A day in the life

[trina]

Excellent stories, guys...loved them, and even forwarded a few to those who could appreciate them. When I talk about my "former life" in the DR, I think other Canadians either just don't get it, or think there is no way it really happened. BUT THESE THINGS REALLY DO HAPPEN...only in the DR...

I'll share a story, something that I swear would only happen to me. A (girl)friend and I came out of High Caribe one night, feeling no pain. The cheap 151 hit us a little hard that night. When we got outside, there were probably 100 motoconchos waiting to get the first grabs at the drunk gringos coming out of the bar. In about the middle of all of them, I focused on one motoconcho...he looked friendly enough, and an older guy, which, in my stupor, equated to "at least he won't try anything with me". I got on the back, and within seconds, we both started falling to the left...it all happened in what seemed like slow motion. I think I thought that at that point, my reflexes wouldn't be fast enough to stop us, so I thought I would sit back and enjoy the fall. We both fell over on our sides, amidst many onlookers laughing and laughing away... When I got up, I was trying to figure out why we fell. Then I noticed his leg, or lack thereof...ONLY I could pick a one-legged motoconcho out of a lineup of a 100 other people with all extremeties attached! Not that I wouldn't have gotten on, but I at least would've tried to balance us...

I want to hear from Jane now...I'm sure she could tell a few!

 

[Hillbilly]

These are priceless stories from real life!

I enjoyed them enormously, to say the least.

When I first arrived here, well trained by the Peace Corps in the Mountains and university of Puerto Rico, I was sent to the little town of Mao...back woods, hicksville supreme.

Short hair, jock style, really gringo clothes. Introduced to the land lady, and she asked her son to take me "around" (the sob turned out to be a thief, too) Anyway, as we were walking around the park and me trying to be a "nicey nice" as we were supposed to be, I kept hearing "Cheese" ( or 'queso' in Spanish). I thought it was funny, but months later I realized that they were shouthing at my guide: What is THAT?? or ??Qu? es eso??" in proper Spanish...


HB

 

[Jane J.]

Great stories, cleef, Trina, HB...

HB, I'll never forget my chagrin at hearing a resident gringa lady (the kind who goes around proclaiming "I live here!" and yet doesn't speak a word of intelligible Spanish) at Tanya's bakery, at odds with the poor girl behind the counter...

Gringa lady, pointing to some swiss cheese: "Qu? eso?" (Kay aysso)

Poor girl behind counter: "Eso? Es Queso."

Gringa: "Si...qu? eso?

Poor girl: "Eso es queso...suizo"

Gringa: "Sweeso? No... QUE ESO???"

Poor girl: "Pero, ya le dije....es queso..."

Gringa: "Can't she just tell me what it is????"

Yeah, you live here....Congratulations and thanks for making us all look like idiots.

 

[Cleef]

Short but..... only here.

On my way home today we're in bumper to bumper, honking mad traffic (believe it or not). As we're inching forward I notice a split in the intersecting traffic and a broken down taxi comes through, one guy steering, two guys pushing from behind.

I see they've pushed off to the side to either wait for help or a tow - unlikely - or maybe they are just out of gas and are going to fetch some petro.

The driver heads off in an unseen direction - apparently he's calling for help at the Colmado. One guy in back hops on the trunk and takes a breather while the other wipes his brow.

After 5 minutes and two changes of the light (has to be an AMET dope "fixing" the traffic on 27th de Febrero) we've moved about 2 feet. The driver-steerer of the broken down junk comes running back with 3 Presidentes, a grande, and two pequenas. He hands the two 12-ouncers to the pushers, keeps the grande, and jumps back in and waves himself back into traffic and off they go.

Only here.

 

[Chirimoya]

here's one

A tale from my first visit in which I brush with Dominican tigueraje and find out it is not nearly as bad as it is made out to be. Cast your mind back eight winters, and imagine Chiri here pre-motherhood and at least 20 lbs lighter. Those were the days.

A night out with the girls from the office
First of all, Maria briefed me: you get a carro on Independencia, get off at Plaza el Hipopotamo (cue repeated sessions to practice saying "hipopotamo" in a convincing Dominican accent, erasing any traces of the Iberian peninsula in the process) and I'll be waiting for you on the corner. Cue another quick coaching session on the correct hand signals for stopping carros.

