DAY 3
Part II
My Time in the Spotlight
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.
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.
Laughing out loud repeatedly as I read this. I just love the contrasting characters of the excitable and reactionary Dayna and her cohort, the cool and worldly Kimberly. What a team! Kimberly keeps things grounded (correctly interprets what is actually happening) while Dayna never ceases to entertain well, everyone, with her boundless enthusiasm, and innocence, and self-deprecating humor. It should be no surprise that the universe would respond with one unique circumstance after another. No worries Dayna - you are the coolest.
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