of personality as you walked the ancient city. The people are really friendly and I walked down and around the city walls to the waterfront where there was a red gate framed by the sea and a beautiful weeping tree like those in Savannah. There is also a mesmerising graveyard tucked away over the city walls. It feels like a pretty little secret tucked away from the city, at one time part of it, at another its own uniwue attraction. Just walking around this city is a great experience. I went up to the hottub for sunset and its a beautiful feeling watching the sun set over this colonial city from a hottub on the roof. Afterwards I headed back to the bar and actually met a girl form Natural Bridge, Virginia. She had not told me her town as she did not think I would know it and was positively shocked when I had been there and seen most of the sites. I ended up chatting with a few people and got playing pool with a Yankee from Boston. We drank a lot, chatted a lot and played a lot of pool. He was a music promoter and wa son holiday with a girl he knew. She was off with some local but we joined them later and it was a little awkward at times. They went off to Vieques the next day and I elected to stay behind though I wanted to see Yunques (I would end up seeing nothing else of the island, but I loved Puerto Rico so much I will definitely be back. I just felt it and knew it. I will come back with the guys for a two week holiday I think. They would love this place, apart from the cost).
In the morning I got up again and wandered down to the lobby to book in for an extra night as did not fancy another night in the airport when I flew in the afternoon. I noticed that someone was checking their couchsurfing and that their friend was good looking as well so introduced myself. Their names were Carol and Marie-France and Carol was travelling with her mother as well. They'd just booked themselves on a 7 day cruise because they were bored with San Juan (apparently its like an identical, hotter Quebec City). We got chatting on numerous things and the four of us headed down to Isle Verde for the beach. We concluded we should get a car for the next day and drive out to Yunque and see parts of the island. Being christmas however all the cars were sold out which was a little sucky. In the evening we went out for a meal in a local restaurant, where Marie-France got an odd tasting soup. Even our waiter was ultra friendly. The island was full of cool people. We then grabbed some drinks before deciding the hot tub was a good place to go to drink rum. Myself and Marie-France bought a 750ml bottle of rum and some coke and headed to the rooftop. We ended up having a great time talking politics, philosophy and life in general till about 5.30am, although we had not quite realised the time. I was forced to defend both my character and my beliefs for them to be accepted as more than mere platitudes and I always love it when i´m challenged on something. Very refreshing. There were some strong winds on the roof and occasional torrential downpours that drowned us while we chatted. There was even a strange man who wandered up, joined us for about 2 minutes and then left again around 4am. I really enjoyed my time on the roof. Sparring and probing, with a cut and thrust of philosophy always piques my interest. The 3/4s of a litre of rum probably helped as well, even if the rainwater did water them down lol.
In the morning it was confirmed we had no car and so we decided to head out on a tour of the Bacardi Rum Factory. It was ok, not as good as the Jack Daniels tour. I had now done a lot of factory tours. The highlight was the barmen who listed famous Bacardi cocktails. He looked and had the gravitas of Laurence Fishbourne. Yet he had the tone and speech of Samuel L Jackson. Tarantino should cast him now. He´s awesome. We ate afterwards in a cool little rasta run cafe where I had conch meat for the first time and everyone didn´t seem to comprehend why they had the option of a burger without a bun on the menu. The guy who ran the place was super cool and afterwards we took the ferry back to the hotel. I found out that a super geeky Swedish guy (world number 2 in computer programming, visited 90 countries, yet a champion biathlete) was heading to Haiti and I may be able to tag along. He was even couchsurfing there. Sadly that would fall through (for logistics and a much shittier situation for me). My carpet burns from earlier on the trip seemed to have got wounded again. I can only assume it was from the lights on the hottub. Marie-France had mentioned at dinner that my eyes were a funny shade. What with my brown ring and the green ring around it. Weird as she had the same eye style. Never met anyone else with that. We have our common freaky chameleon eyes. The company was good and it was a shame that if we´d met around 3 hours earlier I would probably have gone on the cruise or they may have come to the Dominican Republic. Its funny how fate twists though. Marie-France was due to go to Egypt originally and I was not even going to the Caribbean. Both ended up switching plans to end up in Puerto Rico and only because of a Lonely Planet misprint did we end up in the same hotel. Then due to my flight change and heavy drinking I was at the desk to see that Carol was a couchsurfer and that was the conversation starter. Funny, I wish I could dig up that Hunter S Thompson passage from Rum Diary about fate, because I think he is wrong. We all separated (damn can never spell that word. An