DAY 7
Part II : I Become A Humanitarian. You're Welcome World.
When we get back to our beautiful hotel we are met with the devastating news that our room is not $90 a night as we believed (and considered an outrageous splurge) but $90 a person. Not only could we not afford to stay another night now, but we had to stay in the cheapest place we could find to make up for the $180 we unknowingly paid for last nights room.
Sadly we waited outside at the end of the long dusty road for a taxi to take us to a surf camp we found for 30 bucks a night with the inclusion of dinner and breakfast. It was located right on a swamp and had a ridiculous name like Big Al's or something similarly horrendous, so we went in expecting the absolute worst.
The reality was a pleasant surprise. The place was old but clean with bright cheerful colors and lush tropical foliage everywhere. The owner was a loud, supremely friendly German man named Ali who announced our arrival with an echoing bellow to the entire camp. People popped out of their rooms, or lifted their heads lazily from hammocks to wave at us. We were shown to a surprisingly large room and told to meet Ali back at the front in 5 minutes for dinner. He had a special surprise for everyone.
This is our last night in Cabarete and we had wanted to go to a really nice dinner. Dinner came with our room though and there is no way Kimberly or I could turn down a free meal. Its just not in our constitution.
The dinner is supposed to take place at some rustic picnic tables at the end of a dock overlooking the mosquito nesting ground of a stinky swamp, but Ali tells everyone to load into some beat up old vans waiting at the front gate. We comply and are taken with the dozen other people staying at the camp to
an abandoned restaurant at the top of a steep hill. The open air tables overlook a stunning view of the
gentle ocean and everyone is in high spirits at being taken here. There is an open bar for us to enjoy, a
glorious sea breeze caressing our skin, and the smell of a BBQ pit being lit. The fact that this is included in our $30 room seems entirely too good to be true.
Things only get better when I start eating the most delicious chicken thats ever come across my lips. The chickens run wild on the island and give a whole new meaning to the term free range. Its so good I eat an entire chicken to myself.
Kimberly and I throw back free rum and Presidente as we listen to stories from the fellow surf campers. There is a Swiss medical student who has spent the last few weeks traveling around Haiti donating her time to medical clinics there. I should do something like that one day I think. Give back to the world.
One of the girls starts telling us about an incident that happened that morning. As she was surfing a local guy stepped on something called a stone fish. Apparently these horrible fish lie perfectly
camouflaged against the rocks so you can't see them until you step on one and it delivers the most
excruciating pain you've ever felt. She goes on to describe the locals reaction.
"He was rolling on the sand in absolute agony. Screaming and crying and begging people to cut his
foot off."
I stare at her in silent horror. Something that hurts so bad you would have a limb cut off to make it stop? Something that I can't even see to avoid?
I am a firm believer that ignorance is bliss and could have happily lived the rest of my life never having known the stone fish existed. This girl has destroyed any chance I had of happily splashing in the waves tomorrow.
I glare angrily at her and turn away, furious at this loss of innocence. Sitting a few feet away from
me on the end of the bench is a guy I hadn't noticed up until now. He is awkwardly hunched over his chicken, slowly eating it and avoiding eye contact with everyone around him.
"Hi!" I say.
He looks up in panic, frantically looking around to see if I am talking to someone other than him.
He chokes down his chicken bite. "Me?"
He has a thick European accent and a soft nervous voice.
I scoot closer to him, I need to talk about anything to get that vision of stone fish out of my mind.
Reluctantly he gives up the information that he is from Sweden, his name is Sven, he has been here
for one week to try surfing and hasn't spoken to a single person.
"But what do you do every night?" I ask him in shock.
He says he surfs by himself in the day and then eats dinner alone and goes in his room and listens to music on his headphones until he can finally fall asleep.
I listen to this sad story and realize this is my chance to give back. Here is my chance to help another human being. To make a difference in the world.
"Tonight," I announce importantly. "You will go out with Kimberly and I!"
Sven is horribly, painfully shy, and he is not as instantly grateful for this news as I feel he should be.
In fact he flat out refuses to go anywhere with us.
I shamelessly peer pressure him into drinking some rum at the restaurant. We don't have to go anywhere I say soothingly.
After making Sven take his fourth shot of the delicious Dominican rum he begins to see the light.
"I guess I could try going to one bar with you," he says haltingly. "As long as it is not too crowded.
Or too loud! And I can't stay late."
I agree to his ludicrous demands and he reluctantly follows Kimberly and I down the hill to the row of beautiful beach bars lining the sands of Cabarete.
It is still early so the bars are somewhat deserted and Sven feels comfortable. We sit in a dark corner and sip on beers, Kimberly and I trying to draw the poor kid out of his shell.
As I walk to the bar to get another round for us, I hear loud whooping and shouts of "California!!! California!!!"
I strain my eyes to see a group of about 10 men and women waving excitedly and gesturing for us to
join them. A couple of them are lazily playing a set of bongo drums, a few of them are dancing slowly and dreamily. Most of the men are smoking giant cigars. They all are staring and grinning happily at us like we are their long lost best pals. I have no idea who these people are.
One of the men rushes towards me and lifts me in his arms, spinning us in fast circles until my head is spinning. He is tall and handsome with curly black hair and piercing green eyes. He sets me down
and kisses me warmly on both cheeks.
"It's fantastic to see you again California!" He slurs in a thick Italian accent.
I stare blankly at him and watch as two of the women embrace Kimberly tightly. She looks as confused as I do. Sven cowers by the bar, totally terrified at this new turn of events.
"Uh do I know you?" I ask haltingly.
He laughs uproariously and gives my forehead a big wet kiss.
"I'll go get us drinks!" He grins at me and heads to the bar.
