31 August 2009 -- It is okay to die

Approximately 8,000 people live in the local town of Luperon. In the last couple of months a few people have died and it seems clear that this culture is comfortable with death. Funeral processions are a model of economic efficiency, with a homemade wooden casket carried in the back of a well-worn Toyota pickup truck, people fill the street walking behind the casket, picking flowers as they go. The most significant difference, though, is the remembrance celebration. A few days ago, a motorcycle rider hit a cow and died. Very few of the motorcycles have working headlights, so nighttime riding is really russian roulette. Nobody locally wears a helmet or protective clothing. Speed limits are not enforced and alcohol seems to be an ever-present influence. Plus, it is okay for cows, horses, mules, donkeys, goats, chickens, people, and children to use the road as they wish. I cannot imagine how many laws, lawyers, politicians, tax hikes, surveillance cameras, cops, state troopers, and do-gooders it would take to fix such a situation. But here, it is simply okay. The guy that died was described as 'poco loco' (a little crazy) with the implication simply being that his time was up. After his death, the street in front of his house was blocked off, a festival tent was erected, and a beer truck arrived, all in preparation for the nine days of remembrance celebration following a death. Accepting death so easily allows for a simplified legal system and a common-sense health care system. People in the Dominican Republic are regularly rated as some of the happiest people in the world. Maybe Americans should start celebrating at funerals.

12-14 August 2009 -- Surf Camp

Two months of dreaming about learning to surf finally resulted in action. Wednesday, 12 August, after Spanish lessons I headed to a surf school in the nearby town of Cabarete. Water and electricity are in short supply nationally, but the Dominican government maintains an adequate supply in tourist areas by shorting the rural areas. After three months of flagrant abuse, the local country folk rioted and blocked some roads, which generated police patrols and police road blocks, then morphed into a sympathetic transportation strike on the day I headed out. So, a 50-mile trip became a 7-hour adventure. The few scab taxis were extra full and I became part of a 9-person blob stuffed in a Toyota Corolla. Almost dark, I arrived just in time to check into the bungalow and eat the included barbecue chicken dinner. A babel of accents from most major languages drifted around as a European and American mix of people talked late into the night. The surf truck left at 6:30 am. A Dominican named Roberto gave me a quick introduction on standing up on the board and we walked into the ocean for an hour of lessons. My beginner's mistakes were obvious and Roberto's main contribution was simply confirming what I was painfully aware of. My un-polished gyrations were not entertaining enough, so Roberto would slip into an interlude of dancing and singing Dominican rap songs, while bobbing in the waves. The first time, I thought he was drowning or having a worm fit. Another hour alone produced tangible progress. Riding back to the bungalows on the surf truck was a couple of TV producers from New York, whose obviously-dead marriage needed more than the artificial support a few days at surf camp could provide two non-athletic middle-aged introverts. They wanted to "see" and "understand" the local people, but my explanation of why their vacation deprived the local people of water and electricity was met with blank incomprehension. Obviously some New Yorkers are so enlightened that their flight or fright instinct has disappeared and they can no longer produce enough emotion to even argue or deny, but simply wall out un-scripted data and retreat into their own soothing programming. Eating brunch back at the surf camp allowed the two Dominican cooks to inform me of their "availability". All afternoon and evening, a large storm drenched the area, so I skipped afternoon surfing by sitting under the dripping eaves talking with Mikhail, a Russian citizen attending college in Toronto, Canada. The next morning, the surf zone had a strong cross current, so an hour of struggle produced only three decent beginner rides. With similar or worse conditions expected the following day, I decided to head home to Luperon and return at a later date during better conditions. Brunch yielded a unique conversation with a 27-year-old school teacher from Los Angeles, who was quite happy she received more attention from Dominican men than the older, fatter white women who travel there for "romance". It is definitely not just dirty old men anymore. Gender equality in civilized nations now allows aggressive displays of female wantonness as middle-aged white women roam certain parts of the world. A successful vacation seems to mean cramming as much sun on your skin, as much food in your stomach, as many t-shirts in your luggage, and as many charges on your credit cards as possible in the few days you can take off of work before someone actually misses you. A walk through Cabarete showed the town was so geared towards producing successful vacations that some prices were actually ten-times higher in the tourist areas. After all, the quicker you go broke, the quicker you can return to work and tell your friends what a great time you had. At this point, I was desperate to return to the relative sanity of Luperon. Where we sit in the dark, so the Cabarete tourists can have ice in their drinks. A shipload of 600 German Jews settled this area just prior to WWII. The United States was smart enough to turn them away. Their development of a modern day Babylon makes me wonder if the world is sane.

