January 19, 2012
It was another day destined to be full of flights. I wake up in my traveler state of mind, which was easy enough to do because I went to be in that state as well. I slept with the clothes I would be wearing the next day, and with all of my items in their proper places. It was laid out for me to wake up and go. My father stayed up all night the night before. I remember waking up at 4 am to him talking to a woman on Skype with the volume unreasonably loud. It is a cold morning, and naturally my dad has most of his packing to do. Dismissing the fact that his lack of sleep was not due to him preparing for the day, I resign to assist his packing. We finally leave the house later than planned, and we were coming to a stop presently because dad left a crucial item to the vacation; his diver card. Moments later we are in the driveway of the house again, and the red Chevy pickup has warmed enough that my breath is no longer visible. Dad runs in, and back out. We were passing a homemade green smoothie between us from a mason jar for breakfast. After twenty minutes or so we arrive at Will Rogers Airport and we park the truck. Dad decides that we should leave our coats to save space and hassle on the trip. The downfall of the procedure was that we would be in below freezing weather in t-shirts for a little bit. Making the plunge, we ran with our luggage to the nearest shuttle and defrosted. Check-ins were flawless and easy because we both have more than plenty of travel experience. We sit to board our plane and dad wants to share a cinnamon roll, so we did. All the flights are easy going, aside from weariness and boredom. The only complaint is when we land in Florida with a begging stomach. Desperately, we stop at a Mexican restaurant, and decide that it may be the worst representation of Tex-Mex we have ever forcefully ingested. Since I am hungry, I practically breathe it in. After we eat, we find our gate, then after a time, we board. I decide to put on my headphones and watch some Family Guy on my iPod, only to discover it has been misplaced. Fury crept on me like a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting bird, but I tried in vain to extinguish the rage with logic. It seems that I always lose something on a trip. The wheels come down on the plane, and we touch down on the runway at Las Americas Airport in Dominican Republic. The unfasten seatbelts signs go off and buckles are heard clinking throughout the hull of the plane. Dad begins to talk to an older lady who is telling us about the Dominican Republic, and its culture and dangers. She mentions how the beaches and streets are unsafe at night. Noted. Finally we get off the plane and receive our luggage. Anxiety and a slight fear of an undiscovered culture seeps into consciousness. I have received this reaction a few times during travel, like in New York City, Mexico, and Puerto Rico. I suppose this part of me comes from my mother, but it is also the same part of me that if listened to by people who accompany me on travels, would keep us from ridiculous money making schemes like in Mexico, where we had to sit through a hotel presentation. It kept us from going through with dad’s suggestion of walking through Central Park at night, but there is a fine balance of what you let run wild. I have learned that people in other parts of the world drive crazy, and it no longer troubles me, but some people may shit their fruit of the looms to sit through some of the car rides I have been exposed to. So, we walk out to see groups of people being greeted by their families in excited Spanish. We have two or more hours to kill to wait on Georgia, a Brazilian woman that dad had paid to join us so that he can meet her in person. She is the one that woke me from slumber at 4am on Skype. Dad really likes her; she is all he can talk about. We decide to try some local food and some beer from a small place in the airport. It was pretty good; we had a little bit of everything. The fried cheese is the best part, besides the ice cold Presedente beer. I decide next to order a fried empanada, which came to be a splendid choice because it is absolutely delicious. The airport crowd has thinned so we hop to a bar that has Wi-Fi and I get a Cuba Libre with Brugal rum, and dad orders a Piña Colada. I have been spraying WD40 on my Spanish to get it going again. I ask dad when her flight was due to arrive, and he tells me that she will be here in another hour and a half, which would be around 11. Moments later, a woman comes up and asks me if I am Ahdom. It was Georgia, and much earlier that we had anticipated. We look for a cab, and a gentleman helps us to it. He is insistent on grabbing our bags and taking us to the vehicle. He puts them in the back and helps us in the car, as well as tells the driver to where our hotel is. Guess what? Money scam. Not from the driver, but apparently that guy just grabs bags and expects five dollars from you for doing things that you can do yourself, all the while you think he is part of the cab service. We deny him money and travel for 30 minutes to our hotel. I am in the front seat while the lovebirds talk in the back seat. Already I am the spare wheel on a WWII era motorbike, collecting mud from the trenches. I am included in conversation from time to time, only in order to add validation to whatever is being said so that they may propel a little faster into full blown infatuation. We arrive at a hotel, which is surprisingly nice if you abandon American standards, which real travelers are required to do. Dad goes to talk to Georgia, and I lay on the spare bed watching Alice in Wonderland on my iPad until I drift into slumber, breathing in the moist Caribbean air.
