Mas Mamajuana
Kimberly and I gingerly take a seat at the grungy bar amongst all the gaping men. She whispers to me not to order a beer because it will make them think we like 'to party'. We both politely refuse a drink when the bartender offers, even though all I want is a huge glass of local rum.
As the bar patrons continue to stare silently at us Kimberly hisses at me to be cool.
"I am being cool!" I snap back.
I take out my gigantic book and nonchalantly start reading it. I'm not sure how much cooler I can get.
Kimberly starts talking to the bartender to determine if a bus really will pass through this deserted gas station to take us to Sosua. He tells her that a local bus called a guagua would eventually show up and we could take that all the way. He seems very confused about why two white girls would be in his bar and why we would be trying to take a guagua. He keeps asking Kimberly who we are and how we ended up here.
"He thinks we are missionaries." Kimberly tells me.
"Why?"
"Because we won't drink a beer and because he thinks your giant book is the bible." She tells me.
"Haha!" I burst out laughing. For some reason I think this is hilarious and even though my laughter has caused everyone in the bar to stare at me with renewed interest, I can't seem to stop.
"It really does look like the bible!" I choke out.
"It really does look like the bible!" I choke out.
"I told you to be cool!" Kimberly exclaims.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and regain my composure. I head to the side of the building, which seems the most likely place for a bathroom. The bartender comes running after me, saying something in Spanish.
"Banos?" I ask politely.
He points at the nearest door but when I try to open it he grabs my arm.
"Senorita!" He says urgently, and then says a bunch more Spanish words I can't undertand.
I stare at him blankly.
He points to the bathroom door and then rubs his crotch. Then he points at mine.
"No comprende!" I say in horror.
"No, no Senorita!" He stares deep into my eyes and then vigorously rubs his crotch while pointing at mine.
"No Gracias!" I say firmly, and try to push past him into the bathroom. I am still desperately trying to be cool but I can feel any semblance of calm rapidly slipping away.
He grabs me again and I debate hitting him and making a run for it. I am much bigger than him and I am trained in martial arts. The problem is I don't know where I would run to since we are in the middle of nowhere. Also, I would feel a little guilty about leaving Kimberly behind.
"Please." He says in broken English. "Please wait."
"No Gracias!!!!" I shout at him. "No Gracias!!!!!"
He runs back into the bar.
My mind is racing. Did he go to grab a few of his friends cause he sensed I was about to kick his ass? Is he going to come back with a weapon?
As I am standing there like a fool trying to decide what to do he comes sprinting back with a piece of newspaper in his hand. What the hell?
He carefully folds the paper into a square as I watch in fascination. I honestly have no idea what is happening at this point.
He shows me the square of paper, then wipes his crotch with it, then points to my privates and sadly shakes his head and says no.
It takes two more times of this demonstration while I stand there dumbly gaping at him before his meaning finally dawns on me.
"No toilet paper!!!" I shout joyously as if I have just guessed the game winning question at an important match of charades,. "You have no toilet paper!!!"
He stares at me as I laugh uproariously, not sure if I finally understand him or if I am just bat shit crazy.
I pull out a spare roll of toilet paper I have been carrying around in my purse, a handy little trick I learned in China.
"No problemo!!" I chuckle. "Gracias! Gracias!" I tell him as I pat him on the back. I want to say thank you but can't remember how so I just keep saying gracias.
We both laugh and he looks relieved that I no longer think he is trying to rape me.
When I come back out of the bathroom the entire bar, including Kimberly, is laughing hysterically.
The bartender is clearly imitating me fearfully screaming 'no gracias!!!' over and over. He is laughing so hard that tears are running down his face. When he sees me he rushes over and puts his arm around me still doubled over in laughter. Everyone hoots and hollers and yells No Gracias!! at me.
I glare at everyone, especially Kimberly who is laughing the hardest, grab my giant book and storm outside to read it in the rain. Screw all of them.
Kimberly rushes after me.
"Hahahaha!!!" She gasps. "That is the funniest story I ever heard! He says all you know how to say in Spanish is gracias and no gracias."
