Pepe Rocks My World...Fabio, Not So Much
The van ride down the mountain is an experience in itself. We are traveling on incredibly bumpy dirt roads in a vehicle that has no shocks, and most likely no brakes. Luckily we never achieve a speed faster than five mph so it still feels relatively safe. Because the sides of the van are missing entirely I am able to enjoy the views unobstructed. We are in deep jungle terrain, small tin shacks line the sides of the roads and happy brown children chase after us screaming and laughing, and then dart back into the thick green foliage. I scan ahead for any sign of the ocean but as far as my eye can see there is just dirt road and shiny green leaves.
After driving for what seems an eternity I am ready to give up all hope of ever finding the fabled city of Las Terrenas. The old man driving us appears to be deaf as well as blind, since he makes no response to Kimberly's repeated efforts to communicate with him. My suspicions about him grow as the minutes pass. He hasn't said a word to us, we seem to be going deeper into the jungle instead of towards the water, plus the fact that neither of his eyes look real is just plain creeping me out.
I am about to tell Kimberly my master plan of jumping out of the side of the van. I figure since he can't see or hear it will escape unnoticed, when we come over a little hill and there it is. The Caribbean spread out before us in all its aquamarine glory.
"Las Terrenas." The driver says and points to a small cluster of buildings way below us along the water front.
Kimberly and I both burst out into cheers, and she pats our driver on the shoulder. I see a glimmer of a smile on his face and feel horrible for ever doubting him.
It is another hour before we get to Las Terrenas, and even longer before we find a hotel that has vacancy. How anyone else even managed to find this place is beyond me.
We finally score a decent little room right across from the water for about $50 a night. I am dying to get straight into the ocean. I cannot believe I have been on the island this long already and haven't felt it yet.
We throw our bathing suits on and run across the street and dive right in. It feels even more incredible than I imagined. Enticingly warm and welcoming. So salty that I feel buoyant in it. We effortlessly swim towards some music we hear in the distance.
As we get closer we can see a DJ set up on the beach. All around him people of all ages and sizes and colors are dancing on the beach and in the water. As soon as I hear the music better I can understand why.
This is the first time I have ever heard real Reggaeton. I had heard the Pitbull Americanized version of it of course, but that pales in comparison to what the real thing is like. It is an irresistible mix of reggae, hip hop, and house. It is the music my body has waited its whole life to hear. The hypnotic beats fill me and force me to move in time in the warm water. I look over and Kimberly is float dancing as well. I look towards shore and watch the dozens of bodies moving along.
"Holy Shit." I say to Kimberly. "I feel like I literally am in Heaven."
"I know." She says breathlessly. "This is fucking incredible."
We float and swim and dance until the sun sets in a glorious array of pinks and blues, and my hunger finally forces me out of the water.
We eat dinner at a little Spanish restaurant right on the sand. Kimberly and I share a huge dish of paella, fragrant steamy seasoned rice piled high with fresh seafood, washed down by the refreshing local beer Presidente.
As we are finishing I catch a strong whiff of cologne and look up to see a man standing at our table. He is wearing skin tight white jeans and a button up light blue silk blouse, strategically unbuttoned enough to show several inches of oiled tan chest and a thick gold chain. Sandy blond hair carefully oiled back, and a plastic smile greet us.
"Hello." He says in a thick Italian accent. "I would like to invite you ladies to accompany my friend and I for a drink." He points to his friend who is standing about 20 feet away. The friend is pudgy, awkward, adorably shy looking. He has his wrinkled white linen shirt uncomfortably tucked into khaki pants, accenting his round belly. He has tried to smooth down his hair but the humidity has already started to mess it up. I instantly like him.
The slick guy in front of us keeps talking. "That is Sergio." He says, waving carelessly towards his friend.
"I. Am. Fabio." He announces proudly.
Kimberly and I both burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha! Seriously?" I gasp.
"Of course you are." Kimberly chuckles.
You can tell this hurts Fabio's feelings.
"It is a common name in Italy!" He says loudly. "Only you Americans have that reaction! It is a very respectable name."
"I'm sure it is." I soothe him. "Thank you for the invitation, but we have already made plans for the night."
He seems put out and walks back to Sergio in a huff. Poor Fabio.
Kimberly and I head to a gorgeous lounge next door to the restaurant. Spread throughout the sand are huge sparkling clean puffy white couches with fluffy deep purple pillows piled on them. I can't imagine how they keep them so white and clean. The palm trees are strewn with tinkling little lights, and you can watch the ocean gently lapping the sand right in front of you. Everything about the place is perfectly, tastefully done. The problem is there are no people in it. Kimberly and I are literally the only customers. It has the same eerily empty feeling the restaurants in Santo Domingo had the night before. We drink a few mojitos and then decide to explore and see if we can find any people anywhere. Granted, we are here in the off season, but some of the hotels were entirely full so there has to be some people around here somewhere!
The main stretch of town is only about two blocks long and consists of a multitude of bars and restaurants along the waterfront. Almost all of them are empty and about to close. When we get to the very end we find a cool little sailor bar that has a decent crowd. When we order Caipirinhas the bartender insists we try the rum straight. He says Dominican Republic has some of the best rum in the world and we must sip it and appreciate it as it is.
It is something of an acquired taste but by the third glass I am starting to really see what he is talking about. We carry our fourth big glass of straight rum out onto the back patio so we can enjoy the warm night air and listen to the ocean waves.
The first thing we see when we step outside is Sergio. His shirt has come completely untucked and partially unbuttoned, he has spilled rum all down the front of it and he is completely covered in sweat. His hair is sticking up every which way, and he is in the middle of playing his heart out on a set of bongo drums while smoking on a giant cigar. When he sees us he yells 'Girls!!!' wildly, runs at us and embraces us as if we were life long friends. I don't know if it is the rum or just his enthusiasm but Kimberly and I can't help but respond the same.
"Sergio!" I shout excitedly as I return his bear hug.
He introduces us round to his large group of male and female Italian friends, including Fabio who still seems a little sulky with us.
There is a local band playing merengue and the Italians all trade off accompanying them on the bongo drum and dancing madly through out the bar. They are loud, drunk, and unbelievably fun. After countless more glasses of the now incomparably delicious local rum some of us wander over to a 4 story night club across the street. We watch a local man renact the entire dance of Thriller to perfection and then start dancing to more Reggaeton, the absolute greatest music I have ever listened to.
Suddenly the music goes completely silent and the lights go out. I think it must be another black out, but then I start to hear a weird creepy little tune, like something that would be played in an old horror movie. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic, screaming insanely and jumping up and down ecstatically. Kimberly and I look at each other in confusion. What the hell is going on?
Evil laughter pours out over the loudspeakers while everyone in the crowd pumps their fist in the air wildly. Then the best beat I have heard yet starts pumping, the lights start flashing, and the words 'Pepe! Pepe! Pepepepepepepe! Pepe!' start.
I know it is the greatest song ever written, never mind that I cannot understand the Spanish words, and that 90% of it is simply Pepe said over and over. It is the way it is said, the way the entire crowd of sweaty bodies move together in unison to the perfect beat. I throw my head back and shout at the top of my lungs with everyone else.
"PEPE PEPE PEPE!"
I've never felt better.
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