GRACIAS DOMINICAN REPUBLIC...DAY 4

DAY 4

The Crazies Come Out At Night

I wake up to find our toilet clogged. In the Dominican Republic you aren't supposed to flush any toilet paper at all. There are signs in all the bathrooms to remind you toilet paper needs to go in the trash can, but after an entire lifetime of flushing it I find it has become a pretty automatic reflex for me. Every time I throw it in the toilet I think, Aw Crap, and debate scooping it out and putting it in the trash. But ultimately I decide screw that and just flush it anyways. Apparently that wasn't the greatest decision making as now our toilet refuses to flush at all. 

"Kimberly!!" I shout. "Our toilet won't flush!"
"Have you been putting toilet paper down it?" She asks me.
"No!" I say indignantly. "Have you?"
"Maybe once or twice."
I shake my head at her in disappointment. "Well you are going to have to go ask for a plunger or something." I say.
"I don't know how to say toilet plunger in Spanish!" Kimberly exclaims.
"I'm sure you can figure out how to get the point across." I smile encouragingly at her and then gently shoo her out the door.
After I change into my bathing suit I watch out the window as Kimberly pantomimes to the guy at the front desk plunging a toilet. It takes her a few tries of demonstrating wiping herself, throwing imaginary paper in a toilet, flushing, and then vigorously plunging it, but he finally understands and she comes back triumphantly with plunger in hand.
After taking care of business we eat a fabulous breakfast of eggs and fresh peppers and onions and olive oil hot sauce. The coffee and sugar are locally grown and both work miracles to revive your body after long nights of drinking and dancing.
Today is our last day in Las Terrenas so we explore the town a little more. Away from the beach it is almost unbearably hot, dry, and dusty. The roads are all dirt and there isn't much other than random electronic stores and tiny dark houses. The most exciting thing that happens is when we spot our dog, Bacon, running along behind us on the street. I am intensely relieved that he wasn't killed by the machete maniac after I went to sleep. He sticks with us for a bit then Kimberly and I say heartfelt farewells to him.
"Good bye Bacon!!!" I scream as he trots off without a single glance back. I still feel that he will always remember me though.
Kimberly and I spend the rest of the day soaking up the sun, gentle waves, throbbing dance music, and local beers at our favorite beach spot. I eat a huge plate of grilled vegetables and more of the fresh caught prawns, while Kimberly claims she isn't that hungry. This confuses me since I have seen Kimberly's appetite be just as huge as mine, but I do not let it deter me from enjoying my giant lunch.
We again watch the glorious sunset and appreciate the locals having intense dance offs in the soft, warm sand as the lingering glow of the sun finally fades.
We head back to our hotel room to change and then walk to dinner. Sadly, no admiring fans scream 'California!' at us on the way, but I do not let that dampen my spirits.
We are having dinner at a little place that is rumored to have the greatest pizza on the whole island. There is an old fashioned, rustic vibe to the pizza place. You can see a big wood burning oven in the kitchen as soon as you walk in, and although the floor may not be scattered with peanut shells it is certainly covered in mounds of sand.
We sit down, order a large pizza covered with an assortment of locally grown peppers, onions, and mushrooms, and a couple of Presidentes.
Right when we settle back with our beers a loud, drunk man stumbles in the front door. He leans against the hostess stand and starts yelling at the girl behind it.
"Jesus." I say. "That guy is about to be kicked the hell out of here."
Its like a car accident you can't help but rubber neck at as he stumbles his way further into the restaurant. He is coming straight for Kimberly and I when he takes an abrupt detour into the kitchen.
"Oh shit!" Kimberly says. "What does he think hes doing?"
Our waitress comes up and tells Kimberly in Spanish that our pizza will be right out. Kimberly asks her what about the drunk in the kitchen and she says oh that is just the owner of the place. She says he is French and a little on the crazy side.