e or an a? Shite) and so I headed to the roof and met Marie-France reading there. I hopped into the freezing cold bubbly hot tub. I don´t think they can do hot and bubbles, but its cool anyway. We chatted for a long time again and suggested a South American trip. Would have been easier to sort it out in Quebec, but thats not happening now due to my passport problems. Anyway, we headed out for dinner, but did not end up eating. We just walked an chatted around the town at night. San Juan is even prettier in the night if possible. I showed her most of the best spots I had found on christmas day. Those poetic places that speak to your soul in a way that words don´t manage (and no Helen I am not conceding that argument with that line lol). We walked past the castles, graveyard and the gate with the tree. All very hauntingly beautiful, even if I did kneel on a plant that gave me a rash that only cleared up in the last week or so. I enjoyed the company a lot and am disappointed in my own carelessness with my passport. Marie-France was tired so we headed back. I was quite enamoured, but did nothing as she had clearly stated on the hottub night that she was not interested in anything outside of a relationship. Still the company and conversation were both very much appreciated and enjoyed.
In the morning noone showed up as they slept in so I went for a walk and got accosted by a man who wanted to talk about everything and nothing. Though to be fair I just realised a fair few people probably have that feeling with me. We all walked around the two forts and I did my usual wandering off to explore every nook. I wanted to head into La Perla (a rough but incredibly pretty neighbourhood), but was warned by some guys down there at the wall to ´back the fuck up and get out of there´. Although his mate did offer me heroin as a consolation. We even got a talk on the fort ala Fort Sumter. The dynamic was weirder with four of us and I kind of wanted some more one to one time, as I figure people really open up there and thats when you get to know them best and when you have the more intense, interesting discussions. When there is a group everyone leaves a little bit of themselves off the table unless they are all great friends and privy to all the secrets of each others lives. I saw them off at the port and was sad to see them leave, although at the time I was under the impression I would see them again in a few weeks. I wandered around the town again to all my favourite places, thinking a lot and then went to El Batey to listen to music and drink with my thoughts. Then I seem to have come back and feverishly scribbled stuff down. I wanted to write this then that night, but some guy kicked me off the computer. As the Hagakure says 'You should do things the moment they occur to you or your naturally cautious head will talk you out of them'. Hopefully thats not the case here. I still am a firm believer that its impossible to read someone if you want to see something there, because you look for what you want, rather than what is there. I seem to have challenged Hunter S Thompson, who believed that people only believed in fate when they were inacapable of making good decisions and I disagree, siding more with Paulo Coelhos destiny, that if people are meant to cross paths they will do again. Well passport issues mean strike one to Hunter S Thompson, but my faith is still with the Portuguese. Its random how life can throw people together at random times and how you can form a very deep click with someone, only for fate to take that away from you again. Fates like the devil in the desert. Was kind of funny coincidental though. I think I get sentimental in my old age. Both of us took political science, both of us dropped out of law for exactly the same reason, we both enjoy talking sense and bollocks for hours. Was an interesting quote from Razumikhin in Crime and Punishment. We all have to talk a lot of bollocks, until some of us stumble into sense. Hell we even have the same weird freaky eye colours. I loved Puerto Rico and everything about the island. Its like God gave me a shot in the arm when I was flagging and needed it most (never mind that he shot me several times and left me to die in Dominican Republic). Though it is remarkable how trivial conversation is never satisfactory once you have talked in depth with someone, but that everyone you meet instinctively reflexively withdraws a little the next time you meet them. Like they overextended and are scared of where their easyness took them last time. They need that reassurance that they have not erred, when usually those periods of deep overextension form the deepest bonds and provide the greatest satisfaction. Why is humanity always so scared to by human? And we always fear those we have trusted until they earn our absolute trust and then there is just serenity in that persons company. Hmm I am going off on a tangent now. A more controlled tangent than my drunken writings originally, but my notes must be firing up some past memory. Perhaps I would not have written like this if I had not promised my book would be an honest interpretation of my trip. All I know is Puerto Rico is a very rich port indeed, I enjoyed my time there immensely, I am annoyed at myself for not being able to go to Canada and catch up with Marie-France again. Oh well there is always the Amazon and Galapagos etc. Seconds out, round two. Thompson v Coelho. Place your bets on that one now. I won't gamble on this one as I'd stack the dice.
