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| Parque Colón and the West's first cathedral |
I just got back from a wild nine days in the Dominican
Republic. It was my first time going
there. I had time to go on my
second international trip in three months because I still hadn’t
started working yet. But this trip was
unique, as I'd never set out on a similar venture by myself. I ended up in Nicaragua by myself after my friend Brit got injured in Costa Rica back in 2012, but I didn’t plan it that
way. And last December I traveled to
Guatemala and Nicaragua alone…but then I spent the whole time visiting friends,
so that was completely different.
In planning this trip, I wanted to go to a Spanish-speaking
country that wasn’t too far away (not South America or Spain) and that I hadn’t
been to before. It seemed too soon to go
back to Central America, so that left the DR and parts of Mexico. I started looking at fares, and then it just
kind of happened. My goals for the trip
were to get to know the culture a little bit, including the food and language,
as well as visit some of the historical sites.
I also wanted to relax and enjoy my last little bit of vacation before starting
work.
I did all of those things, but certainly couldn’t
have anticipated all the little twists and turns that happen over a week of
wandering alone in a country like that, flying by some combination of the seat
of my shorts (it was too hot for pants) and advice from locals (which fluctuates wildly), with the
occasional contribution from Google.
Here are several things I learned or experienced,
in an order that’s not all that particular:
- They do speak Spanish down there, but it’s
very different from Mexican or Central American Spanish. Some of the Dominicans speak clearly enough,
others speak way too fast and don’t enunciate at all (and I mean AT ALL), and
others don’t really even speak Spanish, because they’re from Haiti, or severely
lacking in education, or due to another mysterious cause or combination of
causes. And things get particularly unintelligible when
they’re arguing around a dominos table in the park!
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| the guy in purple was my teammate |
- Speaking of dominos, it’s a national
craze! People will gather daily around official
tables in the park, or on a street corner.
They play, they argue, they get very animated, speaking very rapidly
using lots of slang. It’s basically
impossible to understand them. I played
a few games with one group in Parque Colón (Columbus Park), and the opposing
team became more and more incensed as a rather outspoken character sitting next
to me shared his approval or disapproval each time I grabbed a piece to play. They
thought he was cheating because he could also see one of their team member’s
pieces, and that player started laying his down flat and peering underneath so no
one else could see. My team won three
games in a row with some beginner’s luck (and maybe a little cheating) before I
gave up my seat. I saw the same group
playing every day in the same place until I left the area, only skipping
Sunday.
- Locals repeatedly asked me where I was
from (a few of them postulated Argentina, Spain, or Germany), and they almost
always acted surprised when I said the U.S., subsequently asking how I could speak
Spanish so well. This happened over and
over again, several times per day, becoming a running joke (that only I was
aware of). I told a handful of people I was from
Argentina or Spain just see if they would believe me, and they generally seemed to, at least at first.
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| Faro a Colón |
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- I spent the first five days or so in
Santo Domingo, the capital, which is on the southern coast. There is a ton of history there, much more
than I realized, dating back to Columbus.
They have the first cathedral, first fortress, and ruins of the first
hospital in the Western Hemisphere, all within easy walking distance of my
dominos-playing friends. They also claim
to have Columbus’s remains in a big lighthouse (that doesn’t look like a
lighthouse). Spain also claims to have
his remains.
- Parque Colon is a fun little hot spot,
right next to that “first cathedral”, with a big statue of Columbus in the
middle. It also has a ton of birds, which flock to all the
people who are paying a tuppence for a bag to feed them. I walked right through veritable flocks as
they barely even got out of the way.
- One night in the middle of Parque Colón
I borrowed a kid’s guitar, we shared a few songs with each other, and then he
wanted to improv a duet, which we did.
- The last night in Santo Domingo I stayed
in a crappy local hotel, a little out of the touristy area, to save some cash. It was ridiculous—sink faucet didn’t work, no
light bulb in the bathroom, no toilet seat—but still fine, really. And cheap as all get-out.
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| random bball game in Sosua |
- I didn’t see anyone playing Soccer the
whole time I was there. Apparently they’re
way more into baseball, which makes sense since a bunch of Major Leaguers have
come from there. They also claim that volleyball
(which I saw people playing) and basketball (which I never saw anyone playing)
are popular.
- I took buses from Santo Domingo up to
Puerto Plata, on the northern coast.
Some locals I spoke with at the penultimate bus stop said they’d help me
find the easiest way to my destination, Sosua (a nearby beach town) without
getting ripped off (lots of locals liked to warn me about foreigners getting
overcharged, which I was well aware of by this point). Once we got to Puerto Plata, they flagged down
a motorcycle, whom I thought they were just asking for information. Then they said he would take me to the car
stop (like a bus stop, but with cars), and I was like, “what about this luggage”? He grabbed my suitcase and laid it in front
of him on the motorcycle, after which I hopped up behind him with my backpack
and murse. We proceeded to weave through
traffic as I was mildly scared for my life.
At one point my hat flew off and got run over by another motorcycle
before I picked it up. He left me at the
car stop, where I got in the back seat of a small car before three more people
piled into the same back seat, and we headed off to Sosua.
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| Sosua beach |
- Once in Sosua, the moto-taxis
were everywhere, in bunches, and I couldn’t walk by without a few
propositions. I utilized them a few more
times when I got tired enough of walking, always thinking how dangerous it was
(nobody wears helmets) and that I should never do it again. Until I got tired enough of walking again,
that is.
- A few people I talked to seemed to end
every sentence with “comprende?” or “entiende?”, which got annoying really
fast. I talked to a girl who said it in
a drawn out, mostly rhetorical way at the end of every sentence. Even after I made fun of her repeatedly she
still couldn’t stop herself from doing it.
- I never saw any normal, everyday, fried
plantains. I only saw the dry, boring
kind called “tostones”, and a mashed plantain dish, which I just learned is
called “mofongo”. I tried that once and
didn’t like it, but I’ll have to give it another chance since it was at a dinky
fast food place. Overall I would rate
the plantain usage in the DR as: disappointing.
- My last night in Sosua, the doorknob to
my hotel room stopped working. The desk
clerk proceeded to dismantle it and force the door open with a hammer and
screwdriver. I slept that night without
a doorknob.
I could go on, but this is probably excessive
already. I had a lot of fun, learned a
lot, and found that going to a country like that without knowing anyone (or
staying in all-inclusive resorts as many visitors do) makes for a non-stop adventure. Every day is full of surprises and memorable
anecdotes. I’d do it again, I just
wouldn’t stay in the first hostel where my tablet and cash got
stolen (oh did I forget to mention that? Fun
times indeed.). Though that did lead to a
couple of scary-but-fun rides on the back on a police motorcycle...
More pictures from my trip can be found here and here.
