“Keep Away from the Gringa,” or,“The Gringa with the Cheese Touch”

If you’ve seen the movie Diary of a Wimpy Kid, then you’ll remember the scene with the “cheese touch.” On the playground in which much of the story takes place, there is a piece of cheese lying on the pavement. The cheese has been there so long, and is so disgustingly smelly, melted, and dirty that no one dares go near it. If a child so much as touches this piece of cheese, he or she has the "cheese touch” and can pass this malady to any other person he or she comes in contact with.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I admit that I didn’t believe this existed – until yesterday, that is.

I recently started going to what I would consider an affluent gym near my home. Yesterday, I ran to the gym from my apartment, which is almost exactly a mile away. In Idaho, I tend to sweat a normal amount, but in the DR I feel like I’m drenched after eight minutes. I was wearing a heather gray shirt that was a bit tighter fitting, so when I arrived, I was already showing sweat, my hair was a mess, my face was bright red, and I looked like a, well, bat out of hell, for lack of a better description. I paid my fee, entered the gym, and selected a treadmill at the back of the workout area. As I started my workout, all of the 30 treadmills became occupied. Well, not all. There was one open – and that one was next to me.

Over the next fifteen minutes, multiple people walked up to the available treadmill, looked at me, then left and waited for another treadmill to open up. Maybe it’s broken, or the potted plant is too close to it, or there is no air…all of these thoughts rolled around in my head. After this happened about four times – person walks up while looking at Blackberry, person looks at me, person pretends that they hadn’t intended to walk to that treadmill, person stands and waits for another one, away from where I am – I started wondering, is it me?

I can’t be sure of the cause, but someone finally started using the treadmill next me, after I’d been on the treadmill for 25 minutes…and it appeared to be working fine. So, now, I’m wondering – do I have the “cheese touch”? Or, would it be better called the “gringa touch”?

Rinconcito

Every Sunday evening around 7:00 p.m. in the Colonial Zone, there is a free concert called Rinconcito, located in Las Ruinas de San Francisco. The concert is set amidst centuries-old ruins, up steeply inclined cobblestone streets, and is lively with bachata music, dancing, and, most importantly, loads of Presidente and Ron Brugal, rum and beer that are made on the island. Although it’s too crowded to spend hours there, or at least it is for expats who aren’t quite used to bumping up against drenched t-shirts, it is definitely worth stopping by for a Presidente or two.

To get to Rinconcito from the Hard Rock Café on El Conde, head north on Calle Isabel La Católica toward Calle General Luperón, turn left at Calle Vicente Celestino Duarte, take the second left onto Naranjito, turn left at Calle Restauración, then walk up the hill. Be sure to watch your step as the road is broken in spots. You will probably hear the concert before you see it, so don’t worry – you can’t miss it. If you get lost, just ask locals where Las Ruinas de San Francisco are, and they should be able to point you in the right direction.

The key to international happiness

I think I’ve discovered the secret to living internationally: find one or two things that make you really, really happy (or are really, really American) and splurge.

This time last year, a fellow teacher, who had lived internationally before, mentioned that she was joining a gym. I, too, was looking to join a gym and inquired as to how much it would cost to join. She looked at me matter-of-factly and explained, “Well, there’s the US$250.00 inscription fee, then it’s US$70.00 per month after that.” Back then, my mind reeled at those numbers. Was she serious? To me, paying that much for a gym was absolutely outrageous. She assured me that the money was well worth it to have a place that made her happy and relaxed.

Now, after being in the DR for over a year and suffering through workouts outside because I wasn’t willing to pay that much per month, I am now planning on joining the same gym. I’m also about to sign up for a US$50.00 per month iPhone plan, which will allow me a steady internet connection so that I can Skype my friends and family.

The thing is, living internationally is tough. Yes, it’s lovely and fun and buttercups and palm trees at times, but the truth is that being away from American conveniences – like clothes dryers and toilets with seats on them – can wear on you after awhile. I’m finally realizing that to make my life a little more enjoyable, and to remain happy for another year here, I’m going to have to splurge a little. I supposed that a person could splurge on anything: photography classes, nice dinners out, weekend trips, language classes…whatever makes him or her happy and content.

Now, if only I could figure out a way to transport my family and friends here for a small monthly fee…

Riding in cars with taxistas

Tonight, we waited for over 20 minutes for a taxi, a relatively abnormal occurrence. Usually, we can call a cab and, within three minutes, usually less, it arrives. Tonight, however, the cab company kept sending cars – we ordered a minibus to fit all six of us – and we kept recalling and recalling until we finally ended up with three cabs (one minibus, two cars) arriving at the same time from two different companies. After standing outside and half arguing, half discussing our decision, we finally took two separate cabs and headed to the colonial zone.

The cab system here is quite interesting. You never know what type of car (or driver, for that matter) will show up. We’ve had some interesting run-ins with drivers – including tossing our money into the cab and running while the driver circled our area looking for us – and some memorable experiences as well. In particular, we have a driver that we always call for airport runs named Aurelio; riding with him is one of the most pleasant taxi experiences I’ve had in this country. His voice has a sort of child’s-show-announcer-guy quality to it and, although my Spanish is rather broken and not that pleasant to listen to, he makes an effort to communicate with me and we manage to have a conversation during the entire drive to the airport. (If you’ve heard my Spanish, your jaw should be dropping because you’re so impressed.)