Hmm maybe I should just blaze off a book on my ponderous philosophy lol. There was more rain in the morning and the internet was down, so hence why I am writing this now. I walked part way and bussed the rest of the way to the airport. There were no gate indicators at the airport so I had to ask customs where to go. They also had a casino there, but it only had the stupid $1 blackjack machines. I like to gamble $20 a hand as it works out better. Somehow I left my passport in the casino and again later in a newsagent. Not sure where my head was. Probably still in San Juan and I would pay dearly for this absent mindedness later. Going through security I was subjected to a machine called the ´sniffer´. You stand in what looks like a teleporter and are blasted by gusts of air. Apparently it sniffs chemicals and drugs. What a cool funky machine even if it is intimidating at first. Ah shit. I had to go on a fucking propellor plane. I hate those things and remember the crap one we went to Ireland with for work. Albeit this one was better. Dominican Customs forms are strange affairs. They list what you can and can't bring into the country. It makes no allowance for clothes, you can only bring 5 childrens toys (random number), a radar (what?), only one pair of binoculars (why so specific) and you must be able to demonstrate a musical instrument is for personal use (what if you suck like me? Do you get you instrument confiscated? I am now imagining Lister from Red Dwarf shredding his guitar in Santo Domingo airport). A short while later I was touching down in Santo Domingo, I picked up my ten dollar tourist card and I was arriving into a whole new shitstorm.
I arrived in the tropical caribbean to be greeted by drizzly rain (man that shit follows me everywhere. Must have an English seeking tracker). The bus also did not stop for me so I walked off across the airport and round some estates until I grabbed a bus to the old town. Only it tookk me to a pretty convention centre instead and I opted to walk from there. My hotel, which my dad's girlfriend had kindly booked for me appeared closed. In fact it looked like a derelict shithole of a building. I rang the doorbell. No answer. Bugger. Shit. I had to find somwhere else (I learnt later from some Swedish guys that Lonely Planet had fucked up the address. I should sue their BBC arses for the $200 additional costs they generated for me. I checked into Da House around the corner and this place was really nice. I had a real bed, a real Yankee style shower, artwork in the room, a nice layout and a hottub on the roof of the building. The only problem was a door that was so stiff I had to break into my room everytime I wanted to enter or exit. This was expensive, but Puerto Rico is a really expensive island. I wrote it off in my head as this being a 5 day holiday in the middle of 18 months of travelling.
I contacted the couchsurfer Kathy and headed off to a random neighbourhood in the middle of the night for some christmas food. I had to grab a bus to the local train station. A local guy helped me out with directions and we chatted for a while, although he could not comprehend how I spoke English when I wasn´t an American (this is the fourth English speaker I have met who does not realise the English speak English. You´d figure it was self explanatory. Anyway I lept onto the efficient overhead train that seemed modelled on LAX and its transport system. Only this one was much more efficient. Some old guy accosted me and helped me to find a telephone at the other end. This really was a friendly place. Like being back in the south. I rang Kathy and she turned up with her sister to pick me up. Kathy was hot and her sister Vanessa was even hotter. I would come to form a distinct opinion on Puerto Rican women after meeting their good looking cousins and seeing the reams of stunning women around San Juan in the days to come. Its no surprise they have won the second highest number of miss worlds, I just want to know which country beats them. San Juan is by far the fittest place I have ever visited and if you are a woman in San Juan and stunning, you would be merely average. This place is to women, what Venice is to picturesque cities. The two of them drove me to their place where I met a couple of couchsurfing guys from Texas, a fair few family members and some interesting guys from the US coast guard. The coast guarders told me some interesting stories of their drunken antics, women chasing and drug busting all while plying myself and them with 151 proof rum. We danced a bit and drank and chatted away until around 4am before one of the cousins gave me a lift home. We planned to meet up again, but for one reason or another it did not happen. Both of the sisters were stunning and good conversationalists. I would begin to love San Juan, while seemingly noone else I met did. Odd that. I think it would make my top five US cities, possibly slotting in just behind Denver.
