- Thread starter frank12
- Start date
Cabarete Diaries, part 2
They got rid of the Smooth Internet Jazz station and started playing Bachata music and some other horrible music. They played it slightly louder than the previous Jazz station. Now, Bachata music is fine when you are inside a nightclub, bar, colmado, or sitting inside a jail cell on the North Coast, but it’s not the type of music you want to listen to when you are drinking coffee and trying to have a conversation, and the employees around you start wailing and singing along with the song, and then the paint and cement starts cracking on the ceilings and walls and raining down on your fresh perm. It’s fair to say that Bachata music and other types of music (hard rock, Metal, Celin Dion, etc) should never be played inside a supermarket or caf?. It’s what you play when you want to torture your neighbors or some Muslim terrorists
No Bachatta is never "fine". Heard one tinky tink you've heard them all...............I rest my case
No Bachatta is never "fine". Heard one tinky tink you've heard them all...............I rest my case
Bachata is less awful than rap.
I can stand bachata for at least an hour if mildly lubricated with Presidente.
I cannot stand rap for more than thirty seconds.
I realize that this is a mater of taste.
Few examples of popular music anywhere are truly great art.
I can stand bachata for at least an hour if mildly lubricated with Presidente.
I cannot stand rap for more than thirty seconds.
I realize that this is a mater of taste.
Few examples of popular music anywhere are truly great art.
Let's see what are your tastes.
http://dr1.com/forums/showthread.php/114662-Racer-we-are-on!!!!!!!!/page364?highlight=racerx
No there are some redeeming rap/hip hop artists, one I listen to frequently is Everlast. ( and I am a retired conservative white guy - OK maybe I'm part indian if Elisabeth Warren says she is)
This one is called "Ticking Away" and it's about time slipping by as some of us with butts planted in bars in Sousa or Cabarete do understand.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkuDz9FJYmI
dido with Plan B (bar next to Europe hotel in Sosua). PLan B was the place to be in the afternoon, we'd all rush to get a seat and chat and meet our freinds and watch the traffic
. Was sold to some Rusiians and 6 month later was a ghost town (still is).. A good friend loved the place so much he'd get his seat at 11:00 am and stay till closing. Drank wine all day, ordered some food and tipped the girls always. Must have spent 50.00 a day there and even bought drinks for friends. He starting dating one of the bartenders and all was well. The Russians took over, decided to downsize and fired his girl. He told them rehire her or he'd never come back. They just ignored him and he never came back (as well as the other clients) and they still can't figure it out. Now they can't sell it. Yup, is amazing ....Chapter 2 (Timmy Rule # 1: One coffee per shift)
I was sitting at the bar drinking coffee when the phone behind the bar rings. I looked over at Mary and watched her expression change while she spoke. She rolled her eyes while looking over at me. She kept saying,
“Yes sir, no sir, yes sir, maybe, not sure, ok,” and then she hung up.
“Timmy wants you up in the office, right now!” she said to me before sticking her head back into the beer cooler.
“****ing hell, what could it be now?”
Let me back up. Timmy is the owner’s, Big Fred, son. Big Fred is the proprietor, owner, and CEO. Timmy is simply his lap dog that delegates whatever his father tells him to do. Lately, Big Fred is giving Timmy more and more responsibility; he’s trying to teach Timmy how to run a restaurant business and manage roughly 28-employees. It’s not easy when the only responsibility you’ve ever had in life is deciding which football game to watch.
I tried to get up, but I was stuck to the plastic bar stool cushion. The plastic is tied to the arms of the chair in order to secure it into place. I couldn’t get unstuck from the chair. I started rocking the chair left and right before finally keeling over sideways and crashing down onto the sand below. I sprang my wrist, again.
I looked over at the bar stool, and screamed, “****ing hell!”
The green plastic cushion was covered in my sweat. It had acted as an adhesive. It was dangerous. It was like Saran wrap. It was stronger than Super Glue. Many bar patrons have simply gotten up and walked back to their hotels, chair and all stuck to them like super glue.
I looked up at the thermometer, it’s 95 degrees in the shade; its ****ing scorching hot outside right now. Despite this, I marched up to the office, climbing the stairs up to the second floor. When I reached the office door, I couldn’t see inside the office. Timmy recently had the office door and windows tinted. He had this done in order to block out the sun as well as prevent anyone from accidentally walking in on him while he watches porn. He wants to be able to see people coming up the steps; he wants a fair amount of warning before people reach the office door. He’s had too many people accidentally walk in on him.
