"Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas" It means, "My hovercraft is full of eels!" A phrase curiously retained from hundreds read on spanish language websites. Pronunciation is not perfect but I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered. There are 3.8 million people living in the oldest european city in the Americas, Santo Domingo. There are handful of those that speak english, I only met one.
To work on private yachts in the Caribbean you must be American, Canadian or hold a B1/B2 visa. Though I look forward to the obligatory recklessness with fireworks on the 4th of July, and have a fond regard for the sentence suffix "eh," none qualifies me to gain entry into US waters aboard a yacht. Unaware of this fact before embarking on the search for work, it seemed that I must discover the process involved in obtaining the ol' B1/B2. It also became apparent that without a trip to Australia, or a lengthy stay in the Great White North, I also must familiarise myself with the astonishingly surreal experience of applying for it in a third world country.
The sun was not up yet. Ordinarily, by this time, I have run for an hour, swam for a couple more and arranged a continental breakfast-in-bed for Jess. On Monday morning I was on the phone to the airline to arrange a flight leaving within two hours. Jess says I looked like it was my first day at school. Unaccustomed to leaving on such an adventure without her, I was concerned there might be important items forgotten, misplaced, or neglected. Rightfully so.
A day later and the sun is not up yet. In the colonial part of the city, under the suspicious gaze of three hundred or more hopeful (and well dressed) Dominicans already in cue, I was thankful Jess had snuck in a decent outfit (and a toothbrush). At a glance, the US consulate herds through a thousand visa applicants per day. The only one fair in complexion, and unable to comprehend the process towards a successful branding I was driven through security chutes, vigorous pat-downs, waiting rooms filled with incomprehensible instructions and many more natives, followed by more vigorous pat-downs. The latter of which I secretly began to enjoy as it afforded human contact I was now becoming familiar with. To continue the analogy; I was the foreign domesticated dairy variety lost amongst the bulls all the while lowing at the ranchers unsympathetic towards my inability to annunciate how I came to be there.
Nine hours sleep in three days. Coffee came at the worst moment. As good as Dominican coffee can be, my alertness was nearing an end. Having consumed only a burrito the night before and without breakfast, a well timed triple-espresso was to deliver a bitter hit of attentiveness allowing me to plead my case confidently and succinctly. Instead, the charge reduced me to a largely quivering and apprehensive aspirant, profusely sweating through Jess's well selected blue polo. At the front of the line, I was acutely aware it was not the time to look like I had run low on methadone.
"Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas" It was all I found to draw on. He frowned, looked intensely back through the glass, shuffled my passport and papers, and began questioning... in perfect english.
Having nothing to hide, and with enough evidence to substantiate that I was legitimately looking to work aboard private yachts it was over quickly. Personable enough to enjoy conversation about my travels thus far he ended the eight hour ordeal by issuing the required documents - the prerequisite to employment in the Caribbean - with a smile and a "good luck."
Modest in it's appearance, but thankfully free from bedbugs, the hostel provided great access to most of the attractions within a short distance."It is my passion, I like to do it." Roger states plainly. As the proprietor of the Hostel Dominico Mundial, he is helpful, but a little peculiar. "People will see you as a source of income, you will be well advised to haggle and keep your possessions safe." He continues, "I guess some things can be expected in any country without great wealth." "Like a distinct lack of seat belts...and cholera vaccine" I muse, attempting to keep him talking. He ignores me but continues, "I can arrange many things, if you feel as though you've been taken advantage of... you have." I wondered why he put the two together.
Keeping busy for the remainder of the week was not difficult. I managed to visit the Catedral Primada de Americas - the first cathedral in the Americas - built in the late 15th century and the home to Christopher Columbus' first resting place (he know resides in a formidable structure on the way to the airport.) La Tres Ojas "the three eyes," is a stunningly beautiful system of caves just out of town. Picture "the Goonies," then picture me asking the tour guide for the truffle shuffle. Boca Chica, and further, Juan Dolio are the closest areas with beaches and are also home to some of the poorest people in the country. Driving past them is humbling and pulling into the resort compound where I spent the last night, I couldn't help but wince at the contrast. Within the all-inclusive my biggest concern was staying sober long enough to take down that shuffle-board champion seen fleecing the younger generation with his well balanced puck pushing. Across the street at the same time, Dominicans hope to sell Cuban made cigars at grossly inflated prices to feed the family. I buy two Cohibas in the hope I can assuage my guilt.
Jess's week, she assures me, was riddled with good fortune and the feeling we are in the right place at the moment. On returning from a crew agent she stopped her bike above a crisp note in the gutter. "A can of coke costs 90 cents and I got a dime change!" She enjoyed a furkey dinner, on the Thanksgiving that I sadly missed, at a local hotel. She tells me it was the second best feast she has had - kind enough to keep my Canadian Thanksgiving spread in higher esteem. She also went barefoot into a 7/11 later that night, in a less-than-friendly part of town, and walked out on a first name basis with some of the rapping gentry on the front stoop. Thankfully she was waiting and smiling at the airport when I finally arrived...
...my flight had been cancelled. Spending the last of my money on a $3 paperback I sat in the most empty departures lounge and read it cover to cover before handing it back to the bemused newsagent. A very sweet Dominican girl who had seen me sitting in the same place for eight hours came from quite the distance to ensure my well being. Noticing I had not eaten or had anything to drink she began, "Buenas noches. ¿Hablas español?"
"No senorita, pokito español. Lo siento" She continues in Spanish anyway indicating with gestures; it is cold where I am sitting and I hadn't eaten. "Si Senorita," I understand. I indicate I have no pesos left. She smiles, leaves then returns with a bottle of coke and a cup of ice. Grateful as I am, I have exhausted all my spanish phrases. I open my palms, and announce proudly, "Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas!" She doesn't laugh.
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