As she says this the guy comes barreling out of the kitchen and right to our table. He yells at the waitress and she runs off. He turns to Kimberly and I and we both chorus an uncertain Hola! at him.
He scoffs and says "Parlez-vous Francais?" in a superior tone.
This is finally my time to shine. Kimberly has been translating this whole trip but I know for a fact that she speaks zero French. I took four years of French in high school. Granted, all I can remember is how to say my name, nice to meet you, and can I please have another chocolate croissant?, but I feel pretty confident I can wing it.
I tell him my name in a cultured French accent and then point at Kimberly and say Mademoiselle es Kimberly, since I can't remember how to introduce someone else. I then say 'Enchantee' and dramatically present my hand for him to kiss, just like I learned in class.
Instead of gently brushing his lips against the back of my hand as I was taught to expect he grabs a nearby chair, flips it around so he can sit on it backwards, snatches up my beer and takes a huge swig.
Kimberly gives me a funny look. "What did you say to him?" She hisses.
"Uh...I think I said our names and nice to meet you." I say a little uncertainly.
"You sure you didn't say 'Sit down! Please join us! Have some of my beer!'?" She mutters under her breath.
I glare at her and turn back to the guy to try to prove I really can speak French. I rack my brain and finally remember how to ask him how he is doing. He goes off on a loud, guttural rampage of which not one word sounds even remotely French.
I hesitantly ask him if I can have a chocolate croissant just to see if we are on the same page, but there is no recognition in his face, it is like we are speaking entirely different languages.
"I don't think he is speaking French." I whisper to Kimberly.
She listens for a minute and then informs me that he isn't speaking Spanish either.
We stare at each other and wonder what to do when he slams his fist down hard in the middle of the table.
We both jump in alarm and giggle nervously. He leans towards me, grabs my forearm, and yells indecipherable words in my face.
"I have no idea what you are saying!"I shout back.
He squeezes my arm tightly and I try to pry his fingers off. I use an old karate move where you start with the pinkie first to break the grip. He has a crazed look in his eye and a little bit of spittle on his chin as he finally lets go of me.
He grabs my beer, drinks down the rest of it, slams it on the table, says something rude to Kimberly and saunters off.
We stare at each other in stunned silence.
"What the fuck was that?" I ask softly.
Just then the waitress arrives with our pizza. She smiles apologetically as I shakily ask for another beer.
We eat the undeniably delicious pizza with the hot pepper infused olive oil, but I have to say my appetite is somewhat soured. Part way through my new beer and my third slice of pizza I start to feel better and we begin laughing over what happened.
"Seriously what the hell was he saying? What language was that??" I sputter as we both crack up.
"Oh crap!" Kimberly says in alarm. I look up and the crazy owner is stumbling back in the front door. He grabs a menu from the hostess stand and throws it dramatically on the ground, then marches up to our table.
He stands there quietly for several seconds and then grabs a piece of our pizza and takes a couple thoughtful bites. A look of disgust spreads across his face, he tosses it back on our table, glares at us, grunts, and walks back out as he screams at the kitchen staff one last time.
"How the hell does this place stay in business??" I wonder out loud.
We get our check and leave as quick as we can in case he comes back again.
We stop at our little rum bar on the way out and have a final rum with our favorite bartender, then decide to call it a night and head back to our hotel. We have a long day of traveling ahead of us tomorrow.
As we are laying in bed we rehash how crazy the guy was. I do a hilarious imitation of him and Kimberly starts busting up. Then she falls asleep mid laugh.
Watching Kimberly go to sleep is like watching that scene in The Princess Bride where the Sicilian dies. One minute she is laughing hysterically and the next she is out cold.
I shake my head fondly at her and slowly drift to sleep myself, thinking about crazy Frenchmen, how that dog Bacon will fare without me, and what the next city we visit can possibly have in store for us.

