How I Came About Here
Spring 2000, my first visit:
So this is the trip I?ve been wanting/wishing for, it?s finally come to me.
The history is this; I?ve always had a dream of working for the Boston Red Sox. My failing knees and lack of attention have precluded my chances at making it as a catcher. I didn?t give it a good enough effort, but that?s another chapter.
I?ve lived and died (see game 7 vs. the Yankees last month) for the Sox since my mom got me interested in the game as a little boy, bless her soul. I?ve had this thing in my head that I?ll never wear a Sox cap until they employ me. Stupid? Queer? Yes. But I have weird ways, call me crazy. However, this dream has never died.
So, I have this vision after Wilfredo Cordero (then of the Red Sox) screws himself and the Red Sox organization with an ill-advised interview with ESPN at the All-Star break in 1990something. He is questioned in a way that any second language user would typically fall for. I?m pissed, for many reasons. Never mind the details, trust me.
A few days later, I?m standing on Yawkey Way before game time. I?m not going to the game, just heading home and taking in the sights and sounds of Fenway - in my suit that Fidelity Investments makes me wear. It is then that I come to the conclusion that I can help. I?m going to work with Latin?s in learning English so they can ? at the very least ? keep themselves from sounding ignorant (in the view of those that can?t understand the difficulties in expressing themselves in another language) and I?ll do it wearing sandals and shorts in the Caribbean ? the DR, the hotbed of baseball, and the people most likely to need help - I?m going after my dream.
Push forward a few months and I?ve quit Fido with a raised and stiffened middle finger. I take an ESL course and I?m relentlessly encouraged by the staff to do as I?ve dreamed.
I buy my ticket, never having set foot on this island, and I?m determined to make it work. I?ll probably be the first one to have said this ? THANK YOU DEAR LORD FOR HURRICANE GEORGES. The storm hits the island a week or more before I?m leaving. I say to myself ? and anyone else that cares ? that the powers that be didn?t have to trash the island to make me second guess myself.
I relent, and spend a few more years in Boston, learning much, but yearning more to follow my dream. I get to use my previous ticket a year later and take in a promo game between my beloved Sox and the Houston Astros. A great time, a tremendous learning experience with many notes added to my teeming journal. I learn a few things on this trip, most importantly that I could never cut it here. No way, no how. I was completely out of my mind, just like everyone told me so.
In addition, in no certain order:
1 ? I would have gotten my ass handed to me in many ways. I would have left here in a month?s time ? at most - of trying to realize my dream without a lot of help.
2 ? This isn?t a plug-and-play place. You don?t just settle down here. You need some help. (Thank you DR1.com. Especially Dolores and your family! And of course thank you Mark. Friends are better than gold, they are my foundation in life.)
3 ? Dreams without a good plan are better left to your pillow.
4 ? Don?t eat the pork chops at the Hotel Napolitano.
So I leave, partially with my tail between my legs, but with the gift of reality. Reality is that you can write your dreams on paper, and they sound good, but that and 10 pesos will get you a small caf? con leche.
But back to my initial trip.
I leave Boston solo, my buddy backs out on me last second (I later realize I?m better off for it, he wouldn?t have left the airport).
On my way from Boston we touch down in San Juan. The plane is almost empty beyond there sans myself and the radio team from my local sports station WEEI in Boston, they are coming to cover the game between the Sox and Astros. They won?t give me the time of day with my hopes and aspirations of my trip. I go back to my seat and notice a gent (Daniel) in the row ahead of me slamming a pint of JW Red. He?s acting as if he?s the pilot flying us over the mountains of San Juan, apparently he hit that bottle before we took off. I drop my lack of knowledge on him and he ? as any typical Dominican would ? offers help in locating a place to stay and whatnot. I had absolutely no plan on those subtleties. Man is I dumb.
Anyway, he recommended the Hotel Napolitano ? based on locale and my budget ? but didn?t warn me about the near lethal pork chops.
I'm somehow able to fill out the forms and get through the customs nonsense and I?m now outside in the scorching heat. I honestly don?t know if S.D. is to the right or left. I swear, I hadn?t a clue. So here I am, a newborn, no way of communicating, no way of my way, no nothing except a decent smile and what I feel is a decent way or nature. I?m just here to help I guess. Not sure if anyone really gives a shit at the airport, but I digress.
In comes my hero Daniel, asking me if I need a lift. His buddy Vito ? or Bito ? or Beeto ? was there to take him to his place. Well, considering I haven?t the slightest idea of what the hell I?ve gotten myself into, I guess a lift to somewhere is a good start. Enter the quote ?If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.? ? Seneca
Seneca probably knew what he was talking about, but I highly doubt he was in a predicament as such, and with the only word I really knew the meaning of in Spanish ? ?Si? - I jump in with him and Vito/Bito/Beeto and we're on our way, and what a 'way' it was.
