Dominican Republic

Day 6

Hangin’ out

This morning was early but lazy.

We got up and took Todd to Luperón to meet his ride to the airport in Santiago, stopping off to return the motorcycle he’d rented and to confess to a mishap with a meteor sized crater in the road.

The owner of the moto let him off cheap and we made it away fairly unscathed.

Saying goodbye to my co-50 year old birthday trip buddy I’ve known since we were both 26 year old children was bittersweet. It had been an excellent week but I think we’re both ready to see familiar sights and to sleep in our own beds.

John and I headed back for the house but on a whim took a turn and had breakfast at Marina Las Velas, apparently the best place to ride out a hurricane in the Northern Hemisphere.

Also the place where I had internet and got to discover something I’m going to have on a regular basis for years to come.

Mangú.

Mangú is boiled and mashed plantains with butter and pickled red onions.

It’s the closest thing I’ve had to mashed potatoes without being mashed potatoes and I’m in love with it.

It comes as a side dish with the Dominican national breakfast.

Basically 2 fried eggs, 2 slices of “salami” that’s the consistency and flavor of fried balogna and a heapin’ helpin’ of mangú. (and in the case of the Piergiorgio Hotel, 1.5 bottomless cups of coffee.)

Dennis stopped by while we were there and was headed out sailing for the morning to Playa Isabella.

He asked if we’d take his motorcycle back to his place and we agreed.

His bike was a bit taller, did amazing wheelies and landed a lot softer than the rental when jumping over particularly large vehicles.

The extreme off-roading I did around Playa Grande really put it through its paces and it will pull a back flip just as well as any X Games bike.

It definitely bounced off of the road cows a lot better for sure.

It unfortunately does not float.

(Just kidding Dennis… or am I…?)

Back at the house, John and I got to figuring out the little washing machine we’d first come across in Cuba because I didn’t want to offend my fellow aircraft passengers the next day.

We rigged up a clothesline and did some laundry.

Now, on this day, with just a bit over 50 years on this earth, I realized why we have lids on our washing machines at home.

It’s not because of splashing water.

It’s because we are disgusting beings and we put a lot of dirt into our clothing, especially when we ride motorcycles across arid landscapes in foreign countries and in smoggy towns behind (tagged) tour busses and delivery trucks.

The water was disgusting.

It was a weird shade of dark blue/gray and as soon as the machine began to agitate, became opaque with the grime we’d been introducing and happily covering ourselves with every day.

The wash cycle took about twenty minutes.

The ensuing rinse cycles took approximately eleven years.

Once the water cleared enough I put the clothes through the spin cycle.

This was a little centrifuge off to the side which spun the clothes at dangerous speeds until they were almost hot.

I think the washing machine is made by Vitamix and I was attempting to make jeans & underwear soup.

Anyway, upon hanging the clothes, I came to the conclusion that every person who’s ever hung clothes on a line has come to.

You don’t wash light colored towels with dark colored T-shirts.

Ever.

My black T-shirt is now sporting a brand spanking new white five o’clock shadow.

It’s like a reverse George Michael on the Faith album cover only not cool.

All of my clothes however, have a LOT less of the five day sweaty road kill smell that they had a mere eleven rinse years ago.

I’m beginning to think that smell is me.

After the drying took place, during which serious things were happening, including:

1. The drinking of rum.
2. The making and eating of fried mystery meat sandwiches with cheese. (It’s shelf stable meat which I found hanging in a plastic wrapped tube in the unlit and scary colmado in Luperón. I had to. It DID make a pretty tasty grilled cheese/mystery meat sandwich.)

we headed back to Playa Isabella for some beer drinking, cigar smoking and hopefully after the sun went down, lobstering on the reef.

The local cruisers were there and we ran into Dennis once more along with Peter, Bob (faithful steed rental guy), his wife Sue and a couple other locals including a Scotsman named Alistair who I got to discuss the clan Graham with and who had been reading my dailies.

It was an excellent afternoon.

As the sun went down and the cruisers left I asked John if he was ready to get in the water and he replied…

“Let me know what you see!”

And with that I was on my own.

I donned my mask, flippers, snorkel, speargun and inflatable unicorn swim floatie and walked the 50 yards from the car to the water amidst the snickers of the locals.

My friends, swim fins are hard to walk in but dammit, I was determined.

Once I hit the placid water I turned on my light and became the great white hunter.

Or, as it so often turns out back home…

Just plain white.

I was neither great, nor a hunter. Merely a mouth breathing searcher.

I saw one major fish in the murky water and by major I mean over four inches long.

Much like being in the woods, the undersea life senses my “huatamaleness” (brazen manliness) or “calor masculino” (projectile sweating) and vamooses.

Do you know how badly I at least wanted to flounder ashore with even the tiniest shrimp skewered on the end of my four foot spear?

Oh well. I’ve learned to buy my wildlife at the store like everyone else.

I’m beginning to think they really do harvest seafood already shrink wrapped in those little styrofoam plates.

Back at the bar/hut the cute bartender was cry laughing at my unicorn which I promptly shot with the speargun to show her I meant business and asked for our beer tab.

Her: “Siete cervesas, 910 pesos.” (Seven beers, $17.88)

Me: “En cervezas de perro solo he tenido una. ¿Cuanto por eso? Cuanto cuesta eso?” (In dog beers I’ve only had one. How much for that?)

Her: “910 pesos”

Some people have no sense of humor.

John and I headed back to the house in the dark for one more nights rest before my journey home, keeping an eye out for black road cows in the night and that was the end of my week in the Dominican Republic.

It’s been fun telling you about it 

***

It’s been one amazing week here in the DR. I’ve met so many fun and friendly people and been told many stories, shared meals and seen sights that normal vacationers won’t ever see. From riding the little motorcycle through the riverbeds and streams to running across the deserted beach to the ocean, I’ve experienced the DR known to only a few and I’ve been honored to do so.

Thanks John for being the as always consummate host and Todd for being a good travel companion. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.

Thanks to Dennis and Peter for riding the back roads of the DR with us, Bob & Sue for the rental of the motorcycles, Ken & Edie for letting us stop by your amazing beach house, Gordon for being a super happy hour host and to the people of the Dominican Republic, thanks for being patient with my Spanglish and being friendly even when I sounded like an idiot.