GRACIAS DOMINICAN REPUBLIC...DAY 3

DAY 3 

Part II 
My Time in the Spotlight  

After eating a huge plate of freshly grilled shrimp with the heads still attached and numerous bottles of the delicious local beer I feel completely recovered. Kimberly and I dance and mingle on the sand to the beautiful pink sunset. The sunsets seem to last forever here. The sun slowly sinks into the water while the sky changes from one shade of pearly pink to the next. Everyone shows off their dance moves and cheers when the flaming golden sun finally disappears into the sea.
Kimberly and I keep getting told that it is incredibly rare for Americans to visit this part of the Dominican. Most Americans flock straight to the all inclusive resorts on the far side of the island, and the vast majority of them are from the East Coast. Because we are something of an anomaly everyone in Las Terrenas seems to know who we are and when we walk to dinner that night people shout "California!!!!!" at us. It is unclear whether this is in an insulting or flattering way, but I bask in the attention and feel generally awesome about myself.
"Dude we are like celebrities here!" I tell Kimberly as we walk along the sandy path to the restaurants.
She smiles indulgently at me as I frantically wave at the next person who calls out 'Cali!' from their motor scooter.
We decide to eat dinner at a tiny romantic French restaurant. The second we sit down it starts pouring rain, and although we are sitting on a covered patio, the rain and the wind work their way through to us. The lantern over our table blows askew, the wind howls and the fierce drops splash all over our feet and our table. It creates the illusion of being on a ship in the middle of the wild ocean, and only adds to the enjoyment of the meal. Again the freshness and quality of the local onions, tomatoes, peppers, and seafood are unlike any I have ever tasted. We wash it all down with a crisp bottle of Italian white wine and finish with a delicate fresh fruit tart.
Feeling fantastic after our meal we head to the rum bar of the night before where the bartender immediately greets us with warm cries of California! and pours us two heaping glasses of local rum.
We walk out to the back patio where we run smack into Fabio and Sergio.
"What happened to you last night??" Kimberly and I both ask Sergio. He didn't accompany the rest of us to the club the night before, and we had been just a little worried about him.
He is already drunk and sweaty again, wearing the same crumpled clothes from last night, huge lit cigar in hand and an almost empty glass of rum splashing around in the air while he frantically gestures during his story.
"I was here! Playing the drums, dancing..." He does an amusing demonstration of both activities for us. "Then I look up. Every one is gone!" He makes a sad face.
"I say where are all my friends!" Sergio bellows as Kimberly and I start laughing.
"I am sad so I drink more and more rum." He takes a huge swig of his glass to show us. "Then! I wake up on a table there." He points to a long wooden table at a restaurant next door.
"I have no shoes, a little man is yelling at me to get off his table! I am so stiff I can't move. But I must! So I have to hobble all the way back to my hotel. With barefoot!" He exclaims in his thick Italian accent. He shows us how he walked and then throws his head back in wild laughter. His big beer belly shakes and his booming laugh is impossible not to join in on.
We laugh and drink with Sergio for the next couple hours as he tells us stories of his and Fabio's adventures on the island. Fabio sulks as we give Sergio all the attention. Fabio is again perfectly groomed, golden hair carefully gelled and curled, white shirt unbuttoned to accentuate his tanned chest. There is not a wrinkle or stain on him and you can tell he is dumbfounded as to how his stained, smelly chubby, wrinkled mess of a friend is charming us so much more then he. Kimberly and I think it is good for him. And especially good for sweet Sergio, who is a little in awe, and quite possibly a little in love with Fabio.
Soon Kimberly and I get the itch to dance again, but we want to experience something a little more local than the big club we were in the night before.
The bartender recommends a place on the beach all the way at the end of the strip. He says there is no sign in the front so we will have to go in the back way. He warns us it is a little rough, but it is where we will hear the best Reggaeton on the island.
Sergio and Fabio and some of their miscellaneous Italian friends tag along with us.
We walk down the dark beach until we start to hear some music. We come to a group of locals lined up in the sand outside a dark door. There is no sign or visible name to the place, the only thing on the door is a taped piece of ripped spiral notebook paper with a handgun drawn in pencil with a circle around it and a line going through it. No Guns. Effective security system...
Once we get in we see the place is night and day from everywhere else we've been. There are no beautiful plush couches, or charming lanterns, or multi storied dance floors. It is dark, dingy, and loud, jam packed full of locals. We are definitely the only tourists in the place, and it looks like Kimberly and I may be the only women who are not prostitutes.
The vibe is icy as people start to notice us. Our presence is obviously unusual and not entirely welcome. It is not openly hostile though and we decide to get a beer and feel it out.
At the bar are the two old Italian men with the matching speedos from the beach earlier. They each have a local girl who may or may not be a prostitute on their laps. They greet us warmly and somehow just by knowing them and having the girls give us nods makes us ok. The crowd parts around us, we get beers, and start to relax.
When the lights dim even more and the DJ starts playing I realize the bartender earlier was right. As amazing as all the music I have heard so far has been this blows it away. This sounds so much more authentic, so much more raw than anything we have heard yet. Kimberly and I head straight to the dance floor. Nothing could tear me away from this place now.
Hours of dancing later the place is so packed and hot and stuffy I can't breathe. I desperately don't want to stop dancing but I have to get a breath of fresh air. As I walk outside I realize two things; first, that they have turned on outside speakers so the music is now pumping out across the sand and ocean, and second, it is pouring sweet refreshing rain. I lift my sweaty head to the sky and let the cleansing rain wash the sweat and grime and heat from my body.