As you can imagine that was an experience and a half, with me standing on the side of the road in a very short mini dress, not yet adept at distinguishing between conchos and other cars. I got into a car, thinking "this is a bit smart compared to the other publicos I've been on, maybe they bring the posh ones out at night". I held up my two pesos (those were the days, indeed) and the driver looked at me and laughed. Oh. No. Shit. But I was lucky, he was just being friendly. Genuinely. We made polite conversation until the Hipopotamo and he dropped me off.

We walked up to El Conuco, which although a bit of a tourist trap was a great introduction to Dominican food (the start of a long love affair), typical dances and Cibae?o-speak. Several of my colleagues were from the Cibao so they took great joy in sharing the excesses of "hablando con la 'i'" with me. One of the girls had brought her husband, who didn't seem to mind one bit being the only male on a girls' night out. At the end of the evening he took it upon himself to offer us all a ride home. I could not believe it when we got into the car and the hand that you are supposed to change gear with was being used for swigging the rum. Ay ay ay. Spot the new girl.

Chiri

 

[Timex]

This is great stuff!!!!!!!!

I applaud everybody, for having the courage to put it up on the net for the world too read!!!!!!

We need more!!!! Lots more!!!!!!!

HillBilly, I know you?re a very busy guy, but you have lived here over 40 years, right?
Please, Please tell us some of what your early years were like!!!!!

Especially before ATM's, Internet, Sin lu? Well some things really have not changed, have they???

Tim H.

 

[MaryS]

You guys are great story tellers. Truth mixed with humor... a big thumbs up.

This may be the best thread I've read on DR1.

 

[Hillbilly]

Okey, here is one

39 years ago, I helped a guy fill out a visa application, no more, no less. The guy got his visa. He had been helping us with transport to our job site in Jaibon, Pueblo Nuevo, Mao. And he was the crane operator at the Esperanza ingenio. One evening he stopped by with a little package for me. it was a nice little Pietro Berreta .32 automatic.!! Out of the blue.

I used to carry it, no permit. One day, on my Honda motorcycle coming back from Mao, I was passed by a police vehicle that signeled for me to pull over. I realized at once that my weapon, stuck in the back of my pants, under my flapping jacket, had been seen. Think you F#$%^&&* idiot, THINK!

I saunter over to the cops and in Spanglish say hello. They politely ask me about the weapon. I remind them that it is the 14 of June and "They know what that means for gringos"." I hint that I have work to do, smile, and say goodbye! Whew!

Love Dominican politics.....The 1J4 (Catorce de Junio) were a rabid leftist group, mostly of young folks. Started out after the invasioon of 14 June 1959. Obviously I wasn't a commie, and neither were the cops...... saved my butt...

HB

 

[Hillbilly]

Dominican Republic is a small world

There is a Dominican saying that you can't spit upwards.

Just this morning, Mrs. HB was giving some extra classes to her calculus students, and as usual, I was busy somewhere else. I got word that she was waiting for me at the front gate of the PUCMM.

I arrive, forthwith, and see her chatting very animatedly (is there any other way for a Dominican lady to talk???) with one of our 48 armed guards.

As she hops, so to speak, into the GMC 4 X 4, she says that the guys knows all about me. it seems that his family owns the house next to the place where i have been making cigars for the past year. His two first cousins are working for me! Apparently, in these hard times they are happy to be there. Good feeling, but a lesson in being nice to everyone.....never know when it will come back to you.

Of course I am not nice to every one and suffer road rage like some people have acid reflux disease. The other day an idiot tried to cut me off, so I called him a very nasty name. He came up on the other side of me and one of his passengers told me that i was gross since ther were ladies on board the minibus. I told him that I was just saying words that the President used!! And to go play with himself.....I also stop people going the wrong way on one way streets - the GMC is a LARGE vehicle - and ask them very very politely, Which word they did not understand: UNA or V?A???????

HB

 

[Cleef]

Antonio, The Sneaker Pimp

So I?ve now made some friends in the neighborhood and I?m invited to play softball. The local next-great-star is Antonio, 23 going on 18 (he?s got the altered certificate to increase his value as a baseball prospect). He?s gone out of his way to include me on the team and I?m genuinely accepted as the token gringo that can hit and field.

After a few months of getting to know him and his entire extended family he asks for some pesos. No free rides here, so we put him to work cleaning the car and using it to run errands. Works great. He gets to play really loud music mobile-wise, and race around in a car that isn?t his ? but he pretends it to be so ? and he does us a service as well and we put some coin in his pocket.

He wants an advance of $300, we give it to him in good faith. Don?t see him again for months, and he lives 200 yds. away.