13 July 2009 -- Kayak Trip -- Day Two

12 July 2009 – Kayak Trip -- Day One

Paradise has its limits. The first month’s stay in Luperon had turned the blood as stagnant as the harbor waters. Trips to nearby urban areas were a welcome diversion, but hardly challenging. A true physical test, interlaced with moments of sheer terror was required to jump start the blood flow. Traveling 50 miles solo along the Dominican Republic’s relatively uncharted northern shore in a 30-year-old wood and canvas kayak became the prescription, With dictators only recently abolished, the DR government’s heavy-handed policies to block the ingress of Haitians and the egress of Dominicans over its coastline make it a hassle for cruising sailors to simply change ports. Anchoring is only allowed in a few approved ports. You cannot anchor in remote spots for weeks on end like in the Bahamas. So this journey was not only a personal challenge, but a clandestine peak at forbidden territories. In the morning calm at 6:45 am, I paddled out of the Luperon Harbor and headed west, past Playa Grande, to round Punta Cabo Isabella. Thunder clouds built all morning and finally caught me at 10:00 am. The buckets of cool, fresh water felt good, but the nearby lightning strikes generated a lot of adrenaline and almost added a dose of warm urine to the rain water sloshing around in the kayak. Christopher Columbus founded Isabella in 1499, establishing it as the first city in the New World. Since then, the town has stagnated and the few remains of the original settlement require an active imagination to fill in the pieces lost over the last 500 years. Without Columbus’ detailed writings to tell the story, the stones he laid would lay forgotten. After a tour of the ruins and a quick lunch, I walked towards town for more lunch, but discovered I was inside some fenced, guarded compound, so decided to head back to the kayak and escape before the guard woke up and spotted me. It was 12:00 noon and I continued west to explore a large mangrove-lined harbor, appearing on charts as quite similar to Luperon, which should make it a good alternate hurricane sanctuary. Approaching the harbor mouth at 2:15 pm, a guard stopped me, making it quite clear that I was not going any further. My limited vocabulary and firepower did not allow argument, so that harbor remains a fantasy. Thoughts of hanging around and sneaking in after dark plagued me until I realized the full moon would give them plenty of light to shoot me. So, Punta Rucia was the next waypoint. The strong afternoon trade winds were kicking up a confused and dangerous swell as I rounded the rocky point. Some waves actually jumped in the boat for a ride. Quite skittish now, I tucked into the first sandy spot in the sheltered lee of the point at 4:00 pm and started preparing for the night. The first thing was passing out on the sand for a two-hour nap and then waking up face-to-face with a large, curious crab. The next thing was rigging up a hammock to get away from the beach wildlife of crabs, ants, and spiders. A mile south was the actual port of Punta Rucia, but hiding out from bureaucrats was part of the plan. One mosquito made a couple of lame attempts and then went to find easier prey. Day one ended by lying in the hammock with sore arms and an aching butt, watching the sun set, wondering if the smart thing to do would be to fold up the kayak, throw everything in a taxi, and head home.