"I know how to say other things!" I snap. "Like...uno mas, and donde esta, and, and hola!" I finish lamely.
A little bit of sun is starting to peak through and all the men from the bar drift outside to sit with us.
Although I am still mad at them for laughing at me, the community joke did have the favorable effect of making them look at us as friends. There is no desire or danger lingering in the air, instead they treat us protectively and almost affectionately. They want to know every detail of who we are and how we came to be here, and what we think of their country so far.
When the right bus finally drives by down the road they run out and chase it for us, and make it drive right up to the bar to pick us up. They load our luggage and then all 20 of them stand there waving fondly and shouting Adios at us.
The bus is packed full of people and Kimberly and I take the last two remaining spots. I sit next to a pretty little teenage girl and Kimberly next to a middle aged woman and her baby.
True to form, Kimberly is asleep within the first ten minutes of our ride. I stay wide eyed awake for the entire three hour journey. I watch in shock as certain passengers, including old woman are forced to ride on the outside of the rusty, run down bus. Not understanding what is happening I try to give up my seat to them, but am quickly hushed by everyone around me. (I learn later that these people are Haitians and that the Dominicans are deeply racist towards them, refusing to let them ride inside the same bus as them.) The rain continues to pelt down and we drive through puddles that are so deep they nearly come up to the buses windows. I have no idea how we make it through without getting stuck and I feel sick for the people riding on the outside of the bus. They are soaked and muddy and hanging on to the slippery rails for dear life as we barrel through the flooded roads.
The same song keeps playing over and over on the bus loudspeakers. It sounds like some sort of love ballad from the 80s and the girl next to me sings softly in a sweet voice. By the fifth or sixth time I am able to join in with her and she grins at me in surprise. I feel oddly connected to her as I sing unfamiliar words in unison with her, as we drive through streets and cities that are utterly foreign to me.
We finally make it to a bus stop that says Sosua and I shake Kimberly awake. We have to take a taxi to get to our hotel which turns out to be on a cliff far outside of the town.
It is pitch black out by the time we check in and still pouring rain. We haul our luggage in to the front desk, soaked and muddy and bed raggled from the long day.
The lobby is beautiful and calming, shiny varnished wood everywhere, big comfy chairs, and shelves filled with books. The hotel consists of a dozen cabanas spread through out the property, all made using natural native materials, such as drift wood, coral, shells, etc. It is gorgeous and peaceful and just what I need right now.
The only thing ruining the perfect vibe of the place is a strange guy sitting in nothing but silk boxers on a couch in the lobby. He is absurdly skinny, and his bony naked limbs are spread out awkwardly as he types intently on his Apple laptop.
He looks up at us casually.
"Hola Senoritas!!" He says in a loud, high pitched, sing song voice. He gets up lazily and strolls towards us.
"I'm Ralphio." He says, holding out a limp hand for us to shake. "It's nice to finally have some company around here."
Seriously? We come to this beautiful, relaxing retreat to get away from it all and have to run into this guy?
"I'm photographing the place." He says importantly. "I am very good friends with the owner, so they brought me here to help with their horrible web site. I am Chilean but I live in New York." He tells us, as if we are hanging on his every word or something.
Up close his eyelashes are obscenely long and full. In fact as I peer closer it appears that he is wearing fake lashes along with mascara and eyeliner. His silky boxers look in danger of slipping off his jutting hip bones, and I need to be far away from him in case this happens.
"Okay! Ralphio, nice to meet you but we need to get to our room." I abruptly interrupt him.
Kimberly and I make a dash for our cabana.
The cabana is perfect. There is a huge porch with an inviting hammock on the outside, and the inside is all smooth gray rock and warm shiny wood. It is incredibly romantic with rose pedals strewn everywhere, even in the toilet.
"I feel like we are on our honeymoon!" I laugh to Kimberly.
I haven't had a chance to eat anything today except for almonds and power bars and I am unbearably hungry.
Even though I dread running into Ralphio again we have to take the risk and head to the hotel restaurant.
The restaurant is in a large bamboo open aired gazebo. It is still raining and large almonds fall from the nearby trees, pelting the roof with a surprisingly violent noise. We can hear waves crashing against rocks close by.
