(I will add photos later, but for now.....here is an accounting of my latest adventure!!!)
The DR, Day 1- Taxis, Cannons and Banyan Trees
There is a moment in every international flight in which I feel like I have truly left home and arrived in another country. I could happen anywhere in the airspace between ‘here’ and ‘there’. It is the moment in which they stop giving airline instructions in English first. You know how it is…..instead of ‘please return your seat backs and tray tables to their upright positions’…pause…’the-same-thing-in-Spanish/French/or-wherever-it-is-you-are-going’, it gets turned around the other way. I am sure that the airlines have a particular time that they do this in a flight, but to me, it is my own little universal sign….’your adventure begins NOW, Anna’. It is official….I am in the Dominican Republic.
Once the airplane landed, I went into serious ‘follow the other passengers’ mode. I have no idea what to do and I find that this is a great time to become a lemming. Through the line to pay for a tourist visa, which they immediately take away from me in the next line. …..On to immigration and customs…why is it that they are never as happy to see me as I am to see them?
Finally out into the sun to get a taxi. $40 USD later and I am screaming my way towards the center of old town and my hotel. I am looking around like crazy, trying to see some sort of semblance between here and Haiti. After all, not only are we on the same island, we are actually not that far from Port au Prince! It kind of feels like Haiti, but it is obviously wealthier. There are palm trees and tons of colors everywhere….on the buildings, in the graffiti, and on all of the signs. As I study all of the buildings around me, I realize that my driver is going really, really fast. Like….WAY faster than I-285 around Atlanta! As I try to catch a glimpse at his speedometer I notice that it says he isn’t driving at all….and that he has no gas…and no RPMs. Hmmm…..I am thinking it is broken. As he whisks between two buses, I nonchalantly click my seatbelt on and say a quick prayer. It is best at times like these to realize that you just have to relax…..it are not like you can do anything about it!!
After finally arriving at my hotel, I check into a dark, stifling little room. I am thinking that it would be about a 1 star hotel in Europe, but it is sparkling clean and seems to be in a safe neighborhood, so I am happy. The bell boy motions to a couple of threadbare towels, clicks on a wall air conditioning unit, and turns the TV onto a German channel. (Does he think I am German? )
I dump my stuff quickly and go ask how to get to the cathedral. I have one afternoon here and am not going to waste it!!! After five minutes of fruitless conversation with the woman at the front desk….her, no English….me, less than no Spanish….a cute, cute young man from Spain took pity on me and stepped in. With his hand drawn map, walking directions, and a business card from the hotel (for the cab ride back in case I get lost ), off I go. It is very hot and humid but since I am already all sweaty from checking into the hotel, I don’t mind. It actually feels like Atlanta in July!
The roads are narrow and there are colorful, pastel buildings everywhere. Some are other hotels, all hidden behind wrought iron gates and climbing vines and some are businesses. There is a lot of trash on the streets, and I spend the next 15 minutes dodging piles of garbage while looking around at signs so that I can find my way back home. The women that pass me all smile and we exchange friendly "Hola"’s. The men all want to sell me something….belts, necklaces, tours of the old town, and as my "No gracisas" come out with increasing frequency, I know that I am close to the touristy center of town. I finally find myself walking up a long pedestrian street with salsa music coming out of various windows. Being Sunday, a lot of the shops are closed up behind gates, but there are a lot of street vendors out selling paintings and cheap souvenirs. I know that I should probably buy stuff for friends and family, but this stuff looks bad!! Cheap and tacky, I think I will hold out til later.
As the crowds grow, I suddenly find myself looking at a giant, stone building of sorts. One of the men approached me and asked if I wanted a tour. When I asked what it was, he told me it was the big military fort. It seems I have missed the cathedral somehow. Oh well, when in Rome, right? So I paid him $8 USD to take me around and tell me about it. It is really cool!! Giant thick walls, cannons, and gun ports, all right on the river that runs through Santo Domingo. And beautiful green grass in the middle. It turns out that Christopher Columbus’s son and his wife lived here for a while and there were various battles, torturing, etc that took place here. It feels so nice for a place in which no-so-good things happened.
