Republica Dominicana (March 3—March 14, 2012)

República Dominicana

March 3—March 14, 2012

The Aeropuerto Internacional las Americas is near Boca Chica where I planned to meet the Bibals. Being out of contact with them for several days, I had not heard where they would be landing with the boat. We had agreed on meeting in Santo Domingo, where I flew in, but downtown Santo Domingo is actually around 20 miles away from the airport. I knew that the only private marinas in the area were near Boca Chica, so I checked into a hotel room there. The next day I learned that in fact Francois had been there to meet me at the airport, but we missed each other, and that the boat, San Miguel, was moored at Marina Zarpar a few miles away. I walked there, despite the hotel’s dire recommendation that I take a taxi.

The Bibals had been at the Carnival celebration in downtown Santo Domingo all day, and we met that night. They are friendly people with open minds. Lole, their daughter, is 10 and has a positive attitude despite being removed from all her friends in France.

Marina Zarpar is situated inside a protected bay. It was built by an American expatriate named Frank Virgintino, who has lived in the Dominican Republic for 26 years. The marina caters to other cruisers who have stopped in port for repairs or to see the country. There are also many boats owned by wealthy locals, which must come out of the water every summer for the hurricane season.

Some of the first people I met at the marina were five young men from Norway, who were sailing the world together in a 35-foot steel sailboat. The quarters were incredibly cramped, and they had no toilet onboard; that is, they used to have one but converted the head into a closet to house their musical instruments and circus props. For the last two years they sailed together from Greece through the Mediterranean, to Morocco, across the Atlantic, and immediately to the Dominican Republic, performing their circus act all the way. Sometimes they performed for free, as they would do at a school in Haiti later on.

One of these fellows, Manuel, and I set out on a trip to the North of the country a few days later. We rode the public bus, and in around 3 hours arrived in Sanchez, near the peninsula in the northeast corner of the country. This city was different from Boca Chica. We didn’t spot a single foreigner there and there were minimal “tourist venues”. Walking through the town we observed how the people lived. In some areas there was no plumbing or electricity, while in others there were both. Down near the beach, where many fishermen lived, houses were constructed from pieces of corrugated metal randomly nailed together. We entered on a small muddy foot path which wound down into a dense neighborhood near a dirty river. At first I was hesitant at entering such a neighborhood. Everyone of course stared at us, but after we offered an “hola” they smiled and treated us well. After seeing so many similar neighborhoods with friendly people I no longer have any qualms about safety. We took a beer and stopped to watch a small gathering around a cock fight. Apparenty it was just a practice run; the cocks’ talons were wrapped in fabric. After hitching a ride on “motoconchos,” motorcycle taxis, we arrived at a small hotel which cost us DR $500 (US $13) for a room.

Later we met a man named Amable, the pastor of a Methodist Church in town that also hosted a school. He explained that the school is not expensive to attend but children at other schools do not receive such a good education. They had a modest set of biology and chemistry equipment, and a set of computers that were out of service.

Our main goal in traveling North was to see “El Parque Nacional los Haitses,” a huge national park near Sanchez. We planned to hike around on our own, but everyone we spoke with told us the only way to enter the park was by boat from the North end through expensive tour services. When we asked about where we could enter on foot, everyone shook their head and just said “No.” Somewhat grudgingly we decided to explore the mountains behind Sanchez instead. Again, when we asked about trails and roads through the mountains, everyone just replied “No.” The next day we set out on foot up the main road through the mountains, despite everyone recommending that we take “la guagua,” a small bus. After a couple steep miles we found a small trail leading off the road near the crest of the first mountain and immediately veered off onto it.

At this point I realized that it often takes some work to discover what you want to find in a new place. I wanted to get away from the main tourist areas, where when you walk by all people see are dollar signs. And I realized that if you want to find something, you usually can if you look hard enough. 

The forest was dense, and after a while we ran into a farmer on a very small plot of untamed land on the hillside. After another half hour we saw a couple more. It appeared that they hauled their crop out through the trail on mules. The last tract we came to was larger, where farmers were growing yucca, yams, mangoes, bananas, coconuts, and other fruits. One man was alarmed that we had found our way back there, wondering if some tourist service had planned a tour through their land. We explained that we had only wanted to see their work, and he became friendly. He offered to lead us out through a different route that led back to the main road. Along the way he explained that many believed the Dominican government was one of the most corrupt in the Americas. It did nothing to help the poor.

Back on the main road we took the bus to Las Terrenas, a more developed town on the North coast of the peninsula. The white-sand beaches were striking. A surprising number of Haitians lived here and a number of people were speaking French. We stayed the night there and took the bus back to Boca Chica the next day.

            Manuel, Igor, and Jacob from Momo had been invited to lunch at the house of Shimen, a local woman who sold fruits from a cart. She lived on the outskirts of town in one of those houses with scraps of corrugated metal nailed to the side, which also served as the community church. She was extremely nice, and made us a fine lunch of rice, beans, a bit of chicken, and a fresh mango drink. One of these plates was served on a Frisbee (how resourceful). I noticed there were big nail holes covering the entire roof, and she explained how water got in during the rains, even into their beds. I wish I could have gone back with some epoxy to fill them in. Her daughter, granddaughter, and a few other kids from the area stayed with us while we sat and ate in the church.

            After spending time with other sailors and marina staff Elizabeth, Francois, Lole, and I set off to sail West down the coast of the Dominican Republic towards Haiti.