25 June -- 6 July 2009, Luperon, Dominican Republic

25 June 2009 – 6 July 2009

Am adjusting to life in the tropics and am learning to get around and appreciate the Dominican Republic.  Traveling outside of Luperon shows just how small and dirty this town really is, but the practically hurricane-proof harbor, combined with the camaraderie and security that the resident cruising community provides, makes Luperon a great place to spend the summer and early fall of hurricane season.  Christopher Columbus discovered the harbor and provided a detailed written description of it.  But Columbus left quickly because the stagnant water contained marine organisms that eat wooden ships.  Nowadays, the abundant marine life quickly fouls a boat’s bottom and two weeks of barnacle growth is quite hard to scrape off.  The water is full of small creepy-crawlies and it is a shock to climb out of the murky water covered with bugs.  Trips to Puerto Plata, Santiago, and Sosua have taught us to use the public transportation system.  Mass transit works amazingly well here because it is not regulated.  Someday in America, maybe the politicians, the engineers, and the lawyers can take a vacation long enough for regular people to create a cheap, efficient, fast mass transit system like the Dominican people enjoy.  Where the Dominican government does get involved, the results are disastrous.  The high import duties make it quite expensive to buy anything from the United States.  The government probably does this strictly for the money it brings in and then justifies it as protection to local import-substitution industries.  The net result is that a person can live quite cheaply by simply hanging out and letting the days go by, but acquiring the material comforts so common in the United States is impossible for most people.  However, the people here are so happy and helpful that it raises a tremendous suspicion that material wealth may actually cause more problems in a society than it solves.

30 June 2009 -- Luperon, Dominican Republic

For the last two weeks have been anchored in the harbor of Luperon in the Dominican Republic. Things are pretty good here. The town is small and dirty, but the nearby cities of Puerto Plata and Santiago offer just about everything a person wants. Living without electricity, refrigeration, air conditioning, a car, or running water in the tropics is challenging, but actually quite manageable and the overall experience is rather enjoyable.

14 -- 24 June 2009

14 June 2009

The big day.  We left early to sail south to Luperon.  I was underway at 5:20 am.  Positions enroute were:  0906WT 2103 7108, 1304WT 2047 7104, 1752WT 2023 7058.  The weather, wind direction, and sea state were absolutely perfect for the trip, even though the passage we just made is normally quite difficult and is the main subject of Bruce Van Sant’s book “A Gentleman’s Guide to Passages South.”  Seems like the watermelon sacrifice did the trick.  S/V Markelle made landfall at dusk and anchored a few miles west of Luperon at Bahia Isabella.  I arrived at the Luperon harbor entrance at midnight. 

 

15 June 2009

Even though many sailors go aground entering Luperon harbor the first time, I did it in the dark, while quite tired.  Going slow and following the chart allowed a trouble-free entry to the deserted east wing of the harbor.  Then it was time for some sleep between kamikaze mosquito attacks.  Mark and Rachelle showed up at 8:30 and we all went to the dock to check in through Immigration, Customs, Agriculture, and the Navy.  The combined power of all the visiting cruisers recently cleaned up the local corruption, so the check in process was cheap and easy.  Then we ate lunch at Steve’s Place, a local cruiser hangout run by an expatriate who is proud of the fact that he has not been in the United States since 1987.  Rumors are that Steve cannot go back to the United States.

 

16 June 2009

Dropped off a bag of laundry for Steve’s pregnant wife Annie to wash.  Steve seems to take more than his share of siestas, while Annie and the kids keep the place running.  Spent midday talking to another expatriate bar owner nick-named Shaggy for his resemblance to the cartoon character from Scooby Doo.  Shopped for groceries in some of the local stores.  Checked out the mostly dismal nightlife scene in Luperon.  Even though one bar did have shower heads above the dance floor that created something like a wet t-shirt contest full of people dirty dancing.  But, without knowing Spanish, it seems you are simply a dumb gringo.  Someone to take advantage of for a fast peso, but not anyone with other values.  Probably very similar to how we view most non-English speaking immigrants in the United States. 