After our tour, Juan, my official tour guide, (he had a business card that said it, so it must be so!!) offered to do a walking tour of the old town. Unfortunately, I had to turn him down. It is 700 degrees out here and my pesos are in short supply. I promise him that if I change my mind, I won’t do a tour with anyone but him and I take off to find something cold to drink.
As I wind my way through the streets, passing old stone buildings, I come around a corner and find myself looking at a giant, pock-marked stone building,….tall, grand and beautiful. My stomach filled with butterflies and goose bumps covered my body. I have found the cathedral. I don’t know why it affected me so much, but tears filled my eyes and I was just so happy! It is very plain compared to the cathedrals in Europe, but there is no denying its purpose. It is the first cathedral ever built in the Americas and it is beautiful. There was a small, metal gate open with a guard inside. He motioned me in and I walked around the grounds. The cathedral itself is closed, and as I walk around the entire thing, I realize that every gate is locked up tight. I am not sure that I am even supposed to be in here! I am the only person walking around and I know that the guard said that it was ok, so I continue on. There are gargoyles stacked up along one side of the building, and I assume that they are doing construction on the building, even though there are no other signs of work being done. As people reach in through the wrought iron gates to take pictures, with me standing on the inside, I finally decide that maybe I am not supposed to be in here and work my way back around to the open gate. The guard smiles and nods, and I stop to talk to him for a moment. He has just enough English to tell me that I am more beautiful than the cathedral. Laughing and shaking my head, I take off, still in hopes of a cold drink.
Coming around the corner, I find the main plaza of the cathedral and know that I have found my home for the next few hours. There are people everywhere, most locals as far as can tell. In the middle of the square, there are iron benches with old men sitting on them feeding the thousands of pigeons that are congregated around. Hot, hot sunshine intersperses with dark shade under huge trees and it is here that the locals are gathered. The children run out into the sun to chase the pigeons, which fly up in droves, only to settle ten feet away. It seems that it is too hot for them to fly far. No one is moving very quickly and everyone seems settled in to enjoy a nice Sunday afternoon.
I find an outdoor café and settle in for some serious people watching, putting on my sunglasses so that it doesn’t seem like I am rudely staring. I order a cold Bohemia and a bottle of water, while trying to decide if I want to eat. I didn’t have lunch, but it is so hot that I have no appetite. It turns out that the restaurant is out of almost everything on the menu. After the waiter tells me that I can have the fried squid or the fried-egg-something-or-another, I decide to stick with my beer. The smell of cigars wafts through the air and giant leaves from what looks like a banyan tree keep floating down on my table. Two men at the table behind me are having an animated conversation in German and the table of locals next to me is gossiping about everyone that walks by. I know this because anytime someone particularly interesting walks by, the woman sitting with them meets my eye and raises her eyebrows as their conversation escalates. Some things are easy to understand in every language.
After a couple of hours of great people watching, writing in my journal and just plain relaxing, I decide to head down the road to another place for some dinner. It is 7 pm, and I know it is way too early for the locals to be eating, but I am exhausted and the idea of waiting another two hours before eating and heading back to my tiny, clean hotel room is more than I can take. I find a nice hotel restaurant a few blocks down and settle down beside two huge, elderly local women that seem to have moved in for the evening. They, also, are talking about everyone that walks by. There seems to be a preponderance of older white men with attractive, younger local women, and as my suspicions grow, one of the couples walk by. The two women next to me catch my eye, raise their eyebrows and say, "Mmmmm…." Yep, some things really do transcend the language barrier.
Grinning, I finish my dinner and start thinking about sleep. I am only about 12 blocks from the hotel, but it is full of dark now and I have no idea how safe the area is. I ask a taxi driver how much to take me to the hotel. After he says 200 pesos, (about $6 US) I climb in. I am fully aware that I am being overcharged, but I am thinking that the people that love me would consider $6 a small price for me to be delivered safely to the hotel.
Tomorrow I am headed for Cuba, but for now, I am lying here watching a subtitled version of "The Holiday" on TV and fighting my drooping eyelids. Time for bed…..
Anna
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