Now, where I really screwed up. Many months later after he?s gotten back into our good graces he learns I?m going to the states and asks me to get him a couple items that he can?t get here. Total amounts to $45 and I go out of my way to hook him up with some sneakers and a running jacket. He is forever thankful and even moved to tears that I did this for him.

Never saw him again.

Not to offend, but this quote came instantly to mind:

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; this is the principal difference between a dog and a man.
- Mark Twain

 

[Arve]

Motoconchos. I remember my first time on one of those down
there. Never the one to miss out on subtle details, I noticed to
my horror that my guy didn't use a helmet! As the ride got under
way and my adrenaline eventually dried out, I also noticed he
had no mirrors, then nothing else functioning either. Coming
from a thoroughly regulated from cradle to grave society like I
did, it was a bit of a shock.

Some months later, when it was time for me to leave, I waved
for a motoconcho to pick me up. As I'm fairly shortsighted
myself I didn't notice until he was up close that not only was his
bike in no better shape than everybody elses', he was also one
eye short. It was just a hole there, not even a patch to cover it.
By then I just thought..."Ah well, what the heck".., got on
behind him, shouted "BAMANO!", and offered him my Presidente.

Reaching that stage took some time, effort and pure luck, esp
considering their behaviour on and off the roads. I sat there in
the back, singing an old poem to myself..:

"We don't quite know what caused the scare,
we passed right beside them with inches to spare..."

I also remember some minor snapshots that has stuck in my
otherwise feeble memory. On the bus to Boca Chica from SD I
once saw a motochonco speeding past us and away. On his
back there was only one passenger, but he was masterfully
balancing a laundry machine or a diswasher on his lap.

Another one was the smartly dressed, 30ish woman I walked
past. She was trying to back out of her parking space next to
a colmado. While doing so her eyes were fixed on a plastic cup
with Presidente which she held in one hand, held with the kind
of care and attention only a mother can show. I didn't hang
around long enough to see whether she spilt some of the beer
or ran over a kid or something.

Finally my football sessions with the neighbouring kids were fun.
Mostly Haitians joined, as Dominicans preferred to do that..that
other thing. And as I always said...: The mix of youthful
enthusiasm, poor timing and a background of war, violence and
anarchy made for some really mean tacklers. Kids were strewn
all over the place, but in resurrections more miraculous then you
know who's,they always came up again and it was all great fun.

It is incredible what kind of contact between peoples can be
achieved through a football bought in Calle Conde. During those
floodlit nights in some back alley in Boca Chica one could hear
more languages than in biblical Babel. Which was just as well..
I understood most of them and the language was mostly foul
as tackles and competetiveness got the better of most of us.

What I never understood was this.. When I was a kid all we did
was play football. The summers were all long, warm and with
blue skies of course.. But during autumn we would still play.. It
would be raining and it was so dark we couldn't see the ball
unless we accidently had it. When winter came the die hard few
of us would still keep it going. In minus 20C in tshirts, in 30 cm
of snow or on pure ice, we would still play. Then we'd ski back
home in the evenings as the roads were blocked by the snow..
Sooooooo... When it started raining in Boca Chica I thought
nothing of it. I kept going on surging runs from the midfield...,
but the kids ( they were mostly aged 6-12, I was then 24 )
would be gone by the time the first drop had landed. Ah well..

 

[Chirimoya]

Cleef, you've created a many-headed monster here!

I enjoyed Arve's, and let's have more from Hillbilly and Jane J. - please.

Here's another from me:

The landlady and the co-workers

Do?a Juana asked me where I was from. At the best of times there is more than one answer to that question, and I usually adapt my choice of reply to the circumstances and the questioner. If they have time on their hands and appear to be tolerant types, I may even tell the full story. If, as is often the case in this country and many others I have visited, the person has a hazy notion of the world beyond its shores, I tend to play safe, and go for the simplified version.

Do?a Juana was my landlady in Cotui. A retired schoolteacher, I thought I would be able to give her the unexpurgated answer to the question. ?Not Americana?, I explained, ?Europea?. I went into more detail. She nodded gravely, apparently taking it all in.

A little later she called her neighbour over. "Meet my new lodger! She?s Americana!" At the time I was exasperated but in retrospect I wonder whether Do?a Juana had gone through the same process as me: Americana is shorthand for foreigner. That was all her neighbour needed to know.

