The retreat leader had suggested to the participants that they
consider spending one day, or part of a day, in silence. Only people who wanted
to need participate, and to indicate to the others who were not participating that
you were being silent, just put your finger to your lips. So when this optional
day of silence began, I was torn. Most of my cabana-mates and a couple other
women I had been spending time with wanted to be silent, and of course, I
respected that. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to be, and yet I didn’t feel a great
need to talk to anyone, either. At breakfast, therefore, I began to feel a
strange tension and discomfort. Who was who? Who was being silent? Who would be
bothered if I sat with them, in silence or otherwise? I began to feel an urge
to leave the resort for a while, to be alone, but not here. So I did.
The resort is situated between two small towns, Cabarete and
Sosua. I had already been into Cabarete and had lunch at one of the
many beachside cafes (during the US-Canadian Olympic hockey game; it turned out
there were a lot of Canadians there to watch it at the cafe!). So I asked at
the reception desk about going to Sosua. I thought I might take the bus rather
than a taxi. I walked about 10 minutes from the secluded road where the cabanas
are to the main road that runs between the two towns and looked for a bus stop.
There wasn’t one. The receptionist had said that I could just flag down a bus,
so I started walking and looking for the bus to come along. No bus came! There
are many motorscooters and motorcycles in the DR, probably more of them on the
road than cars, and I had heard that many people just hitch rides. I didn’t
feel confident about that, but I certainly couldn’t walk all the way to Sosua.
It would be perhaps a two-hour walk. I had to get a ride or turn back. Finally,
what looked like a taxi stopped and offered me a ride. There was someone in the
back already, so he waved for me to sit in the front, asked if I was going to
Sosua, and started off. We arrived in town, he dropped off the person in back,
who did not pay, and then asked me where I wanted to go. I had no idea and was
only gathering a general sense of what the driver was asking me (context and
body language more than the Spanish!). I asked about a center to the city, with
restaurants and shops, so he drove down a street and indicated a direction. I
asked him how much, and he seemed offended. I still had 30 pesos in my hand in
anticipation of the bus fare (that’s about 90 cents), so I handed it to him and
he said that was fine (the last time I had taken a taxi to Cabarete it was 500
pesos!). It seems people just offer each other rides here, without charging a
fare. I soon learned as well that “buses” are just individuals with minivans
who pick up riders and drop them off.
I walked around Sosua, along the beach where there are many
souvenir shops, restaurants, and bars (it was only 11:00, so most were closed).
The shopkeeps, mostly men, come up with “hola” or “hello, lady” but also with a
bit of a whistle, an “up-down” of the eyes --- it has been a long time since
I’ve gotten the up-down! There were people playing dominoes at the tables,
tourists on the beach, bar-keeps behind the still-closed storefronts slicing
and mincing food for later in the day. It was wonderful people-watching. But
once I reached the end of the line of shops, I didn’t feel like running the
gauntlet again to go back, so I headed away from the beach and found small
streets filled with motorscooters, motorscooter repair shops, motorscooter
rental shops, and motorscooter taxis. I asked about the bus toward Cabarete, to
make sure my sense of direction hadn’t been turned around, and two moto-taxi
drivers started arguing with each other about who had been there first to claim
me as their customer. At that point, I was convinced I would still go back by
bus, so I left them arguing. But then a “bus” went by that was so packed that a
couple people were hanging out the sliding doors. I began to question the bus
idea as well. I walked a little further and yet another moto-taxi driver offered
me 300 pesos to Cabarete; I said I only needed to go as far as the street for
my hotel, he said 200 pesos, I showed him that I only had 150 (a bit of a fib),
and we agreed. I climbed on the back of the scooter, asked him not to go too
fast, and we headed off.
As the road whizzed by and I clung to the vest of my taxi
driver, I began to wonder if I had even told anyone at the hotel where I was.
When the driver swerved to miss a van and then a car I thought, yep, I am going
to die on this road and no one will know where I am. I had my passport with me,
but it was tucked in a hidden travel pouch. No one would find it right away.
And still we sped along. I looked at our shadows in the road and wished I could
take a picture. No one will believe I did this. I don’t believe I did this. I
am going to die here. And then: I am so glad I did this! This is an adventure.
I need to do more things I would never usually do.
We arrived at the spot where I wanted to be dropped off, and
I asked my driver if I could take a picture. “Of me?” He seemed flattered. I
took his picture, paid my fare, and walked to a little shop on the way to the
hotel that sells bottled water. I began walking with my load of bottles when
another motorscooter came up beside me and I recognized one of the employees
from the hotel. He asked if I wanted a ride. I said yes and climbed on the back
of another motorscooter! It was a slower ride so we could speak to one another,
and he asked where I learned my Spanish. I said Mexico, and he said he had
learned Spanish here, in the Dominican Republic. “Oh, where are you from?” I
asked. Haiti. He has been here three years, since the earthquake. Before I
could learn more, we arrived at the hotel and I said goodbye.
Adventure, adventure. I wanted to tell my new friends here
on retreat, but they were still in silence. I held it in, my little adventure,
as long as I could. Then I was able to share. Now we are talking again. Thank
goodness! I am so glad those who wanted to be silent could do it, but I’m glad
we are all back together again, too. Tomorrow we scatter in different
directions, and I will likely never see most of them again. Impermanence. It
sort of goes hand-in-hand with adventure, doesn’t it?
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| My moto-taxi driver |
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| The quiet cove in Sosua. |
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| Tourists and beachfront hotels. |
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| Scooter after scooter whizzing by in Sosua. Often, they carry three people at a time. |
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| The long row of bars along Playa Sosua, closed at a 11:00 am, but one can imagine a vibrant night life. |
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| Trying to snap some photos of the scene without seeming too obvious. It doesn't always work out.... |