When I opened the office door, I was hit with a blast of cold air that nearly knocked me back down the steps. I had to hold onto the door frame and secure myself. I couldn’t believe it. It was freezing in here. It felt heavenly. I just wanted to take all of my clothes off and lay down on the linoleum stark naked.
You simply cannot imagine how wonderful air-conditioning is until you’ve been stuck to a plastic seat cushion and sweating in 95 degrees in the shade.
“Have a seat, Franky,” Timmy said to me.
“Thank you! My god, it feels ****ing fantastic in here, Timmy.” I answered, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Franky. We got a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered looking around the office. He still had porn on his computer screen, but it was on pause. Timmy has absolutely no shame. None whatsoever. The word doesn’t even exist in his lexicon of language. He was spending his entire afternoons sitting up here inside his ivory tower, surrounded with this blissful A/C and looking at porn all day. Meanwhile, the rest of the staff sat downstairs in the scorching inferno of heat, nearly passing out from heat exhaustion and fatigue.
Looking around his office and studying his set-up, it was interesting to say the least. To the right of his computer screen was his half gallon of pump hand lotion; to the left was a commercial size roll of hand towels that we use in our public bathroom’s downstairs. They’re massive; they stretch over 1000 meters—nearly to the moon and back. He had enough hand lotion to cover the island twice over.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Franky…the staff is drinking entirely too much coffee,” Timmy began explaining to me. “Our over-head costs right now are through the ****ing roof! We cannot afford this to continue. This is totally unacceptable. We will start implementing new rules around here.”
“Uh-huh, ok,” I answered, staring at his frozen porn on his computer screen.
“Effective immediately, Franky, I want you to inform the entire staff that they are not to drink more than one cup of coffee per shift.”
“Wait! What? One cup of coffee per shift, Timmy?” I asked shocked. I nearly fell out of the chair.
“Yes, one per shift, starting right now!”
“But these are Dominicans, Timmy. They’re raised on coffee from infancy. Before children begin to walk, they’re fed coffee from morning to night. It’s inside their milk bottles. They fall asleep with it inside their mouths. Beer and coffee are the only two liquids that Dominicans understand!”
“That’s not my problem, Franky. I’m trying to run a business here. It’s one cup of coffee per shift, you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” I answered, but I knew this wasn’t going to work. How could it work? Dominicans only know coffee. They love coffee. They worship coffee. It’s part of their daily liquid refreshment. Germans love beer, Russians love vodka. Dominicans love coffee; they’re raised with it. Depriving them of coffee can start a revolution. It won’t be pretty. People have been known to get beheaded from being depriving them coffee. I’m not losing my head over this; I don’t even have children yet. Coffee is more important to a Dominican than water. I can’t have blood on my hands. I’m not even a registered voter on this island.
I was sitting at the bar drinking coffee when the phone behind the bar rings. I looked over at Mary and watched her expression change while she spoke. She rolled her eyes while looking over at me. She kept saying,
“Yes sir, no sir, yes sir, maybe, not sure, ok,” and then she hung up.
“Timmy wants you up in the office, right now!” she said to me before sticking her head back into the beer cooler.
“****ing hell, what could it be now?”
Let me back up. Timmy is the owner’s, Big Fred, son. Big Fred is the proprietor, owner, and CEO. Timmy is simply his lap dog that delegates whatever his father tells him to do. Lately, Big Fred is giving Timmy more and more responsibility; he’s trying to teach Timmy how to run a restaurant business and manage roughly 28-employees. It’s not easy when the only responsibility you’ve ever had in life is deciding which football game to watch.
I tried to get up, but I was stuck to the plastic bar stool cushion. The plastic is tied to the arms of the chair in order to secure it into place. I couldn’t get unstuck from the chair. I started rocking the chair left and right before finally keeling over sideways and crashing down onto the sand below. I sprang my wrist, again.
I looked over at the bar stool, and screamed, “****ing hell!”
The green plastic cushion was covered in my sweat. It had acted as an adhesive. It was dangerous. It was like Saran wrap. It was stronger than Super Glue. Many bar patrons have simply gotten up and walked back to their hotels, chair and all stuck to them like super glue.
I looked up at the thermometer, it’s 95 degrees in the shade; its ****ing scorching hot outside right now. Despite this, I marched up to the office, climbing the stairs up to the second floor. When I reached the office door, I couldn’t see inside the office. Timmy recently had the office door and windows tinted. He had this done in order to block out the sun as well as prevent anyone from accidentally walking in on him while he watches porn. He wants to be able to see people coming up the steps; he wants a fair amount of warning before people reach the office door. He’s had too many people accidentally walk in on him.