As soon as we sit down a waiter puts two shot glasses filled with an amber liquid in front of us.
"Mamajuana." He says.
I remember reading about mamajuana in my travel book. It is a mixture of red wine and rum infused with local herbs and roots. It is supposed to be dangerous because the ingredients are unknown and can have various effects on people.
I feel a tinge of apprehension but after the day we just had I figure screw it.
Kimberly and I cheers and throw them back. It is sweet and delicious, like nothing I have ever tasted before. I quickly order another one.
We continue to drink mamajuana and order a bottle of red wine and a mushroom pasta. Everything at the restaurant is organic and locally sourced.
I don't know if it is the mamajuana or what but the pasta is by far the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. There are about 15 different types of earthy, meaty, incredible mushrooms, and a rich creamy sauce coats every bite of the housemade pasta. It is unreal.
We devour everything and are so satisfied and happy that we don't even care when Ralphio shows up at our table. Thankfully he has put pants on for dinner.
He is every bit as annoying and pretentious as before, but with the help of more mamajuana it becomes more amusing than anything.
Kimberly and I laugh until our stomachs hurt, as he stares uncertainly at us. This just reminds me of earlier in the afternoon and makes me laugh even harder.
When he offers to give us a tour of the place we agree just so we can see what the rest of the cabanas look like. They are all incredible and unique.
He of course ends the tour with his own cabana which resembles a treehouse.
Ralphio ruins the gloriousness of the treehouse by forcing us to look at his photographs. As Kimberly and I flip through page after page of increasingly weird pictures, Ralpio has put on a silk kimono and lit a joint. He sways around the room smoking his joint asking us if we love his photos.
He puts on some music and begins dancing in what he must think is a seductive manner, smiling and gesturing at Kimberly and me to join him. We refuse and he drifts into his own world, dancing and jumping around on the window seat. I watch him in horrified fascination as he flutters his fake eyelashes at me.
When he turns around to stare dreamily out the window, Kimberly grabs my hand and points at his bed. On the shelf above it is the biggest roll of condoms I have ever seen in my life. Literally hundreds of them.
I can't make eye contact with Kimberly because I know if I do I will be lost in laughter.
"Ladies." Ralphio calls. "Come sit with me."
I meet Kimberly's eye and know there is nothing for it but to run. We bolt out the door together and run all the way back to our cabana where we collapse on the bed in laughter. The kind of gut wrenching, breath taking, soul shaking laughter that doesn't happen nearly often enough. I laugh uncontrollably about everything that happened this day, everything that happened this trip. I laugh my heart out, and I don't ever want it to end.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and regain my composure. I head to the side of the building, which seems the most likely place for a bathroom. The bartender comes running after me, saying something in Spanish.
"Banos?" I ask politely.
He points at the nearest door but when I try to open it he grabs my arm.
"Senorita!" He says urgently, and then says a bunch more Spanish words I can't undertand.
I stare at him blankly.
He points to the bathroom door and then rubs his crotch. Then he points at mine.
"No comprende!" I say in horror.
"No, no Senorita!" He stares deep into my eyes and then vigorously rubs his crotch while pointing at mine.
"No Gracias!" I say firmly, and try to push past him into the bathroom. I am still desperately trying to be cool but I can feel any semblance of calm rapidly slipping away.
He grabs me again and I debate hitting him and making a run for it. I am much bigger than him and I am trained in martial arts. The problem is I don't know where I would run to since we are in the middle of nowhere. Also, I would feel a little guilty about leaving Kimberly behind.
"Please." He says in broken English. "Please wait."
"No Gracias!!!!" I shout at him. "No Gracias!!!!!"
He runs back into the bar.
My mind is racing. Did he go to grab a few of his friends cause he sensed I was about to kick his ass? Is he going to come back with a weapon?
As I am standing there like a fool trying to decide what to do he comes sprinting back with a piece of newspaper in his hand. What the hell?
He carefully folds the paper into a square as I watch in fascination. I honestly have no idea what is happening at this point.