In the morning it was Feliz Navidad and my second christmas away from home. The first one had been in Istanbul and had been an interesting experience. Due to rain I would end up eating Wendys for dinner, which is no real substitute for my dad's cooking (roast duck, roast potatoes in duck fat, pork and apple stuffing, yourkshire puddings and broccoli in cheese). Damn just typing that makes me hungry and my food today is going to come from the cheap gypo pizza place I have found in Santo Domingo. I had woken up late and headed down to El Batey (where Benicio Del Toro drank filming Rum Diary and apparently a Hunter S Thompson esque drinking establishment). It rocked. Graffiti on the walls, kick arse rock jukebox, two pool tables tucked away with those half queues you need when the walls are too close. My kind of place and just like the funky jive bars in the south. You can even whip up a conversation as I did with the barmaid and a couple from New York (One was a PTI, the other was a woodwork teacher. Both were cooler than that sounds). We yapped about all sorts and I now had one Puerto Rican for statehood and one for independence. You can see the divide cleaving the people like a knife. We drank in there for 3 hours before I decided to wander around the town. Its jaw droppingly pretty. Colonial forts, crumbling walls, tucked away alleys, swaying/drifting trees and a real sense of personality as you walked the ancient city. The people are really friendly and I walked down and around the city walls to the waterfront where there was a red gate framed by the sea and a beautiful weeping tree like those in Savannah. There is also a mesmerising graveyard tucked away over the city walls. It feels like a pretty little secret tucked away from the city, at one time part of it, at another its own uniwue attraction. Just walking around this city is a great experience. I went up to the hottub for sunset and its a beautiful feeling watching the sun set over this colonial city from a hottub on the roof. Afterwards I headed back to the bar and actually met a girl form Natural Bridge, Virginia. She had not told me her town as she did not think I would know it and was positively shocked when I had been there and seen most of the sites. I ended up chatting with a few people and got playing pool with a Yankee from Boston. We drank a lot, chatted a lot and played a lot of pool. He was a music promoter and wa son holiday with a girl he knew. She was off with some local but we joined them later and it was a little awkward at times. They went off to Vieques the next day and I elected to stay behind though I wanted to see Yunques (I would end up seeing nothing else of the island, but I loved Puerto Rico so much I will definitely be back. I just felt it and knew it. I will come back with the guys for a two week holiday I think. They would love this place, apart from the cost).
In the morning I got up again and wandered down to the lobby to book in for an extra night as did not fancy another night in the airport when I flew in the afternoon. I noticed that someone was checking their couchsurfing and that their friend was good looking as well so introduced myself. Their names were Carol and Marie-France and Carol was travelling with her mother as well. They'd just booked themselves on a 7 day cruise because they were bored with San Juan (apparently its like an identical, hotter Quebec City). We got chatting on numerous things and the four of us headed down to Isle Verde for the beach. We concluded we should get a car for the next day and drive out to Yunque and see parts of the island. Being christmas however all the cars were sold out which was a little sucky. In the evening we went out for a meal in a local restaurant, where Marie-France got an odd tasting soup. Even our waiter was ultra friendly. The island was full of cool people. We then grabbed some drinks before deciding the hot tub was a good place to go to drink rum. Myself and Marie-France bought a 750ml bottle of rum and some coke and headed to the rooftop. We ended up having a great time talking politics, philosophy and life in general till about 5.30am, although we had not quite realised the time. I was forced to defend both my character and my beliefs for them to be accepted as more than mere platitudes and I always love it when i´m challenged on something. Very refreshing. There were some strong winds on the roof and occasional torrential downpours that drowned us while we chatted. There was even a strange man who wandered up, joined us for about 2 minutes and then left again around 4am. I really enjoyed my time on the roof. Sparring and probing, with a cut and thrust of philosophy always piques my interest. The 3/4s of a litre of rum probably helped as well, even if the rainwater did water them down lol.