When I opened the office door, I was hit with a blast of cold air that nearly knocked me back down the steps. I had to hold onto the door frame and secure myself. I couldn’t believe it. It was freezing in here. It felt heavenly. I just wanted to take all of my clothes off and lay down on the linoleum stark naked.
You simply cannot imagine how wonderful air-conditioning is until you’ve been stuck to a plastic seat cushion and sweating in 95 degrees in the shade.
“Have a seat, Franky,” Timmy said to me.
“Thank you! My god, it feels ****ing fantastic in here, Timmy.” I answered, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Franky. We got a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered looking around the office. He still had porn on his computer screen, but it was on pause. Timmy has absolutely no shame. None whatsoever. The word doesn’t even exist in his lexicon of language. He was spending his entire afternoons sitting up here inside his ivory tower, surrounded with this blissful A/C and looking at porn all day. Meanwhile, the rest of the staff sat downstairs in the scorching inferno of heat, nearly passing out from heat exhaustion and fatigue.
Looking around his office and studying his set-up, it was interesting to say the least. To the right of his computer screen was his half gallon of pump hand lotion; to the left was a commercial size roll of hand towels that we use in our public bathroom’s downstairs. They’re massive; they stretch over 1000 meters—nearly to the moon and back. He had enough hand lotion to cover the island twice over.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Franky…the staff is drinking entirely too much coffee,” Timmy began explaining to me. “Our over-head costs right now are through the ****ing roof! We cannot afford this to continue. This is totally unacceptable. We will start implementing new rules around here.”
“Uh-huh, ok,” I answered, staring at his frozen porn on his computer screen.
“Effective immediately, Franky, I want you to inform the entire staff that they are not to drink more than one cup of coffee per shift.”
“Wait! What? One cup of coffee per shift, Timmy?” I asked shocked. I nearly fell out of the chair.
“Yes, one per shift, starting right now!”
“But these are Dominicans, Timmy. They’re raised on coffee from infancy. Before children begin to walk, they’re fed coffee from morning to night. It’s inside their milk bottles. They fall asleep with it inside their mouths. Beer and coffee are the only two liquids that Dominicans understand!”
“That’s not my problem, Franky. I’m trying to run a business here. It’s one cup of coffee per shift, you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” I answered, but I knew this wasn’t going to work. How could it work? Dominicans only know coffee. They love coffee. They worship coffee. It’s part of their daily liquid refreshment. Germans love beer, Russians love vodka. Dominicans love coffee; they’re raised with it. Depriving them of coffee can start a revolution. It won’t be pretty. People have been known to get beheaded from being depriving them coffee. I’m not losing my head over this; I don’t even have children yet. Coffee is more important to a Dominican than water. I can’t have blood on my hands. I’m not even a registered voter on this island.
Chapter 6 (Living in a transient tourist town)
Between the insanity of the tourists, and the insanity of the locals, it can be difficult living in a transient place.
The tourists only come down for short spurts. The tourists are only here for a short period of time before they have to return back home, back to their everyday life. And hence, they do not have to think, nor fret about the everyday things that they would normally have to consider back home.
When you are far from home, your inhibitions tend to come down and you no longer have to think about what your co-workers, peers, friends or family think. For the special type of personality, this can be an invitation to let your hair down and go crazy. Very crazy. Some people let their hair so far down that they totally forget about both their clothes or inhibitions.
A tourist town in the Caribbean has the potential to drive anyone mad. The biggest problem with transient places where lots of tourists are landing daily, is that the drama never stops. It never slows down. There is always drama. Too much drama. Sometimes it can be entertaining to sit back and watch it slowly unfold all around you. But other times it can be maddening. It’s important that you do not get involved. You must sit back and study it like a scientist. You must treat it like a laboratory experiment. You must never interfere with any of the drama if you want to keep your sanity.
Siting at a bar, on the beach, in the Caribbean, is a lot like being on the set of mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. From the safety of your bar stool, you can monitor the wild animals in their natural habitat, but you must never leave the safety of your environment and enter into their environment and try to intervene. You don’t want to do anything that will draw any attention to yourself. You must be passive and objective, and remain calm on the sidelines while the madness envelopes everything around you. To keep your sanity, you must be always be an objective observer. You must be a scientist.
I both love and hate this town. I hate all of the tourists running around like sexually starved, alcohol deprived zombies. I dislike all of the street hustlers and scammers. I dislike all of the realtors and hustlers trying to prey on John & Mable from Omaha, Nebraska. I dislike all of the lying and cheating that a transient place attracts. I have trouble being around people always looking for an angle to make money off of you.