 

17 June 2009

Listened to the Cruiser’s Net on VHF channel 68 at 8:00 am.  Bruce Van Sant gave the weather synopsis and forecast.  Great to get it straight from the local guru.  In the afternoon, we bathed while swimming in Steve’s shockingly cool, but very refreshing pool.

 

18 June 2009

In the morning, Mark and I walked with a group of cruisers for morning exercise.  One guy’s weight and lack of fitness generated quite a bit of concern as he struggled to complete the easy walk.  When he had breath, he proclaimed loudly about how much he wanted to change his lifestyle.  Later that evening, we went to a cruiser potluck at the Luperon Yacht Club, where the same guy was gorging himself on barbecued ribs, cake, ice cream, beer, and cigars.  Some kind of change is definitely on the way.

 

19 June 2009

Walked for exercise with Mark again this morning.  Then enjoyed either two siestas or one long siesta with a brief period of consciousness in the middle.  Later in the afternoon, bathed in the yacht club pool.

 

20 June 2009

Mark, Rachelle, and I hired a taxi for $41 for an all-day trip to Puerta Plata from a local taxi driver named Nino.  Mark and Rachelle are trying to find out how Rachelle can fly home with her pet rabbit.  The airport sanitation officials were adamant that no rabbits could pass through their airport, even though the airlines say it can be done.  The highlight of the trip was shopping for groceries at the new SuperMercado in Puerta Plata.  We made it back to Luperon in time to attend a barbecue at Shaggy’s Bar.  The food was good, but the musician Shaggy flew in from the Florida Keys was a flop.  Micah, the musician is a rather unpersonable, musically-challenged fellow with a website of www.islandgrass.com 

 

21 June 2009

Went for a morning walk to the lookout point over the Luperon harbor.  Saw quite a few free-range cows, horses, and donkeys.  One particularly stubborn, small donkey was determined to mount a large mare, attempting to make a mule.  On the way back, we stopped by the weekly flea market at the Puerto Blanco Marina.  Then in the afternoon, Mark, Rachelle, and I went snorkeling just outside the harbor entrance.  The place was barren of large fish or lobsters, but it felt good to be in the water.  Even without a wetsuit, I was able to stay in the water over an hour.

 

22 June 2009

Today was our first day of formal Spanish Lessons.  Mark and I went to the “American Institute of Languages George Washington” this morning at 8:00 am for our first formal lesson in Spanish.  Santiago, the sole instructor and proprietor, has taught English, Spanish, French, and German for 31 years.  His thick accent and limited vocabulary make understanding his English quite a challenge, but he is the only professional instructor in town.  His main business is teaching English to the local upper-middle class high school kids, so they can land jobs in the local tourist industry.  He is very proud of all the kids he helps to get good jobs.  Some countries have compulsory English education in their public schools, but obviously the Dominican Republic does not.  After a decade or two, I imagine English training in public schools would provide a tremendous advantage to a poor country in the global economy, and would therefore be a worthy investment of tax dollars.

 

23 June 2009

Second day of Spanish lessons.  In the afternoon, Mark and I returned to town answered questions in English for one of Santiago’s English classes.  The kids were bright and eager to learn, but handicapped by lack of native English speakers to correct their pronunciations.

 

24 June 2009

Third day of Spanish lessons.  A French woman was in our class today, so the total of cruisers formally learning Spanish is now three.  Most of the cruisers seem to only know broken Spanish and prefer to interact with fellow cruisers.  Call me crazy, but it seems that knowledge of the local language is a first step to enjoying life in a foreign culture.  Being miserable is easy, enjoying life takes some effort.  I returned in the afternoon to sit in one of Santiago’s English classes and was impressed by the high-quality grammar the kids displayed, but was again dismayed by the poor pronunciation.  During the middle of the day Mark, Rachelle, and I walked about three miles for exercise and stopped at the beach to swim.  The ocean water was so warm that it felt like bath water.