In the morning it was confirmed we had no car and so we decided to head out on a tour of the Bacardi Rum Factory. It was ok, not as good as the Jack Daniels tour. I had now done a lot of factory tours. The highlight was the barmen who listed famous Bacardi cocktails. He looked and had the gravitas of Laurence Fishbourne. Yet he had the tone and speech of Samuel L Jackson. Tarantino should cast him now. He´s awesome. We ate afterwards in a cool little rasta run cafe where I had conch meat for the first time and everyone didn´t seem to comprehend why they had the option of a burger without a bun on the menu. The guy who ran the place was super cool and afterwards we took the ferry back to the hotel. I found out that a super geeky Swedish guy (world number 2 in computer programming, visited 90 countries, yet a champion biathlete) was heading to Haiti and I may be able to tag along. He was even couchsurfing there. Sadly that would fall through (for logistics and a much shittier situation for me). My carpet burns from earlier on the trip seemed to have got wounded again. I can only assume it was from the lights on the hottub. Marie-France had mentioned at dinner that my eyes were a funny shade. What with my brown ring and the green ring around it. Weird as she had the same eye style. Never met anyone else with that. We have our common freaky chameleon eyes. The company was good and it was a shame that if we´d met around 3 hours earlier I would probably have gone on the cruise or they may have come to the Dominican Republic. Its funny how fate twists though. Marie-France was due to go to Egypt originally and I was not even going to the Caribbean. Both ended up switching plans to end up in Puerto Rico and only because of a Lonely Planet misprint did we end up in the same hotel. Then due to my flight change and heavy drinking I was at the desk to see that Carol was a couchsurfer and that was the conversation starter. Funny, I wish I could dig up that Hunter S Thompson passage from Rum Diary about fate, because I think he is wrong. We all separated (damn can never spell that word. An e or an a? Shite) and so I headed to the roof and met Marie-France reading there. I hopped into the freezing cold bubbly hot tub. I don´t think they can do hot and bubbles, but its cool anyway. We chatted for a long time again and suggested a South American trip. Would have been easier to sort it out in Quebec, but thats not happening now due to my passport problems. Anyway, we headed out for dinner, but did not end up eating. We just walked an chatted around the town at night. San Juan is even prettier in the night if possible. I showed her most of the best spots I had found on christmas day. Those poetic places that speak to your soul in a way that words don´t manage (and no Helen I am not conceding that argument with that line lol). We walked past the castles, graveyard and the gate with the tree. All very hauntingly beautiful, even if I did kneel on a plant that gave me a rash that only cleared up in the last week or so. I enjoyed the company a lot and am disappointed in my own carelessness with my passport. Marie-France was tired so we headed back. I was quite enamoured, but did nothing as she had clearly stated on the hottub night that she was not interested in anything outside of a relationship. Still the company and conversation were both very much appreciated and enjoyed.