The locals are crazy. But many of the expats are even crazier. Many of the expats here have suddenly come into money. As soon as they come into money, they run down to the Caribbean. Money is the catalyst that allows them to escape all of their troubles and responsibilities back home. It’s here where they finally feel free and alive. It’s here where they finally feel they can do whatever they want without having to answer to anyone.
Many people run down here in order to escape their problems back home. All they really manage to do is bring their problems down here with them. Everyone carries a suitcase around with them. Sometimes they unpack the suitcase and let the monkeys run wild and free through the bars, towns, and businesses. Other times they lose control of their monkeys and the monkeys escape into the wild. It takes a consorted effort to gather them all together and put them back into the suitcase where they stay locked down only long enough to build up enough energy for the next jail break. It won’t be long before they break free again and run wild through the streets—leaving chaos and mayhem in their wake. Every expat I’ve ever met that has moved down to the Caribbean has brought with them a suitcase full of crazy monkeys. I have mine, and everyone around me have theirs. We never leave home without them.
There is a lot of people in the Caribbean with addictions. I have mine, and everyone sitting around the bar have theirs. At the end of the day, we’re all the same. We’re just running from one place to the next, trying to outrun ourselves.
To make it down here, you have to be a good runner. I’m a professional runner. I’ve been running my entire adult life. I’ve been running ever since I got my first pair of Converse running shoes. I took off from home and never came back. And looking around the bar, a lot of people have taken off as well, and they’re never going back home.
Many of people here have already tried climbing the corporate ladder; they’ve tried living the American Dream. They’ve lived through 30-year home mortgages and car loans, and divorce. They’ve had enough. At least here, in a crazy transient tourist town, there is always something spectacular and outrageous taking place. There is always someone doing their best to raise the level of madness up one notch higher. There is always some form of entertainment waiting just around the next corner. The insanity never stops. It never slows down.
In a transient place, someone is always dying. Someone is always getting run over. Someone is always getting scammed, cheated-on, taken advantage of, and lied to. The insanity never stops. It never rests. It doesn’t take a break. It just keeps going around and around like a merry-go-round. People get on and off the ride, but the ride itself never stops.
Between the insanity of the tourists, and the insanity of the locals, it can be difficult living in a transient place.
The tourists only come down for short spurts. The tourists are only here for a short period of time before they have to return back home, back to their everyday life. And hence, they do not have to think, nor fret about the everyday things that they would normally have to consider back home.
When you are far from home, your inhibitions tend to come down and you no longer have to think about what your co-workers, peers, friends or family think. For the special type of personality, this can be an invitation to let your hair down and go crazy. Very crazy. Some people let their hair so far down that they totally forget about both their clothes or inhibitions.
A tourist town in the Caribbean has the potential to drive anyone mad. The biggest problem with transient places where lots of tourists are landing daily, is that the drama never stops. It never slows down. There is always drama. Too much drama. Sometimes it can be entertaining to sit back and watch it slowly unfold all around you. But other times it can be maddening. It’s important that you do not get involved. You must sit back and study it like a scientist. You must treat it like a laboratory experiment. You must never interfere with any of the drama if you want to keep your sanity.
Siting at a bar, on the beach, in the Caribbean, is a lot like being on the set of mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. From the safety of your bar stool, you can monitor the wild animals in their natural habitat, but you must never leave the safety of your environment and enter into their environment and try to intervene. You don’t want to do anything that will draw any attention to yourself. You must be passive and objective, and remain calm on the sidelines while the madness envelopes everything around you. To keep your sanity, you must be always be an objective observer. You must be a scientist.
I both love and hate this town. I hate all of the tourists running around like sexually starved, alcohol deprived zombies. I dislike all of the street hustlers and scammers. I dislike all of the realtors and hustlers trying to prey on John & Mable from Omaha, Nebraska. I dislike all of the lying and cheating that a transient place attracts. I have trouble being around people always looking for an angle to make money off of you.
The locals are crazy. But many of the expats are even crazier. Many of the expats here have suddenly come into money. As soon as they come into money, they run down to the Caribbean. Money is the catalyst that allows them to escape all of their troubles and responsibilities back home. It’s here where they finally feel free and alive. It’s here where they finally feel they can do whatever they want without having to answer to anyone.