I'd never seen anything like this. Ramshackle huts, devastation from Georges was still clearly evident, or maybe it wasn't, how the hell did I know?.
What month do they pick up the trash around here?
Is that house being built or torn down? Who the hell am I talking to? I haven't a clue, and no one that can understand my questions anyway. However, I do understand 'cervesa' and "si" I'll gladly have one - or more. We stop at the first pile of squared cement. It has a dutiful freezer that keeps beers in a liquid state, regardless of the ice formed all over the outside. Wow! This place is great! I've been here 20 minutes! I also learned quickly that they can freeze once opened, so I get some laughs and fresh one and this nectar is of the gods.
Daniel worked on Newbury St. in Boston as a caretaker for one of the many restaurants there. I worked just down the street from him at the time, so in Dominicanish, I guess that makes as good as ?primos?. I rolling the dice on this one.
I now have a Presidente in my lap, as well as a VERY friendly young lady. Now we?re touring a gated neighborhood that has garage doors listing ?Cable, Hot Tub and Waterbed?. Weird, I think. Whatever, when in Rome??
Forgive me, but I need to fast forward here, I?m now in the heart of the city and 15 minutes late for my bus to Las Terrenas, a place I thought would be great to get that Caribbean feel in me before the games in S.D. a few days later. It?s funny now that the only ones that keep a schedule here was my friggin? bus to the beach. Anyway?..
Vito/Bito/Beeto offers to take me to Las Terrenas for US$100. I have it, and very few options in between. He has a weathered fare chart proving the price. It feels right, he doesn?t drink and has a bible on his dashboard and is an amazingly good-natured fellow. It JUST feels right, plus, he just showed me the cabanas. What a guy! He calls the wifey and we?re on our way.
The trip north is 4 hours or so, but it was so much more. It was a lifetime. He bought me beer at every stop, he told me in Spanish what everything meant ? which meant nothing to me of course, but his way was with pride and conviction, things that overcome language barriers, and I was falling in love. Not with him of course, but the country - it's good beer, but not that good! I was seeing things that I?d always imagined, I was living life on the edge, no one knew I was here ? wherever that might be ? and I was loving it.
There was a crescent moon that night and I instantly noticed that it looked different from the latitude from which I was born. It was more top to bottom; the shape was more of a smiley face, not tilted as much to the right. This gave me good vibes, this was right. That slit in the veil of darkness gave me confidence the more it moved across the sky, and me more north to my destination. I felt ever more sure that whatshisname was deftly driving me towards my vision of a beach bungalow with flowing palms and aqua-blue seas. Even with the bright waxing moon, the stars were brighter than I?d ever seen on even the darkest, moonless nights in New England.
The deft high speed maneuvers of Vito/Bito/Beeto, avoiding roaming cattle in the roads and families of 8 on a motorcycle were giving me feelings of adventure that I?d never before experienced. I felt at peace (regardless of the whiteknuckles), although most of my blood was busy consuming Presidente by the truckload, so far away from home. I knew great things were about here, and I was absorbing as much as my exhausted mind would allow. I was writing stories in my head that none of my friends back in frigid Mass. would ? or could ? comprehend. I was doing something that I hadn?t planned, and it was as beautiful as could ever be wished for. I was living. I wasn?t any longer that lost soul that couldn?t get a grasp on what other treasures were out there. I was THERE, wondering if the next turn brought more life, death, or another Presidente purchased by my newfound friend that knew the language, and how to ask for my liquid treasures over blaring bachata. Those buses are for wimps - or the more fiscally cognizant.
I was alive like never before. I only wished I had someone to smile over to in acknowledgement, someone to share this with, someone to try and comprehend all these new things with. The crescent moon sufficed until my journal was within reach.
After many precarious turns that offered escalated views of guardrails washed away down precipices that I?d rather not see in the light of day ? at 50mph. ? we then saw salvation. Samana was ahead and the lights on the beach told me so (this was back when we had electricity) ? and the only thing I could understand from Vito/Bito/Beeto was that we we?re almost there. My only lingering question was why does the Highway Authority also sell Rum in their name? That doesn?t seem right, but all the town signs are Brugal logs on a post. So ?yes? I can drink one more beer before we get THERE!
Vito/Bito/Beeto does me a solid and gets me my room that was reserved via the internet, then somehow unreserved, but I?m the only one in the hotel, so whatever.
I do my two days at the beach being mistaken for a German tourist at every chance. Damn blonde hair and milky skin. Damn Arians!!!
I take many pictures realizing of course no camera can do justice to my days here ? or my night of inexplicable adventure.
The lesson learned at the end of this segment is this - from Samuel Elliot Morrison:
"Dream dreams,
then write them.
Aye, but live them first."
The rest of the story will come later. I have school tomorrow and the Brugal has worn off.
Damn Highway Authority!!!