Kimberly is with me and we start dancing in the sand, in the rain. Soon other people get the same idea and there is a huge crowd dancing. Someone turns a spotlight on outside and turns the music up even louder.
My whole body moves in time to the music. I feel the beat in every fiber of my being. I think of all the times growing up at a wedding or something when everyone would dance to 'Sweet Home Alabama' or 'YMCA' and my body would have no idea what to do. I would be stuck awkwardly swaying while the music did nothing for me, nothing to me. I have finally found my music and it feels fantastic.
When my special song, Pepe, comes on I go berserk with everyone else. I notice a small crowd of admirers has gathered around me. They are cheering and clapping and hollering. I spin in a circle and show off my new found moves. The crowd goes absolutely wild.
I am on FIRE.
Just as I am really getting in to it, Kimberly grabs me and tries to pull me away.
"What are you doing?" I snap. "I'm dancing!"
"I can see that." She says. "But you need to come with me now."
I try to refuse but she won't stop tugging until she gets me to the darkness next to the side of the building. My fans boo and yell at her.
"Envy is an ugly color on you, Kimberly." I complain bitterly.
"Dayna." She starts carefully. "It's raining."
"I know it's raining!" I shout.
"There is a bright light shining on you."
I know this too and I feel desperate to get back to it.
She stares at me to see if I am comprehending any of this. I stare back at her impatiently.
"You are wearing a white dress." She says pointedly.
"I know what I am wearing! I did dress myself!"
"With clearly no bra."
"Yes Kimberly! I know! I'm wearing a halter dress and you...can't...wear...a bra..." I trail off as I finally realize what she has been trying to tell me. I look around and see a huge crowd of men gesturing for me to come back. I see a group of incredibly angry Dominican prostitutes glaring at me. And I see Kimberly's amused face staring at me.
"Oh Jesus." I murmur. "Get me the fuck out of here."
We slink off in the dark, me feeling utterly humiliated, Kimberly finding the whole thing pretty funny.
"Wait!!!" We hear shouting behind us and Fabio comes running up.
"Dayna!" He says. "I must tell you I love you! I would wish to marry you!"
"HAHAHA" Kimberly bursts out.
"Christ Fabio." I say. "Not now. I've got to go."
"But will I see you again?" He calls pleading as we run off, Kimberly still laughing, me feeling more and more mortified as I relive what I was doing.
"I really thought it was my dance moves." I tell Kimberly sadly once we are a safe distance away.
"I know you did honey." She chuckles.
As we walk up the thankfully dark dirt road towards our hotel a local guy starts following us. He tells us how beautiful we are and that it is too dangerous to walk alone. He asks our names and offers to escort us. Kimberly politely refuses and we keep walking.
"Please." He begs her. "Just tell me your name."
"Carmela." Kimberly says just to shut him up. He is small and doesn't seem horribly threatening. More a nuisance then anything.
"And yours?" He asks me over and over until I finally say "Carmela" as well because I can't think of anything else.
"Dos Carmelas!!!!DOS CARMELAS!!" He screams ecstatically and begins skipping around us. Then he falls to his knees to thank God for giving him two beautiful girls named Carmela.
He is a total nut job and is so busy giving thanks for his unbelievable luck that he doesn't even notice us walk away.
A little ways further up the road I get the feeling we are being followed and start to worry he is coming after us. We are getting close to our hotel and I would rather him not know where we are staying. He is small but also clearly insane.
I am also concerned it may be Fabio, back for another proposal offer. Or a pack of angry hookers who are going to slash my face up. The rustling keeps getting louder behind us but we can't see anyone.
Just as I am starting to get really nervous a medium sized black and white dog pops out of the bush.
"It's Bacon!!!" I shout excitedly. It is the dog who snubbed me earlier on the beach.
"Bacon!" Kimberly is just as excited as I am to see him as I am.
He follows us all the way back home and I can tell he is protecting us. I guess he did appreciate my gesture this morning.
We bring him on to the porch of our hotel room and give him water. We have no food for him so Kimberly, knowing nothing about dogs, gives him a bowl of almonds. He obviously turns his nose up at them.
We argue about whether he can sleep inside with us or not, and I finally conclude that yes, he does probably have fleas, and most likely ringworm as well.
As I am saying good night to him and promising him more bacon in the morning a man bursts out of the bushes in front of our room. He is dressed all in black and is waving a huge machete in the air and yelling.
My heart literally stops and no sound comes out of my mouth when I open it to scream.
Although Bacon had shown much bravery in walking us home earlier, at the sight of this lunatic he decides a few pieces of leftover bacon only goes so far and takes off running.
The man stares at me for several seconds and then takes off after the dog.
"NO! No Gracias! No Gracias!" I shout hysterically and start chasing after them. I have this horrible vision of him cutting Bacon up into pieces with that awful machete.
He stops and faces me. Now I have a horrible vision of him cutting me up with the machete and run back onto the porch.
"What the hell is happening?" Kimberly comes running out.
I point a shaky finger at the man. He lifts his machete high and I hide behind Kimberly.
She begins speaking Spanish to him, they chat for a minute then he walks off and she steers me inside.
"He tried to kill me and Bacon!" I gasp.
"He is our guard." She explains. "He thought we were bothered by the dog. Go to bed." She yawns.
"And why the hell were you screaming 'no gracias'?" Kimberly laughs at me some more and then falls instantly asleep.
I try to sleep, but all I can think about is what kind of crazy hotel hires men to hide in the bushes with machetes to make their guests feel safe. And about how I started the night as the brave, mysterious, cool chick from California with dance moves to die for, and ended it as a two bit stripper named Carmela who is afraid of her own body guard, and screams no thank you in moments of crisis. I drift into bitter slumber, vowing to regain my cool tomorrow.