January 20th, 2012
I open my eyes several times, convinced it was time to wake up. Finally, I was tired of playing that game and thought it to be a reasonable hour to rise. I hear a rustling in the room, which tells me that dad has woken up. We get dressed and he decides to go get Georgia, and I opt to wait in the hotel since I don’t have a key. I resume watching Alice, until I get absolutely restless. I get up and go out the door and discover our hotel in the daylight. Dark skinned people pass me by, and I nod to them uncomfortably. I look to the swimming pool and see a large woman basking on the side of it while she listens to the waterfall fountain cascade into the pool. I hear some Latin sounding music at the bar next to the pool, and an attractive dark skinned beauty bids me “buenos dias”, I smile and return it. I can’t see my dad or Georgia anywhere, so I return to the room. After a while dad comes up and tells me that we are switching rooms. We drag our luggage to a new room at the very top of a building. It is a suite that’s fully equipped with a kitchen. Two bathrooms, a two bed bedroom, and another single bedroom for my dear little friend, Georgia. I walked out on to one of two balconies facing the ocean. In your mind, dear journal, you probably see the ocean right from the lookout, but let me describe it. I walk out of the glass sliding doors and take a left; I pass under a clothes line and a deflated air mattress. If you look out you over look the local buildings nearby. Then I come upon some stairs that wind to the roof, there you can face the ocean and see it just beyond the buildings. I hear construction sounds constantly. I look down and see motorbikes and workers. Then I hear something else; my stomach. Dad, Georgia, and I make our way to local breakfast place nearby. There we sit and order espresso in the forms of an Americano and two lattes. I discover that in all my travels and all the coffee I have tasted, that this coffee was the very best my taste buds have ever encountered. I get very little opportunity to speak Spanish, because my DLF (Dear Little Friend) orders for us. She is a charming, yet talkative woman. I understand too that this is a language opportunity for her, both in English and Spanish since her tongue is flavored in Brazilian Portuguese. I am learning a lot of her customs and the poor thing has to endure the perverted humor that dad and I possess. I order an omelet and we three order a plate of mixed fruit to share, as well as fresh pineapple juice to drink. The food comes out and it is delicious. We talk and banter, and all of the sudden a mumbling man shows up who looks a fright, rubbing his stomach. I let Georgia push him away, since she was keen on speaking Spanish, because I do better pretending he’s not there. She calls him back over while he is offering to shine other people shoes and she put some egg on toast and gave it to him. After wrapping up breakfast I stop into a shop to buy rum, then go back to the room.
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| Enjoying some Pineapple juice |
I receive a bag of Brazilian coffee from Georgia. We put on our swimsuits and make our way to the beach. There we took it easy, just listening to the waves roll in. There were plenty of young, dark skinned women in skimpy bathing suits. We got in the water, and it started out very cold, then, it became perfection. After a while we decide to try out our snorkel gear. The visibility was decent, but not great, and very little wildlife to observe. I come to shore and head to our spot, and unveil the rum and take a pull from it. Once again I’m in that very familiar state of mind that’s brought on by the combination of rum and waves. A state of mind that started with San Juan, Culebra, Isla Mujeres, Playa Tortuga, and now here at Boca Chica. They finally decide to come and join me. We three sit talking, until a weathered man appears carrying a box full of hand crafted goods. We look at the necklaces, wood pipes, and wood figurines, and I decide to buy some bracelets for an employee who gave me some money to buy her daughters something unique, and a necklace for Liam. I get a turtle necklace for him, to go with the turtle bobble head that I got him in Mexico. Soon after another man shows up to sell shells. I am not interested, but dad and Georgia entertain his persistence, and he buys a shell. As a “thank you”, the man cuts up conch meat, octopus, and salsa and bids us to try it, insisting that we don’t miss out on trying something uniquely Dominican. It was delicious, and not unlike what we had in Mexico. He then asks for money, which I saw coming. We refuse him. I am getting really weary of the dynamic and decide I will go back, there is even another man coming along now with paintings. This is ruining the atmosphere of my beach visit. We all agree to gather our things and go, and go we did. We got to out flat and changed, and decided to walk to get food. We stop at several places on the way and check their menus and prices, until we reach the end of the street. We tried a place called Concón. There I order shrimp, and enjoys stimulating conversation while I eat this delicious bread covered in tomatoes, onions, garlic, cilantro, and olive oil. My shrimp Kabob arrives and it is exquisite. I try dad’s fish stuffed with crab, and decide that his tastes better. After Dinner, we walk back.