Many people run down here in order to escape their problems back home. All they really manage to do is bring their problems down here with them. Everyone carries a suitcase around with them. Sometimes they unpack the suitcase and let the monkeys run wild and free through the bars, towns, and businesses. Other times they lose control of their monkeys and the monkeys escape into the wild. It takes a consorted effort to gather them all together and put them back into the suitcase where they stay locked down only long enough to build up enough energy for the next jail break. It won’t be long before they break free again and run wild through the streets—leaving chaos and mayhem in their wake. Every expat I’ve ever met that has moved down to the Caribbean has brought with them a suitcase full of crazy monkeys. I have mine, and everyone around me have theirs. We never leave home without them.
There is a lot of people in the Caribbean with addictions. I have mine, and everyone sitting around the bar have theirs. At the end of the day, we’re all the same. We’re just running from one place to the next, trying to outrun ourselves.
To make it down here, you have to be a good runner. I’m a professional runner. I’ve been running my entire adult life. I’ve been running ever since I got my first pair of Converse running shoes. I took off from home and never came back. And looking around the bar, a lot of people have taken off as well, and they’re never going back home.
Many of people here have already tried climbing the corporate ladder; they’ve tried living the American Dream. They’ve lived through 30-year home mortgages and car loans, and divorce. They’ve had enough. At least here, in a crazy transient tourist town, there is always something spectacular and outrageous taking place. There is always someone doing their best to raise the level of madness up one notch higher. There is always some form of entertainment waiting just around the next corner. The insanity never stops. It never slows down.
In a transient place, someone is always dying. Someone is always getting run over. Someone is always getting scammed, cheated-on, taken advantage of, and lied to. The insanity never stops. It never rests. It doesn’t take a break. It just keeps going around and around like a merry-go-round. People get on and off the ride, but the ride itself never stops.
Chapter 10 (My Laboratory: The bar)
The next day, I kissed Big Red goodbye and jumped on my bike and drove to work. It’s Sunday. On Sunday’s, it’s never a question if there will be any madness and insanity at work, but instead, how far up the ladder will the insanity reach?
On Sunday’s, I like to grab my coffee and pour two shots of Irish whiskey into my cup; I need help dealing with the madness. I need help dealing with the Jesus Freaks. We get a particularly diverse, animated crowd that roll into the restaurant after church.
Every Sunday, like clockwork, a group of Holy Rollers will roll in and without warning, get the “Spirit” inside of them. If you have never witnessed or experienced this in person, let me sum it up with one word: frightening!
It shocks the hell out of all of the senses. It can be quite frightening to witness without the aid of some strong hallucinatory drugs or alcohol. If it catches you off guard, and you are unaware of what exactly is going on, your instincts are to immediately jump up and down on the chest of the person and perform CPR until paramedics arrive. The person who is experiencing these religious hallucinations seems to be in dire need of immediate medical assistance. To see a live demonstration in person is to be frightened, shocked, confused and scared ****less.
These religious hallucinations tend to start with loud screams of “Hallelujah!”—which is immediately followed by the tilting back of the head and the rolling of the eyes into the back of the head, speaking in tongues, and then epileptic-like convulsions on the ground that resemble a fish jumping around outside of water. And then suddenly, as quickly as it started, the person will snap out of it, throws their hands up into the air and scream, “Praise Jesus!”—which is then followed by their digging of their hands into beef nachos and guacamole.
The surrounding church members—who at this point are completely covered in sour cream and guacamole—begin rejoicing and clapping their hands while breaking into church hymns such as this: “Jesus loves me,” “Almighty Lord,” and “Take me to your Kingdom Hall.”
After each song is sung, there are some more shouts of Jesus validation, a few more “Praise Jesus!” and then suddenly, as quickly as it started, people sit down and begin digging their hands into more beef nachos made from donkey meat.
On Sunday’s, I like to sit at the bar with my coffee & whiskey and study everyone. Whiskey puts me into the right frame of mind.
Sunday’s bring in such an eclectic, crazy, diverse crowd of people that it defies definition. Everyone has funny nuances and strange habits, but the Jesus crowd takes the madness up a few notches into the stratosphere. The Jesus crowd tend to be frightening, funny, outrageous, absurd, bizarre and entertaining—all at the same time. When they’re not pontificating, they’re spreading the “Good Word” to people too inebriated to even understand what language they’re speaking.
The next day, I kissed Big Red goodbye and jumped on my bike and drove to work. It’s Sunday. On Sunday’s, it’s never a question if there will be any madness and insanity at work, but instead, how far up the ladder will the insanity reach?