He shows me the square of paper, then wipes his crotch with it, then points to my privates and sadly shakes his head and says no.
It takes two more times of this demonstration while I stand there dumbly gaping at him before his meaning finally dawns on me.
"No toilet paper!!!" I shout joyously as if I have just guessed the game winning question at an important match of charades,. "You have no toilet paper!!!"
He stares at me as I laugh uproariously, not sure if I finally understand him or if I am just bat shit crazy.
I pull out a spare roll of toilet paper I have been carrying around in my purse, a handy little trick I learned in China.
"No problemo!!" I chuckle. "Gracias! Gracias!" I tell him as I pat him on the back. I want to say thank you but can't remember how so I just keep saying gracias.
We both laugh and he looks relieved that I no longer think he is trying to rape me.
When I come back out of the bathroom the entire bar, including Kimberly, is laughing hysterically.
The bartender is clearly imitating me fearfully screaming 'no gracias!!!' over and over. He is laughing so hard that tears are running down his face. When he sees me he rushes over and puts his arm around me still doubled over in laughter. Everyone hoots and hollers and yells No Gracias!! at me.
I glare at everyone, especially Kimberly who is laughing the hardest, grab my giant book and storm outside to read it in the rain. Screw all of them.
Kimberly rushes after me.
"Hahahaha!!!" She gasps. "That is the funniest story I ever heard! He says all you know how to say in Spanish is gracias and no gracias."
"I know how to say other things!" I snap. "Like...uno mas, and donde esta, and, and hola!" I finish lamely.
A little bit of sun is starting to peak through and all the men from the bar drift outside to sit with us.
Although I am still mad at them for laughing at me, the community joke did have the favorable effect of making them look at us as friends. There is no desire or danger lingering in the air, instead they treat us protectively and almost affectionately. They want to know every detail of who we are and how we came to be here, and what we think of their country so far.
When the right bus finally drives by down the road they run out and chase it for us, and make it drive right up to the bar to pick us up. They load our luggage and then all 20 of them stand there waving fondly and shouting Adios at us.
The bus is packed full of people and Kimberly and I take the last two remaining spots. I sit next to a pretty little teenage girl and Kimberly next to a middle aged woman and her baby.
True to form, Kimberly is asleep within the first ten minutes of our ride. I stay wide eyed awake for the entire three hour journey. I watch in shock as certain passengers, including old woman are forced to ride on the outside of the rusty, run down bus. Not understanding what is happening I try to give up my seat to them, but am quickly hushed by everyone around me. (I learn later that these people are Haitians and that the Dominicans are deeply racist towards them, refusing to let them ride inside the same bus as them.) The rain continues to pelt down and we drive through puddles that are so deep they nearly come up to the buses windows. I have no idea how we make it through without getting stuck and I feel sick for the people riding on the outside of the bus. They are soaked and muddy and hanging on to the slippery rails for dear life as we barrel through the flooded roads.
The same song keeps playing over and over on the bus loudspeakers. It sounds like some sort of love ballad from the 80s and the girl next to me sings softly in a sweet voice. By the fifth or sixth time I am able to join in with her and she grins at me in surprise. I feel oddly connected to her as I sing unfamiliar words in unison with her, as we drive through streets and cities that are utterly foreign to me.
We finally make it to a bus stop that says Sosua and I shake Kimberly awake. We have to take a taxi to get to our hotel which turns out to be on a cliff far outside of the town.
It is pitch black out by the time we check in and still pouring rain. We haul our luggage in to the front desk, soaked and muddy and bed raggled from the long day.
The lobby is beautiful and calming, shiny varnished wood everywhere, big comfy chairs, and shelves filled with books. The hotel consists of a dozen cabanas spread through out the property, all made using natural native materials, such as drift wood, coral, shells, etc. It is gorgeous and peaceful and just what I need right now.
The only thing ruining the perfect vibe of the place is a strange guy sitting in nothing but silk boxers on a couch in the lobby. He is absurdly skinny, and his bony naked limbs are spread out awkwardly as he types intently on his Apple laptop.
He looks up at us casually.