On the way, we buy eggs, bread, butter, and the largest avocado I have ever seen. We take it to our room and stow it for tomorrow’s breakfast. In planning, I notice the gas to stove is not hooked up, so I make a note to inform the staff. Georgia suggests that we go for a night swim, and we all agree to the suggestion. After we get dressed, I go down stairs to the lobby. I inform them of the stove. Dad and Georgia then join me, and we ask where we could hit the beach and we are told that it was closed, and the beaches that aren’t closed, are dangerous at night. Georgia is unconcerned with it, and insists that we proceed on. So we do. I have on my shoulder beer, rum, and a two-liter of Pepsi, which I intend to devour so long as I remain as this third wheel of the group. So we trudge on, with me either in front or behind the couple. We stop again and ask about the beach, and the answer came the same. I reflect on the lady in the plane who warned us, and I consider this a third warning. Presently, I verbally opt out of continuing, and offer an alternative; going back to the hotel pool. When we arrive, a man asks dad to go to the room with him to fix the stove. Georgia and I sit by the pool at a plastic table, and I decide to make a drink. I pour some Dominican rum into my plastic cup until it was about three quarters full, and then top it off with cola until I hear a satisfying fizzy sound. Soon my nose is filled with that familiar smell of rum with a hint of caramel smelling cola. Georgia and I converse for a while until a hotel occupant in the form of a well traveled man walks up and we all swap travel stories. Dad soon joined us and we spend the rest of the evening talking about past relationships and such. We eventually reach dad’s occupation as our subject, and in my drunken state I bring up a story of a lady that was getting tapped on in one of his seminars. She had lost her son from carbon monoxide. I told him how the story had impacted me when I heard it. I explain how it was Liam, my son, that I see dying when She tells the story. As I explain further, the rum, and my unsettled emotions soon bring me to some embarrassing tears. I start tapping frantically until I reach a peaceful and calming state. We all need a good cry. We decide soon after to go up to the room. When we get there we make French toast. I stumble to bed and pass out while the smell of rum and maple syrup linger on my breath and the skin from the roof of my mouth peals from eating the hot French toast.
January 21st, 2012
I wake up and smell French toast cooking once again. I walk in, and see a plate has already been set out in front of me. I eat again while the dehydration from the night before begins to clear from my head. I finish breakfast and begin gathering my things for our trip to Bayahibe. After we pack, we get everything downstairs. In the lobby we see Ayatollah, our previous driver, and he loads us up for our two and a half hour journey. We travel and see some excellent sides of the Caribbean island. I begin to get sleepy, and consider resting in the back seat of the van. Presently, Ayatollah gets a call and starts asking questions to Georgia. We soon discover that our dear little friend had mistakenly left her passport and wallet at the hotel, considering we were an hour and a half out already; I consent to nap the rest of the way. We eventually get back and get the wallet, then make our journey once again. I get a broken nap in the back seat while the repetitive Spanish verses of the driver’s Meringue CD plays. I wake up and we eventually reach Bayahibe. We check several hotels until we decide on one. I immediately discover that this little community was much more to my liking. It seems more tourist friendly and entertained my fancy for island life. The rooms in this hotel are really nice as well. I place my things in a decent order, and we all decide to eat. When we get to the front desk, a lady who owns a restaurant walks us to it across the street. We try a popular fish called Maro, in three different dishes. I rather fancy mine when it comes out. It was covered in wine and rosemary. We finish the meal, and decide to stroll around nearby. We visit several shops and I buy some souvenirs. I set the souvenirs with the rest of my things and I prepare to hit the beach for some snorkeling. This beach is much more to my liking. There are definitely plenty of people to look at. I spot, on several occasions, some attractive bronze colored beauties.