On Sunday’s, I like to grab my coffee and pour two shots of Irish whiskey into my cup; I need help dealing with the madness. I need help dealing with the Jesus Freaks. We get a particularly diverse, animated crowd that roll into the restaurant after church.
Every Sunday, like clockwork, a group of Holy Rollers will roll in and without warning, get the “Spirit” inside of them. If you have never witnessed or experienced this in person, let me sum it up with one word: frightening!
It shocks the hell out of all of the senses. It can be quite frightening to witness without the aid of some strong hallucinatory drugs or alcohol. If it catches you off guard, and you are unaware of what exactly is going on, your instincts are to immediately jump up and down on the chest of the person and perform CPR until paramedics arrive. The person who is experiencing these religious hallucinations seems to be in dire need of immediate medical assistance. To see a live demonstration in person is to be frightened, shocked, confused and scared ****less.
These religious hallucinations tend to start with loud screams of “Hallelujah!”—which is immediately followed by the tilting back of the head and the rolling of the eyes into the back of the head, speaking in tongues, and then epileptic-like convulsions on the ground that resemble a fish jumping around outside of water. And then suddenly, as quickly as it started, the person will snap out of it, throws their hands up into the air and scream, “Praise Jesus!”—which is then followed by their digging of their hands into beef nachos and guacamole.
The surrounding church members—who at this point are completely covered in sour cream and guacamole—begin rejoicing and clapping their hands while breaking into church hymns such as this: “Jesus loves me,” “Almighty Lord,” and “Take me to your Kingdom Hall.”
After each song is sung, there are some more shouts of Jesus validation, a few more “Praise Jesus!” and then suddenly, as quickly as it started, people sit down and begin digging their hands into more beef nachos made from donkey meat.
On Sunday’s, I like to sit at the bar with my coffee & whiskey and study everyone. Whiskey puts me into the right frame of mind.
Sunday’s bring in such an eclectic, crazy, diverse crowd of people that it defies definition. Everyone has funny nuances and strange habits, but the Jesus crowd takes the madness up a few notches into the stratosphere. The Jesus crowd tend to be frightening, funny, outrageous, absurd, bizarre and entertaining—all at the same time. When they’re not pontificating, they’re spreading the “Good Word” to people too inebriated to even understand what language they’re speaking.
May we see a photo of if Red ? Because this the image in my head, but I have too much crammed in there
http://movies.disney.com/big-red
http://movies.disney.com/big-red
Chapter 6 (Living in a transient tourist town)
Sometimes it can be entertaining to sit back and watch it slowly unfold all around you. But other times it can be maddening. It’s important that you do not get involved. You must sit back and study it like a scientist. You must treat it like a laboratory experiment. You must never interfere with any of the drama if you want to keep your sanity.
Siting at a bar, on the beach, in the Caribbean, is a lot like being on the set of mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. From the safety of your bar stool, you can monitor the wild animals in their natural habitat, but you must never leave the safety of your environment and enter into their environment and try to intervene. You don’t want to do anything that will draw any attention to yourself. You must be passive and objective, and remain calm on the sidelines while the madness envelopes everything around you. To keep your sanity, you must be always be an objective observer. You must be a scientist.
I both love and hate this town. I hate all of the tourists running around like sexually starved, alcohol deprived zombies. I dislike all of the street hustlers and scammers. I dislike all of the realtors and hustlers trying to prey on John & Mable from Omaha, Nebraska. I dislike all of the lying and cheating that a transient place attracts. I have trouble being around people always looking for an angle to make money off of you.
The locals are crazy. But many of the expats are even crazier. Many of the expats here have suddenly come into money. As soon as they come into money, they run down to the Caribbean. Money is the catalyst that allows them to escape all of their troubles and responsibilities back home. It’s here where they finally feel free and alive. It’s here where they finally feel they can do whatever they want without having to answer to anyone.
There is a lot of people in the Caribbean with addictions. I have mine, and everyone sitting around the bar have theirs. At the end of the day, we’re all the same. We’re just running from one place to the next, trying to outrun ourselves.
To make it down here, you have to be a good runner. I’m a professional runner. I’ve been running my entire adult life. I’ve been running ever since I got my first pair of Converse running shoes. I took off from home and never came back. And looking around the bar, a lot of people have taken off as well, and they’re never going back home.
Many of people here have already tried climbing the corporate ladder; they’ve tried living the American Dream. They’ve lived through 30-year home mortgages and car loans, and divorce. They’ve had enough. At least here, in a crazy transient tourist town, there is always something spectacular and outrageous taking place. There is always someone doing their best to raise the level of madness up one notch higher. There is always some form of entertainment waiting just around the next corner. The insanity never stops. It never slows down.