* * *

My first day at work provided some amusement. All that my future colleagues had been told was that someone was going to be joining them to work on communications and fundraising. I was taken to the office by the representative from the capital, who introduced me at a formal meeting. She addressed the group of campesinos: ?Where do you think she is from?? Someone said ?Ecuador!?. No, try again: ?Scotland??. No, not there either. We put them right. But why, I asked, such unusual and distinct choices of countries for their guesses? Nothing to do with me at all: turned out they had had other foreigners from Scotland and Ecuador working with them in the past. And Germans too, apparently, but I am happy to say they didn?t make that mistake!

Chiri

 

[Cleef]

4 kids, one wife, some 2x4?s and a death wish, but not a single care either

While waiting for a bus in Sosua one day, I was sitting around taking in all the sights; one caught my eye that I?ve had a hard time getting non-visitors to believe, or at the very least, be able to imagine and comprehend.

A long hill leading to a stoplight intersection drew my attention as a motoconcho loaded with family and supplies was speeding along, on its way to wherever. The traffic light I noticed had just turned yellow, then red. I wondered how this moto was going to manage this one, there was traffic about to go in both (opposite) directions.

On the moto was mom and dad, the oldest son was standing on the floorboard while mom had the next oldest in between her and dad, as she juggled the two youngest in her arms. Before you ask, no, there were no helmets.

This is a normal occurrence as many of the poorer inhabitants use moto?s as their exclusive means of travel. What made this event more historic for me was that dad wasn?t only throttling and steering with his right hand; he had 4, 10-12 foot boards (like 2x4?s) over his left shoulder, which he was struggling to control.

So here he comes, barreling down the hill with the wifey and 4 kids ? and today?s construction project. Did he stop? Slow down? Nope, just kept coming. Smiling the whole way of course.

I moved to the edge of my seat and failingly tried to load up my camera for that shot that will get me into that exclusive group of National Geographic photographers. All for not, the traffic waited for him to pass through the light. He didn?t even make an attempt to slow down or make any maneuver whatsoever. He may as well been blasting down his driveway.

Perhaps words just fail to impress upon people the maniacal ways of Dominicans on the road. Driving here ? perhaps especially in the rough and tumble Capital ? is an experience that no camera or wordsmith could ever fully capture.

?Una Via? doesn?t mean traffic only moves in one direction; it moves ?Mi via?. The way I want to go is the way it goes.

At an intersection that I frequent on a daily basis sits a stop sign. No one stops for it. However, while going through, you?ll notice that everyone coming in the intersecting direction always stops.

Ayy, for the love of god!

 

[ccarabella]

Many years ago my sister,

my husband & I visited the DR together. It was his first time and my sister & I had not visited in about ten years.
My sister gets the bright idea that we should pretend not to speak spanish & just flash our blue passports so that they would not hassle us. We had loads of goodies for many childhood friends & neighbors!
Well, we get to the immigration check point & my husband shows our 2 passports. No questions asked.
My sister then hands over her passport & the guy says "Pa donde usted va?". My sister gives him a blank look. "Que a que ciudad usted se dirije senorita?", he says again. "I don't speak spanish", she responds. "Ta bien", he says and stamps her passport. As we begin to walk away he tells his partner in real cibaeno "Mira eta ajenta con su carita e' santiaguera y dique no habla espanol, pero e verdad". At this point we could'nt help blowing our cover and breaking into uncontrollable laughter (including the immigration guys). :laugh:

 

[dulce]