The sun is going down now and to be quite honest, the fact that my dad is swooning and drooling over this obnoxious woman has been riding my last nerve. Dad is using his digital SLR right now to take pictures of her. There is no mistaking his approval of her body. We decide to head back and my flip-flops are kicking the sand fleas onto the back of my legs. We make it home after a long walk consisting of more flirting between the two lovebirds. Dad continuously makes witty jokes that escape her comprehension due to the language barrier. It doesn’t deter him from trying though. We decide next to venture to the casino for a dance club. Our dear little friend is quite insistent that she shake her booty to some meringue music. We decide instead to eat somewhere else. I keep a good pace ahead of them until we find the restaurant. We walk in to a posh environment with live jazz musicians playing. I know instantly that I will be getting the lobster this evening. Sitting at the table, I place the napkin in my lap as I have seen many people do in the movies. The waiter comes up and asks for drinks. I notice he places more of the delicious bread that had grown accustomed to on the table. It was a wonderful medley of tomatoes, onions, and cilantro piled on top of slice French bread and a small amount of olive oil. As I grab a piece I order a Pinot Noir. On the waiter’s return we order and it turns out that we all want to have the lobster. We stuffed our faces, paid, and ordered a cab to get us to the hotel.
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| Yes. That sounds good. I will have that. |
From the hotel, we decide to walk to the casino only having vague directions to it from the people at our hostel counter. We walked and walked until I became fed up at the lack of direction we have. We walked back and ordered a shuttle. We arrived at the casino and were pointed to the back. So we made our way to the entrance. I look around to see what we are dealing with and it was pretty dead. The music is loud, so loud that we opt for a seat at the back. A beautiful dark colored woman, about 19 or 20 approaches us and asks for drinks. We get Dominican beer. Georgia is bouncing in her seat to the music. She can hardly sit still and her enthusiasm is striking a nerve in me. Dad eventually decides to dance with her. She’s teaching him to do salsa, which is as foreign to he and I as some of the food in this country. I feel pretty alienated on this trip. I realize that I’m probably thon producing this exclusion, yet for the duration I feel forced into silence due to this woman’s “7-11 mouth” and by that I mean it’s like 7-11 in that it never fucking closes. After the dancing and the loud, bumping music had worn out its welcome, we finally were outside and waiting on the shuttle. I decide to look around whilst I wait on the shuttle and in doing so, I see a little plaza off to the left of the casino. I wonder around a bit, looking at the architecture, when a scantily clad woman comes up to me and mumbles something in Spanish that I couldn’t hope to translate. I begin to think she is asking for money. She must have blown it all in the casino. Either way, I am not giving her money. I am worn out from the day and I am not in the mood to decipher what she is telling me. She says “Pene”, as in pasta, only in Spanish that means penis. I can confirm this, because she is pointing to mine as she talks. Shit. She’s a prostitute. Motherfucker I am not in the mood to shoo off a prostitute, nor contend with jokes that will undoubtedly be made when I get back to the front. I finally tell her a firm “no gracias” and go back to sit by dad and the mouth and wait. Dad makes a snide remark about it as expected. As time ticks by, another prostitute comes and sits by me and offers fellatio AGAIN. Now I’m pissed. I can just see dad snigger like a bully. Finally, the bus shows up and we get back to our room. Dad went to visit our friend, who was adamant about keeping her dignity. However, dad never came back all night and I can assume that her morals took a back seat to her lust.