GRACIAS DOMINICAN REPUBLIC...DAY 3

DAY 3

Part I 

Even the Dogs Love it Here

Kimberly and I both wake up after only about an hour of sleep since our room has no air conditioner and becomes unbearably hot pretty much as soon as the sun rises. The day is blazingly hot and bright even this early in the morning. I suggest we swim to breakfast instead of walking down the dry dusty road. 

I put my bathing suit on and turn around to see Kimberly with a swim cap and goggles on. 

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask her. 

"What do you mean?" She says innocently. 

"This isn't the fucking Olympics." I snap. "We are in the Caribbean. On vacation. We are going to basically float half a mile to eat breakfast. Why are you wearing cap and goggles??? Are those fins?" I exclaim as she pulls an enormous pair of flippers out of her back pack. 

"I can't swim without them!" She says. This is a ridiculous lie since I clearly saw her in the water yesterday without any of those things on. 

"I refuse to be seen with you if you wear those, Kimberly. You look insane." 

Like me, Kimberly has an oversized head, with an overabundance of hair. Her hair is even bigger than usual because of the humidity and the cap just barely fits her. It looks like it is going to burst at the seams at any second. The goggles are having a similar problem.
We finally compromise with her just wearing the goggles, and not speaking to me while they are on.
"Why did you bring those things anyways?" I ask as we walk down to the water. "For snorkeling?"
"No way! I hate putting my head under the water!" Kimberly looks at me as though I am crazy for even suggesting the idea. I don't even bother responding, and my hungover head is too muddled to even try to figure it out.
When we get to breakfast Kimberly just orders fruit.
"That's all you are getting?" I ask, appalled.
"Yeah. Don't you love just eating fruit and nuts for breakfast when you are on a hot, tropical island?"
Uh, yeah. As a side to my pancakes, eggs, and bacon.
When we finish I am so full I can barely move while Kimberly looks light and energetic.
"Aren't you going to finish the rest of your bacon?" She asks me with a little smirk.
As much as I love bacon, there is no way I can take another bite without puking. I refuse to give her the   satisfaction of knowing this though.
"I'm saving it for that poor stray dog." I say smugly, pointing at a black and white dog I spot panting under the shade of a palm tree. Nothing she can say to that!
I walk over to give it to the dog, a little nervous he might maul me when he smells the delicious bacon. He just stares at me as I walk close to him, stretching my arm out to offer him the bacon.
"Here puppy..." I call. He doesn't move, so I walk all the way up to the tree and set it down near his paws. He sighs, takes a couple obligatory licks, and then goes back to staring at the ocean.
When I get back to Kimberly she is laughing.
"That stray dog just snubbed you!"
"I know!" I exclaim. "What kind of homeless dog doesn't want bacon??"
As we walk back to our favorite beach I notice that all of the stray dogs look unusually content. None of them are too skinny, they frolic and play with each other in the ocean, and all their tails wag. Packs of them roam around, all living within perfect harmony of each other. This truly is the happiest place on earth I think.
We spend most of the day dozing and reading in the sun, taking refreshing dips in the water whenever it gots too hot. Every time Kimberly puts her goggles on I shake my head, but I don't even have the energy to make fun of her.
As the day goes on I get more and more lethargic, to the point where I can't even lift up my giant book, let alone my head, or open my eyes. I am starting to worry about having heat stroke when I hear a familiar sound. Creepy music, evil laughter, the crowd screaming. I struggle to sit up.
The amount of people on the beach has multiplied since I last looked, there is a DJ, and my favorite song in the world, Pepe, is playing. I see Kimberly's giant head pop up next to me. A grin spreads across her face as she realizes what is happening.
"Pepe!" She says happily.
Everyone begins dancing at once. Every one in the water, on the sand, people laying on lounge chairs, even the dogs. I feel saved and shimmy my way to the water where I jump and dance with two old Italian men in matching powder blue speedos. By the time the next song comes on, a song about the Playa (which I have proudly learned means beach) I feel a million times better.
In fact, I think it is just about time for a cold Presidente and the lunch I skipped while sleeping. Mmmmm, lunch.