"Hola Senoritas!!" He says in a loud, high pitched, sing song voice. He gets up lazily and strolls towards us.
"I'm Ralphio." He says, holding out a limp hand for us to shake. "It's nice to finally have some company around here."
Seriously? We come to this beautiful, relaxing retreat to get away from it all and have to run into this guy?
"I'm photographing the place." He says importantly. "I am very good friends with the owner, so they brought me here to help with their horrible web site. I am Chilean but I live in New York." He tells us, as if we are hanging on his every word or something.
Up close his eyelashes are obscenely long and full. In fact as I peer closer it appears that he is wearing fake lashes along with mascara and eyeliner. His silky boxers look in danger of slipping off his jutting hip bones, and I need to be far away from him in case this happens.
"Okay! Ralphio, nice to meet you but we need to get to our room." I abruptly interrupt him.
Kimberly and I make a dash for our cabana.
The cabana is perfect. There is a huge porch with an inviting hammock on the outside, and the inside is all smooth gray rock and warm shiny wood. It is incredibly romantic with rose pedals strewn everywhere, even in the toilet.
"I feel like we are on our honeymoon!" I laugh to Kimberly.
I haven't had a chance to eat anything today except for almonds and power bars and I am unbearably hungry.
Even though I dread running into Ralphio again we have to take the risk and head to the hotel restaurant.
The restaurant is in a large bamboo open aired gazebo. It is still raining and large almonds fall from the nearby trees, pelting the roof with a surprisingly violent noise. We can hear waves crashing against rocks close by.
As soon as we sit down a waiter puts two shot glasses filled with an amber liquid in front of us.
"Mamajuana." He says.
I remember reading about mamajuana in my travel book. It is a mixture of red wine and rum infused with local herbs and roots. It is supposed to be dangerous because the ingredients are unknown and can have various effects on people.
I feel a tinge of apprehension but after the day we just had I figure screw it.
Kimberly and I cheers and throw them back. It is sweet and delicious, like nothing I have ever tasted before. I quickly order another one.
We continue to drink mamajuana and order a bottle of red wine and a mushroom pasta. Everything at the restaurant is organic and locally sourced.
I don't know if it is the mamajuana or what but the pasta is by far the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. There are about 15 different types of earthy, meaty, incredible mushrooms, and a rich creamy sauce coats every bite of the housemade pasta. It is unreal.
We devour everything and are so satisfied and happy that we don't even care when Ralphio shows up at our table. Thankfully he has put pants on for dinner.
He is every bit as annoying and pretentious as before, but with the help of more mamajuana it becomes more amusing than anything.
Kimberly and I laugh until our stomachs hurt, as he stares uncertainly at us. This just reminds me of earlier in the afternoon and makes me laugh even harder.
When he offers to give us a tour of the place we agree just so we can see what the rest of the cabanas look like. They are all incredible and unique.
He of course ends the tour with his own cabana which resembles a treehouse.
Ralphio ruins the gloriousness of the treehouse by forcing us to look at his photographs. As Kimberly and I flip through page after page of increasingly weird pictures, Ralpio has put on a silk kimono and lit a joint. He sways around the room smoking his joint asking us if we love his photos.
He puts on some music and begins dancing in what he must think is a seductive manner, smiling and gesturing at Kimberly and me to join him. We refuse and he drifts into his own world, dancing and jumping around on the window seat. I watch him in horrified fascination as he flutters his fake eyelashes at me.
When he turns around to stare dreamily out the window, Kimberly grabs my hand and points at his bed. On the shelf above it is the biggest roll of condoms I have ever seen in my life. Literally hundreds of them.
I can't make eye contact with Kimberly because I know if I do I will be lost in laughter.
"Ladies." Ralphio calls. "Come sit with me."
I meet Kimberly's eye and know there is nothing for it but to run. We bolt out the door together and run all the way back to our cabana where we collapse on the bed in laughter. The kind of gut wrenching, breath taking, soul shaking laughter that doesn't happen nearly often enough. I laugh uncontrollably about everything that happened this day, everything that happened this trip. I laugh my heart out, and I don't ever want it to end.