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| She just can't sit still... |
January 22nd, 2012
The morning crept in and I awoke several times. I finally woke up when I hear dad’s door open in the adjacent room. I decide that I want to hit the pool today. So did dad and Georgia. She orders a pina colada with one shot of rum in it and ends up drunk as a skunk. Give me a fucking break. I have to remind myself that this trip was free for me. FREE. Deep breaths. As I lay by the pool in the beautiful Caribbean sun I reflect on the dynamic of three. There is always trouble in the balance when there are three people on a trip. It has always been true for me. I start my scuba tomorrow and I am enjoying this sun thinking about it. I have a rum and coke in hand, reading “The Rum Diary”. Life isn’t so bad. I have, however, noticed that there are a lot of Italians out here in this part of the Dominican Republic. Not like New York Italians, but legit Italians from the Motherland. I find that very interesting. After I finish my rum, I decide to go in for a short nap. After a good snooze, dad wakes me to get a bite to eat. We journey to a little place across the street where we get a three course Italian meal. It includes a vegetable soup, pasta with shrimp, and lobster tail. After eating, we decide to go through local shops and look around. I find a shirt to buy. I think tonight I will get some good rest since we a have a large day of scuba tomorrow. However, there is one thing that has been on my mind about the trip; we haven’t seen any historical stuff. It’s because of that I bring up the idea of staying in the Zona Colonial, where all the old stuff is. I get dad on board and we start making plans. I sure miss my Liam a lot. I hate being away from my little guy. Yet, this Caribbean breeze can help pacify my longing a bit.
January 23rd, 2012
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| He's going in! |
He snaps a picture of me. CHEESE.
I look down and I see old cannons from a ship dating from the 1700’s. Wow. There are even cannon balls and a plaque. This is so much better than learning in a pool.
We did more of what I had done in class. We go over signals, tank reading, and navigation with a compass. I was swimming in a whole new world. Like another reality. There are eels, lion fish, and starfish! As we are doing the compass test, I hear a TINK TINK TINK from the instructor banging on his tank. We all look back at him and he points. As I look up, I see a solemn barracuda swim by. Wow. I look at the other two blokes I was training with and they shoot a look at me that says they are amazed. Nice guys. They were from Switzerland. Training was over so we made port and I washed my equipment off. I was done first, so I walked across the street and ordered a Cuba Libre con Brugal Crystal. I decide to eat a banana I had packed as well. Half of my training is done. Tomorrow I have to complete 3 dives and I will be certified as a diver. Finally, I see dads boat docking. I am ready to eat. It’s amazing how much diving takes it out of you. After dad washes his equipment, we head down the street and find a place off the shore called “Captain Kidd’s”, named after my favorite pirate.
I order the lobster ravioli. After a good meal, we decide to head back. I think I will go to the pool again once I get there. I get back and change for the pool and get the inevitable out of the way; Rum and coke please. I love this! Being out here by myself enjoying the sun in solitude... Eventually dad and my dear little friend come down from a nap. The company wore itself out quick as I was tired of hearing her, so I decided to head back up and watch some TV. I think I will make myself go out. Seinfeld just isn’t working right now. It was 9:45 and dad decides that he is hungry, so we go across the street and I order a pizza. The pizza was really delicious. With a full belly, I climb the steps to the room and watch “Date Night” on TV and went to sleep.
January 24th, 2012
Another reluctant early morning came quickly. I eat some leftover pizza for breakfast while I get ready. Then we head out again for another day of scuba. My mask was uncooperative today. I just couldn’t get it right. However, the second dive we go on is a dream. Dad got to be my dive partner for a bit while we explore a shipwreck. This is what divers dive for. Dad got to go in the ship while I followed outside. I was not allowed in during training, but I get to look through the holes on the side. I noticed the air bubbles try to escape from inside while little fish scatter everywhere. It was like heaven. After we finished, I got my certification. Well earned.
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| Georgia and I after the dive |
We decide to nip to a local restaurant and I order chicken and potatoes. It was so good, and the view of the ocean was really nice as well.
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| The view from the restaurant |
Now, back to Hotel Eden… I pony up to the bar for some water and internet. Finally, dad comes down after waking from a nap. We decide to go out for dinner. For dinner, we had pasta with crab. I love it. It’s savory and delicious. We decide to hit the shops again, where I decide to get some gifts and a hat. We are going to the Colonial Zone tomorrow. I am ready to see Liam.
January 25th, 2012
We woke up and phoned our driver, Ayatollah. He arrives pretty quickly and we load our stuff up. This was another road trip! We drove for 45 minutes and stopped close to where we stayed on our arrival. There, we decide to stop at a gas station. We use the restroom and I decide to get an empanada and a red bull. Dad gets some chicken, which I end up eating most of. When we get back in the car, dad suggests making some rum and coke with my rum I had purchased. His is stout. Finally, we arrive at Zona Colonial. It reminds me of New York. It is hustling and bustling with common folk, just going about their lives. It’s very loud like a city should be. We were staying at the Hotel Europa. Ayatollah parked us across the street and set us up with the front counter. We secured our room and went up. As I enter the room, I start to inspect everything. I have a giant bed and an old style balcony overlooking the noisy streets. This room was mine and mine alone. After we unload, we head out to a local church. It was a ruin from the 1500’s called the “de San Francisco”, which was the first church constructed in the New World.