I have many funny,sad,eye-opening,sexy,educational,cultural,etc. stories to tell about my days living in Santo Domingo and Jaun Dolio. I will start with a funny story about my first time living in Santo Domingo.
It was in September 10th of 1998 when I arrived in Santo Domingo to live. Do any of you guess what is coming soon in this story?
My friends picked me up at the airpot and then got me settled into a room at the Dominican Fiesta for the first night. The same friends had arranged to take me to meet my future landlord and his family in Arroyo Hondo later in the evening. I was amazed that it was 11PM before they even came to get me at the hotel to go and see the apartment. I'm thinking what a strange hour to do business this is. I took the apartment and moved in the next day. I now know how unusual this is for a business transation to take place so fast in Santo Domingo. There was no si si manana on this one. It really happened that fast. It helps that my friends had told the man they were bringing a rich American to see the apartment ahead of time.
Now I will skip ahead to 11 days after settling in at my apartment. My friend comes and tells me there is a tormenta coming. He says "I need to take you shopping for some food and supplies to get ready for it." I don't want to sound dumb so I do not ask questions but I am thinking what the hell is a tomenta? It did not take me long after arriving at the Super Polar grocery store to figure out what a tormenta is.I swear everyone in SD was there shopping. I picked up a pamphlet about how to survive a hurricane. It was written totally in Spanish and of course I did not read or speak Spanish at that point. I am all set...got my food, candles,water,bug spray bleach etc. and I am ready for this hurricane to come. That night my landlord and his wife come and bring me some food and a BIG bottle of wine from Spain and tell me to stay put and just eat and drink my wine with my feet up on the sofa all night. They made it a strong point to make sure I kept my feet up off from the floor and I am wondering why this is so important since I lived on the second floor. How much rain is coming anyways that it will flood to the second floor level?I drank that whole damn bottle of wine during the heavy rain and strong winds from Hell that George brought with him. My mobile home(louvered?) type windows did not stay closed for long as the strong winds blew them open. I was physically getting pelted with water and wind all night long and I was no where near any window. Also all night long the landlord and his 12 year old son kept climbing up onto the flat roof from outside my front door. They had to keep clearing the water from the roof so that it would not collaspe. I prayed several times that night for them that they did not get blown off from the roof and die. Finally, I had drank enough of that wine that I passed out. Trust me on this one, I was not sleeping but I was PASSED OUT. No rookie gringo in the city would have slept through that. In the morning when I woke up I understood why they had told me to keep my feet up. The water on the floors of every room in my second floor apartment was about 3 inches deep. I was soaking wet as was the furniture and everything else inside. OH MY GOD! I had never seen anything like this in my life. I was happy to be alive and with such a good family to help me through it. I will skip all of the horror stories about the destruction of George in this posting. I do have a funny story to tell about it.
Skipping ahead now about 2 1/2 more weeks after the hurricane the neighborhood still has no water or electricity. I was feeling fortunate to be living where I was because at least we had a back up well and some water that could be carried up to me in buckets daily. I had been taking baths from these small buckets of water on a daily basis by dunking an empty tin can in the bucket of water and pouring it over me. To say the least it reminded me of my childhood days growing up in the woods of Maine with the old galvanized bath tubs we used for bathing. Funny how life prepares us for lifes events to come sometimes. All of a sudden on one afternoon around 4 PM I hear water running. It was easy to hear because there was silence with no radio or TV's playing in the neighborhood. I am running around to all the windows trying to figure out where in the hell is this RUNNING water coming from. I had never in my life been so excited about hearing running water.Right there down below and outside my kichen window I found the source. I was definately much more excited when I found out who had the water. Are you ready for this? In my back yard there was a repair shop for race cars and 4 wheelers and such. Right there before my eyes was one of the mechanics buck naked taking a shower after work with a garden hose! I could not contain my excitement and screamed out loud "OH MY GOD"! The man was a perfect example of why I had moved to the country to begin with. What a beautiful color of Dominican brown he was. His georgous big eyes with those big black eyelashes got even bigger when he looked up and realized that I had caught him in the shower. We both broke into a fit of laughter at such a strange scene that George had caused. After that day it was a ritual for a friend of mine to stop at my apartment on a daily basis. She and I would wait for the sound of the RUNNING water to try and catch him in his open shower in back of the shop with the garden hose. He was way to smart for us though because he had moved one of the cars to the back and hid behind it. I guess you could say the race car was his shower curtain. Good old Dominican know how at work on his part for thinking of that one. I hope you enjoyed this story I realize that I got to rambling on a bit here putting ore than one story together but that is how memories tend to come to me. I am a writer but when writing on a forum such as this I do not bother to spell check or edit so you get what you get here straight from the heart. *Footnote: I never did meet that man face to face. GRRRRRRRRRR

 

[Jane J.]

It was a Friday in December, the day on which everyone had just received their Xmas bonuses. The streets were bustling with action, beers being handed round like peace pipes and people bursting into spontaneous merengue left, right and center.

I had lots of plans for the Christmas money ? my son?s 4th birthday party was two days away and I had planned to go gift shopping in Santiago with a co-worker the next morning. My husband also had plans for our bonus money, one of which included going to the disco that Friday night. I baulked. He was unmoveable. He took a $1,000 bill to the disco with him. I was livid. Having put child to bed, I settled down for a rousing instalment of Punto Final, my favourite.

Midnight: No sign of Toty, drunken or otherwise. I retreat to bed.

1am: Sleep eludes me. Must remain alert so as to better pounce on him when he comes in the door...

3am: He should be home any minute now?Grrrr.

4am: The sounds of merrymaking in the streets have subsided to a far-away drone. Where in San Juan de la Maguana is he????

5am: That bastard.

5:30: I hope that bastard?s OK.

5:45: If that bastard turns out to be OK, I will kill him myself.