The most important thing to remember, though, when riding with taxi drivers in the city is this: you will most likely see them again and they will recognize you. Of the many drawbacks of being blonde and American, this one has to be one of the worst. Believe me, we see the aforementioned taxi driver (ahem, the one we ran from) regularly and walk to the other side of the street to avoid him. Thank goodness all Americans look alike from a distance, right?

Running in the city

Running in the Dominican Republic is unlike anything I have ever experienced. Imagine dodging cars, motoconchos, roosters, and stray dogs, while having to scan the uneven roads and sidewalk every few seconds to avoid an ankle sprain or fracture. Now, add 90% humidity, blackened exhaust coming from cars, and, to top that off, Dominican men cat calling you at predictable intervals. If that doesn’t get your blood pumping and your body ready to try it out, add the constant nausea that many foreigners experience from the bacteria here on a daily basis, which is only amplified by the smells that seem to follow you the during the entirety of the run. Oh, and then there’s the fear of getting mugged.

For the past year, I have been toughing it out and haven’t had much luck finding places with good running conditions. On the verge of taking my workout to the gym, I searched the internet and asked other expats about running trails within the city. I’ve compiled a short list below:

1) Jardín Botanico (Botanical Gardens): a lovely park inside of the city with miles of running paths. I’ve heard that many marathoners train here.
2) Mirador del Sur: according to traveldk.com, this is “a large and pleasant expanse of well-tended grass, trees, and tracks, the park is a magnet for joggers skateboarders, and dog walkers. Younger, health-conscious city dwellers congregate here along with families, especially in the morning and evening, when the through road is shut to cars.”
3) Plaza de la Salud: a medical complex with nice grounds that joggers, walkers, and runners take advantage of.

Luckily, in many of the places outside of the city, the running is ideal (if you can deal with the heat and humidity, that is). In Las Galeras, a little fishing village about 3 ½ hours northeast, one can enjoy palm-lined paths that run along the water, hill climbs, and a breathtaking Caribbean beach at the end of this difficult, but enjoyable, run. I’ll continue to post ideal running spots as I find them. In the meantime, I guess I’ll just have to deal with city running.

Increíble.

Walking home from work today, I heard a woman yelling and looked in the direction of the noise. Squinting my eyes against the afternoon sun, I could make out a man’s overturned juice cart which he rides on flattened wheels to and from his home in the impoverished part of the city. Just behind it and pulled off of the side of the road was a black Mercedes Benz that had clearly run into the cart. His 20z plastic soda bottles, filled with the juice that he had made that morning, were spilled all over the road. Pieces of bread had broken out of the plastic package and were splayed across the road along with instruments, cups, and containers. This man’s livelihood was splattered across the ground.

The woman and vendor were surrounded by six men, a mix of security guards and nearby workers, as the woman screamed in Spanish, “I am not going to pay!” The rest of her speech was incomprehensible to me, but since she was the only one screaming, I deducted that she was making it very clear that she thought it was the vendor’s fault and she was definitely not paying for the damages to his cart.

This is one of the difficulties with the Dominican hierarchical system. Sometimes it seems as though one has been transplanted back, back, back into the early 1900’s when masters and slaves still existed. When people did not have a voice merely because of the color of their skin or their social status. If this accident was to be taken to the police, I can guarantee that they would side with the woman. After all, doesn’t it make sense that since she is intelligent enough to build and/or maintain wealth, she is somehow worth more than this vendor who just had his entire business destroyed by her car? Sadly, many here would respond, “Claro que sí.”

Where the locals go

Often times, when we are craving a beach day and don’t want the expense and hassle of a weekend away, we will go to Juan Dolio, a nearby beach town frequented by Dominicans. The coast of Juan Dolio is host to a few resorts, namely the Barcélo Resort, as well as several private clubs. Since all of the beaches in the Dominican Republic are public, you are free to use the beach access of almost any resort or club, so long as you don’t use the services.

My personal favorite spot is Club Hemingway, which is right next to the Barcélo Resort. I certainly wouldn’t recommend this as a great place to go if this is your only beach experience on the island (seriously, go to Bayahibe – it’s much nicer and only about an hour further), but it works for an afternoon in the sun and water.

To get there, take an express gua gua* from barrio chino (Chinatown) and tell the driver that you want to get off at the Barcélo Resort. From the road, you will see a sign that reads, “Club Hemingway” with an arrow pointing down the street. Follow the street as it curves left past the Barcélo Resort and enter through white gates that are just past the Barcélo gate. This will lead you into a long, slat-covered hallway to the beach. You can go left to Club Hemingway or right to Barcélo beach front. Either direction is about the same, although you might have more luck finding shade at the Barcélo.

(Note: photos are not from the location described, but are from a separate trip to Juan Dolio.)