In a transient place, someone is always dying.
_______________________________________
Frank some of your observations remind me of an old album and an older song.
The album by Jimmy Buffet "Living and Dying in 3/4 Time"
The cover photo (link below) looks like Jimmy's boat just landed a little short of Luperon but the album contains songs with lyrics which seem appropriate to you observations from a sticky bar stool like:
"Pencil Thin Mustache", "The Wino & I Know", "God's Own Drunk", "Come Monday".
The song "The Wino & I Know" has the lyrics which could be from one of your chapters on a bar stool:
"Sweet senorita, won't you please come with me?
Back to the island, honey, back to the sea
Back to the only place that I want to be
And the wino and I know the joy of the ocean
Like a boy knows the joy of his milkshake in motion
It's a strange situation, wild occupation
Just livin' my life like a song
Say it's a strange situation, a wild occupation
Just livin' my life like my song"
There's a lot of 'boys' here in DR have their Milkshakes in Motion
The other song is by Billy Jose Shaver (Most of y'all here will have never heard of him, or forgot)
But he has a song titled "I'm Going Crazy (in 3/4 Time)" - kind about a song writer having writer's block, his wife leaving him, and drinking too much. One great line, again could be experienced on a sticky bar stool:
"The hill I'm climbing just turned to a mountain, I'm caught in the backwash of cheap talk and wine"
You can listen to it here on YouTube, but only after doing some proper drinking (and no crying over lost love):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKSiOpBk55E
Chapter 12 (Haitian Divorce...Credit cards)
Another day, another round of insanity and madness. I came into work and grabbed a coffee. I looked over at the bar. My god, every vampire with purple hair-extensions within 25-square kilometers of the North Coast was sitting at the bar trying to make eye-contact with the few pale white tourists brave enough to maintain direct vampire eye-contact.
While I was back at the coffee machine pouring some Wild Turkey into my cup, I heard a genius of a song, Haitian Divorce, come over the restaurant?s sound system. I ran over to the sound board and turned the song up. I turned it way up.
At the Grotto
In the greasy chair
Sits the Charlie with the lotion and the kinky hair
When she smiled, she said it all
The band was hot so
They danced the famous Merengue
Now we dolly back
Now we fade to black
I love this song. This is a romantic catastrophe in the making. This is the ugly side of romance and marriage in the Caribbean. Babs and Clean Willie?s relationship ends, so Babs does what many women do?she heads down to the Caribbean to lick her wounds and find romance. Unfortunately, she gets knocked up by a Sankie??Who?s this kinky so-and-so?? the song calls out. This Kinky so-and-so are sitting all around the bar. Sankies are everywhere in the Caribbean. They come in both female as well male variety.
This song is pure, unadulterated genius. I went over and turned the song up. I turned it way up! Once the Talk-Box guitar solo started playing, it was pure unadulterated ecstasy?ala 1970?s Peter Frampton?and wasn?t he some kind of Talk Box genius?
I went over and sat down at the bar and looked around the beach. Wow, there are a lot of young, beautiful, chiseled bodies out on the beach today. I sat back and studied them. They were criss-crossing in front of the bar in bikinis and shorts, making their way to the far ends of the beach. They smiled and the coconut suntan lotion and pheromones radiated from their skin. It smelled wonderful. Truly wonderful. It made me hungry, but it especially made me horny.
Arkanasas Earl came in and sat down at the bar in between two vampires. He didn?t look good. He didn?t look good at all. I grabbed
my coffee and walked over to him.
?How?s it going Earl??
?No good.?
?What?s wrong??
?I think I ****ed up again, Franky,? he said shaking his head back and forth.
?Now what??
?I gave my girlfriend a credit card.?
?What?s wrong with that??
?She?s never had a credit card before. She doesn?t understand anything about interest rates!?
?Oh, I see. What are you going to do??
?I don?t know. The first thing she did was buy a scooter. Then she bought a new Iphone; and then she went and bought furniture which she turned around and sold for cash to some neighbors on credit. She maxed out the limit on the credit card within one hour.?
?One hour!??
?Yes, one hour!?
?That must me some kind of record??
?That?s what the bank said!?
?Tell her to start paying the credit card off, Earl.?
?You don?t understand, Franky. She doesn?t understand anything about credit cards. She?s never owned one before. She doesn?t understand anything about interest rates. She thinks that by making the minimum monthly payment of $35 dollars a month, it will be paid off in a few months. She doesn?t realize that it will take her the next 500 years to pay down the full amount.?