6:00: He has exactly one hour to appear, before I leave for Santiago. (Please appear, please appear.)

7:00 He does not appear.

Rouse the child, drop him off at in-laws, dodging questions as to whereabouts of soon-to-be ex-husband. Haggard and sleep-deprived, I set off for Santiago.

The stores in Santiago are absolutely jam-packed and it?s a battle for every article on sale. My cell phone stays ominously quiet throughout the day, but I guess that?s to be expected ? cheating husbands do not call to provide explanations for previous night?s activities? Angry tears well up, I control myself. Keeping fury to a level that?s just bubbling under the surface must be managed, may also help me win over the pink satin skirt I have in a three-way tug of war. I manage to scoop up all my Xmas gifts and the bicycle for son?s birthday and it?s been a hugely tiring day. Should we stop for a beer on the way home? OK, but just one?.I have a, er, situation at home.

Return home to collect son and give husband a piece of my mind so big as to compare to lobotomy.

?Y Toty??

His family give each other vague looks of embarrassment and ignorance. He?s not here, nor has he been all day long. Now, that?s weird, I think. She must be SOME other woman?.unless?.unless?.he?s been in a car accident! Oh my God, I?ve been shopping all day, and my poor, misunderstood hubby (he?s just a fun-loving guy) could be lying in some ditch, body broken, severe head trauma, oh my god?what the hell kind of a wife am I????

Calm down?calm down?call the police ? maybe he?s in jail. Yes! That?s it. Please let him be in jail, please let him be in jail?

A curt and to-the-point telephone call informs me there is no one in the jail by his name. I begin the unpleasant task of visiting all his friends one by one, to inquire whether or not they have seen him the night before. Anyone familiar with the Dominican Man?s Code of Ethics will know that the male bond does not condone recounting information to wives and girlfriends of their compadres ? even in life and death situations. My questions are met with smarmy grimaces, tight-lipped silence, and incoherent stories that I know to be untrue. ?I saw him in El Tablon playing dominos.? He hates domininos. ?He was driving towards Puerto Plata in the truck.? The truck hasn?t moved since yesterday afternoon. Etcetera, etcetera.

Exhausted, nauseated with worry, at my rope?s end, I stop at the cuartel de policia?to file a missing person?s report? Do they even do that here? Well, I stop there anyway. Between blubbering out my sad story of being widowed at age 27, they ask me his name. ?Est? aqu?, tu marido..? Ex-squeeze me? He...is...what? ??T? qu?, ?t? preso con nosotros.?

Cue the waterworks. I have a mini-breakdown there in the dingy reception room at the police station. I don?t care if the cueros are looking at me and that creepy German tourist can stuff it up his arse ? my husband is alive! He?s alive! God bless him!

Just as I?m being consoled out the door, now making my plans to bring Toty something to eat (the poor dear must be STARVING), it occurs to me to ask why he is here. Was it your average redada, and if so, perhaps I could call upon some influential friends to spring him from this miserable clink? What is the charge? ?Ri?a,? they said. That was a new word for my Spanish vocabulary. What did it mean? Brawling! What an idiot! ?No hay nada que se puede hacer hasta el lunes, rubia?.? Good, I thought to myself.

Let him ROT.

 

[trina]

Jane J., you are a riot!!! You, too, could right a pretty damn fine book.

 

[juancarlos]

Wow, I really enjoyed those stories!

You people are really talented and creative. Your true stories of life in the D.R. are truly enjoyable.

 

[Chirimoya]

Jane J., you are a riot!!! You, too, could right a pretty damn fine book.

Definitely!

Chiri

 

[Chirimoya]

Another concho tale

One evening an American friend and I were crossing town in a concho. She said she would pay for us both. She handed the money to the driver in the darkened car, wishing to tell him it was a five peso note: ?son las cinco?. He chuckled and said, ?no, mi amor, son como las siete y media?. She was perplexed and I explained the difference.

We went our separate ways at the end of the evening. Feeling streetwise and totally on top of doing things a la Dominicana, I got into a car and handed over a note. ?Es de cinco? I informed the driver, in my effortlessly fluent Spanish. He took one look at the note and put me right. It was, in fact, a RD$500 note, the equivalent of 250 passengers for him. In the darkness the blue 500 and green five looked the same. I felt a little less superior and was immensely grateful for his honesty.

Chiri

This anecdote dates me! Five peso notes no longer exist. You can no longer pay for two passengers with RD$5. In fact, you can no longer pay for one passenger with RD$5.