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| Me at the ruins |
We walked through it and decided next to visit the other sites. We walk up to a plaza with old colonial structures and find that there is a museum in the house of Christopher Columbus’ son. There was a neat audio set that you get to listen to each number that’s posted in the rooms. It was much like the one that had a rainy Stonehenge in England.
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| Outside the Colonial Museum |
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| Real Spanish armor |
After the tour it was lunch time. We walk across the street and I order some spring rolls at a café. After which, we ask the waiter to call a cab.
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| Waiting on the cab |
We took the cab to the Columbus lighthouse. There, Columbus’ ashes were supposedly resting. When we arrived, we were guided on a tour by a man called Danielito. He is a charismatic one for sure. He walked through and learned a lot of unique history and saw parts of the Nina, Pinta, and the Santa Maria, such as their anchors and stuff. I was thrilled to see real pieces of history. After the exciting visit, we left and bought beer from a vendor. It was hot. There is nothing quite like getting a bottle of swill before even opening it. We took a taxi back to the Hotel Europa.
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| My homeboy Columbus' ashes |
As I walk in, I see a pretty American girl pass by. I wonder what her story is. I Go up to my room, pick up my ipad, and go downstairs. I find a lovely white couch and surf the net for a while. Dad and Georgia showed up and started talking for a bit. They decide to go up to the room, but I’m not done surfing until I see the attractive American girl go to the elevator as well. I decide I need to pretend to go to my room too. We are all in the elevator and I go up to my room. She got off on the next floor. I basically walk in to the room, grab my wallet, and then head down for drinks. I order a Cuba Libra and wait for my companions to join me. They show up and we head out for drinks. It was a beautiful night under the Caribbean stars. The night had a particular ambiance in the plaza. The air was perfection and we sat at a nice little restaurant and had some drinks with a little candle lit in the middle of the table. We were all feeling lighter and a bit sauced. We ate some toasted bread with oil and tomatoes on top to even us out and decided to head back. We arrive in the lobby and get some more drinks in us and I, having enough to drink, am filled with the confidence to invite the American girl over to the table.
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| A lovely Caribbean night |
We all sat and talked (mostly in Spanish) just casually. We talk for a while about why she was here and I make a jibe at Georgia’s accent because she’s from Brazil. I feel like my state of inebriation has become abundantly obvious now that I’m being passive aggressive with Georgia. Dad and Georgia eventually leave, feeling defeated with alcohol. Dad leaves me with his stout drink that he cannot finish, which made things worse for me. I sat with my new friend for a bit. We talked and flirted for some time until it was off to bed. We took the elevator and I find out that she is indeed on my floor. She bids me goodnight, sans an anticipated kiss. As I leave, my mind is still on her, and the move I should have made. In my room I paced and I suddenly thought of Puerto Rico, where in my single state of being, I frequently tell the tale of the chance that would have been. Wherein, I came to her room whilst she was in the shower, she came after me in a towel and I was too drunk to make any moves. A lost opportunity I felt in reflection, at the time. I resolved that it wasn’t going to happen again. In my drunken stupor, I knock on her door and ask if I could talk her into another drink. She was totally sober. She declined because of her early plans on the morrow. At least I tried.
January 26th, 2012
I have cotton-mouth as I wake up. A night full of stout drinks in the Caribbean night. A night full of fool hearty attempts that amount to nothing in the scheme of life and where we ultimately end up. Now the hustle and bustle of the street is heard outside as I had left my balcony open all night. The light was pouring in and cars were whizzing by outside. I get showered and pack up all my things from this adventure. As I do, I hear noises outside. There is a parade going on. I decide to walk to a nearby castle and the noise from the parade was getting louder. It was in fact, blocking the way to the castle. I turned around after observing the parade a bit. As I walk back in I notice the American girl on my way up to breakfast. I enjoyed two eggs, toast, and some fruit. We arrived at the airport and bit my dear little friend adieu. Then we journeyed on.