?Hmm, I see. Good luck, Earl,? I answered, patting him on the shoulder and heading to the coffee machine.
https://youtu.be/iWYchJI0Cv8
[video=youtube_share;iWYchJI0Cv8]https://youtu.be/iWYchJI0Cv8[/video]
Another day, another round of insanity and madness. I came into work and grabbed a coffee. I looked over at the bar. My god, every vampire with purple hair-extensions within 25-square kilometers of the North Coast was sitting at the bar trying to make eye-contact with the few pale white tourists brave enough to maintain direct vampire eye-contact.
While I was back at the coffee machine pouring some Wild Turkey into my cup, I heard a genius of a song, Haitian Divorce, come over the restaurant?s sound system. I ran over to the sound board and turned the song up. I turned it way up.
At the Grotto
In the greasy chair
Sits the Charlie with the lotion and the kinky hair
When she smiled, she said it all
The band was hot so
They danced the famous Merengue
Now we dolly back
Now we fade to black
I love this song. This is a romantic catastrophe in the making. This is the ugly side of romance and marriage in the Caribbean. Babs and Clean Willie?s relationship ends, so Babs does what many women do?she heads down to the Caribbean to lick her wounds and find romance. Unfortunately, she gets knocked up by a Sankie??Who?s this kinky so-and-so?? the song calls out. This Kinky so-and-so are sitting all around the bar. Sankies are everywhere in the Caribbean. They come in both female as well male variety.
This song is pure, unadulterated genius. I went over and turned the song up. I turned it way up! Once the Talk-Box guitar solo started playing, it was pure unadulterated ecstasy?ala 1970?s Peter Frampton?and wasn?t he some kind of Talk Box genius?
I went over and sat down at the bar and looked around the beach. Wow, there are a lot of young, beautiful, chiseled bodies out on the beach today. I sat back and studied them. They were criss-crossing in front of the bar in bikinis and shorts, making their way to the far ends of the beach. They smiled and the coconut suntan lotion and pheromones radiated from their skin. It smelled wonderful. Truly wonderful. It made me hungry, but it especially made me horny.
Arkanasas Earl came in and sat down at the bar in between two vampires. He didn?t look good. He didn?t look good at all. I grabbed
my coffee and walked over to him.
?How?s it going Earl??
?No good.?
?What?s wrong??
?I think I ****ed up again, Franky,? he said shaking his head back and forth.
?Now what??
?I gave my girlfriend a credit card.?
?What?s wrong with that??
?She?s never had a credit card before. She doesn?t understand anything about interest rates!?
?Oh, I see. What are you going to do??
?I don?t know. The first thing she did was buy a scooter. Then she bought a new Iphone; and then she went and bought furniture which she turned around and sold for cash to some neighbors on credit. She maxed out the limit on the credit card within one hour.?
?One hour!??
?Yes, one hour!?
?That must me some kind of record??
?That?s what the bank said!?
?Tell her to start paying the credit card off, Earl.?
?You don?t understand, Franky. She doesn?t understand anything about credit cards. She?s never owned one before. She doesn?t understand anything about interest rates. She thinks that by making the minimum monthly payment of $35 dollars a month, it will be paid off in a few months. She doesn?t realize that it will take her the next 500 years to pay down the full amount.?
?Hmm, I see. Good luck, Earl,? I answered, patting him on the shoulder and heading to the coffee machine.
https://youtu.be/iWYchJI0Cv8
[video=youtube_share;iWYchJI0Cv8]https://youtu.be/iWYchJI0Cv8[/video]
Maybe there needs to be an organized night at a local Desperadoes' watering hole (every 4th drink free) where divorce can be celebrated like a "It's Great to Be Single Again Night". The DR must be full of people who escaped matrimonial prison (Men & Women)
[video=youtube;F05ilo7Pe3o]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F05ilo7Pe3o[/video]
[video=youtube;F05ilo7Pe3o]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F05ilo7Pe3o[/video]
The Prime Directive
Living here is sort of like being on the Starship Enterprise.
You just have to remember the Prime Directive, which expressly prohibits Starfleet personnel from interfering with the internal development of alien civilizations.
I do just purely wish that I could have learned the Vulcan nerve pinch. It would come in so handy on so many occasions.
Living here is sort of like being on the Starship Enterprise.
You just have to remember the Prime Directive, which expressly prohibits Starfleet personnel from interfering with the internal development of alien civilizations.
I do just purely wish that I could have learned the Vulcan nerve pinch. It would come in so handy on so many occasions.