"Kimberly!" I whisper "Who the hell are these people?"
She has deduced from her conversation with the women that these are part of the group of Italians that we spent a night drinking and dancing and playing drums with back in Las Terrenas. They are the friends of Fabio and Sergio, both of whom recently flew home to Italy.
"Jesus. I must have had a lot more to drink that night than I thought." I mutter. They do look vaguely familiar now that I think about it. The drums, the cigars, the men with their white shirts un buttoned
down to their belly buttons.
The green eyed man reappears with a tray full of rum shots. He gives me the first one and winks
suggestively at me.
One of the women sees the look of mild alarm I exchange with Kimberly.
"Don't worry, Paulo is very friendly. But harmless." She gives me a reassuring pat directly on the ass, and throws back her rum.
"YEAH!! YEAH!! YEAH!!! " A booming, piercing voice shrieks behind me.
I spin around and see what looks like a stretched out version of Chris Rock. He is tall with absurdly long skinny arms and legs ending in the largest hands and feet I've ever seen on a person.
He claps the gigantic hands together right in front of my face and makes a sound I can only describe as a squak at me. Like the way you would imagine a pterodactyl sounding. I flinch and take a step backwards, stumbling straight into Paulo's arms.
"Bernard's here!" He says. "Come let's go." He nudges me forward and Kimberly and I are swept
along with the group.
"Wait." I plead with one of the Italian women. "I can't leave my friend, Sven."
Sven is still huddled by the bar, staring fiercely into his drink, hoping if he just doesn't make eye contact with anyone he will be forgotten.
"Him??" She seems surprised but gamely goes and grabs him. She is beautiful and tanned, with long dark hair and a flowing hippie skirt. Silver bangles jingle up and down her slender arms. When she gently pulls Sven off his barstool he stares at her in open mouthed horror. He looks as if he is being dragged toward certain death, instead of being lead by a beautiful woman for a night of drinking and dancing.
We follow the group down the beach, past gorgeous empty bar after bar. They are decorated with silk draperies, beautiful clean tile floors, ornate lanterns. They look tasteful, comfortable, luxurious, yet no one is in any of them. We keep walking through the sand until we reach the last bar in the row. It is dark, dingy, disgustingly filthy and absolutely overflowing with people.
Bernard leads us inside, parting the crowd with a combination of his giant appendages pushing people aside and his ear piercing squawks.
We head straight to the bar for more rum. I make sure Sven has his fill because I am worried he isn't having a good time and I have not forgot my good deed for the night. I order us another round and when I turn around I see Sven being pulled onto the dance floor by two very scantily clad women. They begin grinding provocatively against him, running their hands up and down his body. I take a closer look around the bar. I see Bernard in the corner, taking a handful of money from a ginger tourist and shoving a bag of something in his hands. I see women in barely any clothes leading drunk European men into the bathroom. When I look back towards Bernard he is shaking a woman in a bright pink tube top. His enormous hands envelop her plumb shoulders. They yell at each other and then she reluctantly pulls a wad of cash out of her underwear and hands it to him. It slowly begins dawning on me what kind of bar we are in. I also start to realize that not only is Bernard a drug dealer, but most likely a pimp as well. I see it register on Kimberly's face too and we both head onto the dance floor to rescue Sven from the prostitutes.
As we get closer though I stop in surprise. Sven is clumsily thrusting his little hips back at the hookers. He pulls one close and dances against her. His face is bright red and drenched in sweat. His glasses lay crooked across his eyes and his hair is sticking up every which way from the hookers running their fingers through it. Yet his expression is pure bliss. He looks up and sees me and grins widely giving me a thumbs up.
"Do you think he knows they are working girls?" Kimberly whispers with a chuckle.
"Who cares!" I exclaim. "Look how happy he is."
I stand there feeling good about myself and the wonderful thing I've done for another human being.
When our favorite song 'Pepe' comes blaring out of the speakers Kimberly and I scream with the rest of the crowd and start dancing madly. Bernard and the Italians quickly join us. Bernard alternately swings me around roughly, claps in my face, and screeches at me. It's horrible and Kimberly sprints from the dance floor before he can do the same to her. I twist and turn to avoid his monstrously huge feet as they spastically kick out at random. I try to get away, but his grip is too tight on my arms. Painfully tight in fact. Just as I begin to panic I hear a deep voice call out. "Bernard, California is
mine."
Paulo pulls me into his arms and whisks me around the dance floor. Sweat droplets fly at me from his drenched curls and the smell of his non deodorant wearing body is overwhelming. Some how though I don't mind. In fact I kind of like it.
After hours more of sweating, dancing, and drinking he looks deep into my eyes and invites me back to his villa in the hills.
"You have a villa in the hills?" I ask in surprise.
"Of course." He looks at me as if I would be daft to think otherwise.
He starts to pull me off the dance floor. I am tempted to follow, really tempted. But I catch sight of Sven. He is slumped face down onto the sticky, germ infested bar. One of the hookers is going through his pockets. And I remember, tonight is not about me. Tonight is the night I am selflessly giving back to man kind.
I reluctantly say good night to a very shocked Paulo and gather up Kimberly and Sven.
As we stumble home Sven sings us Swedish drinking songs and hiccups loud enough to attract an
entire pack of wild dogs. We burst through the gates of our surf camp, narrowly avoiding being infected with rabies. As we leave Sven at his door he looks up at me with bleary eyes.
"Do you think those girls really liked me?" He asks.
I gently pat his cheek and tell him I sure do.
I walk away to the unmistakable sound of Sven throwing up and understand why people volunteer. Helping someone the way I helped Sven, showing him a night filled with drinking, hookers, drug dealers and pimps, giving that sweet kid a once in a lifetime experience, it feels good. Damn good.