In the morning noone showed up as they slept in so I went for a walk and got accosted by a man who wanted to talk about everything and nothing. Though to be fair I just realised a fair few people probably have that feeling with me. We all walked around the two forts and I did my usual wandering off to explore every nook. I wanted to head into La Perla (a rough but incredibly pretty neighbourhood), but was warned by some guys down there at the wall to ´back the fuck up and get out of there´. Although his mate did offer me heroin as a consolation. We even got a talk on the fort ala Fort Sumter. The dynamic was weirder with four of us and I kind of wanted some more one to one time, as I figure people really open up there and thats when you get to know them best and when you have the more intense, interesting discussions. When there is a group everyone leaves a little bit of themselves off the table unless they are all great friends and privy to all the secrets of each others lives. I saw them off at the port and was sad to see them leave, although at the time I was under the impression I would see them again in a few weeks. I wandered around the town again to all my favourite places, thinking a lot and then went to El Batey to listen to music and drink with my thoughts. Then I seem to have come back and feverishly scribbled stuff down. I wanted to write this then that night, but some guy kicked me off the computer. As the Hagakure says 'You should do things the moment they occur to you or your naturally cautious head will talk you out of them'. Hopefully thats not the case here. I still am a firm believer that its impossible to read someone if you want to see something there, because you look for what you want, rather than what is there. I seem to have challenged Hunter S Thompson, who believed that people only believed in fate when they were inacapable of making good decisions and I disagree, siding more with Paulo Coelhos destiny, that if people are meant to cross paths they will do again. Well passport issues mean strike one to Hunter S Thompson, but my faith is still with the Portuguese. Its random how life can throw people together at random times and how you can form a very deep click with someone, only for fate to take that away from you again. Fates like the devil in the desert. Was kind of funny coincidental though. I think I get sentimental in my old age. Both of us took political science, both of us dropped out of law for exactly the same reason, we both enjoy talking sense and bollocks for hours. Was an interesting quote from Razumikhin in Crime and Punishment. We all have to talk a lot of bollocks, until some of us stumble into sense. Hell we even have the same weird freaky eye colours. I loved Puerto Rico and everything about the island. Its like God gave me a shot in the arm when I was flagging and needed it most (never mind that he shot me several times and left me to die in Dominican Republic). Though it is remarkable how trivial conversation is never satisfactory once you have talked in depth with someone, but that everyone you meet instinctively reflexively withdraws a little the next time you meet them. Like they overextended and are scared of where their easyness took them last time. They need that reassurance that they have not erred, when usually those periods of deep overextension form the deepest bonds and provide the greatest satisfaction. Why is humanity always so scared to by human? And we always fear those we have trusted until they earn our absolute trust and then there is just serenity in that persons company. Hmm I am going off on a tangent now. A more controlled tangent than my drunken writings originally, but my notes must be firing up some past memory. Perhaps I would not have written like this if I had not promised my book would be an honest interpretation of my trip. All I know is Puerto Rico is a very rich port indeed, I enjoyed my time there immensely, I am annoyed at myself for not being able to go to Canada and catch up with Marie-France again. Oh well there is always the Amazon and Galapagos etc. Seconds out, round two. Thompson v Coelho. Place your bets on that one now. I won't gamble on this one as I'd stack the dice.
Hmm maybe I should just blaze off a book on my ponderous philosophy lol. There was more rain in the morning and the internet was down, so hence why I am writing this now. I walked part way and bussed the rest of the way to the airport. There were no gate indicators at the airport so I had to ask customs where to go. They also had a casino there, but it only had the stupid $1 blackjack machines. I like to gamble $20 a hand as it works out better. Somehow I left my passport in the casino and again later in a newsagent. Not sure where my head was. Probably still in San Juan and I would pay dearly for this absent mindedness later. Going through security I was subjected to a machine called the ´sniffer´. You stand in what looks like a teleporter and are blasted by gusts of air. Apparently it sniffs chemicals and drugs. What a cool funky machine even if it is intimidating at first. Ah shit. I had to go on a fucking propellor plane. I hate those things and remember the crap one we went to Ireland with for work. Albeit this one was better. Dominican Customs forms are strange affairs. They list what you can and can't bring into the country. It makes no allowance for clothes, you can only bring 5 childrens toys (random number), a radar (what?), only one pair of binoculars (why so specific) and you must be able to demonstrate a musical instrument is for personal use (what if you suck like me? Do you get you instrument confiscated? I am now imagining Lister from Red Dwarf shredding his guitar in Santo Domingo airport). A short while later I was touching down in Santo Domingo, I picked up my ten dollar tourist card and I was arriving into a whole new shitstorm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)