19 October
Francisca’s, Aguacete
After I’d talked with trainer E about the unfortunate situation with PCT J, I was invited for dinner. I can’t remember what we ate. Suddenly, trainer L, trainer E, and PCV B decided that it was time to go to the movies, which came as a complete surprise to me.
We walked down the dirt track to Francisca’s so I could retrieve a new shirt and a pair of socks, along with my wallet.
It was, by this time, well after dark. We waited for a camioneta to come by. It came, loaded up a good twenty feet with avocados bound for market in Santiago. I got on top of the pile and held on tight for my life.
The ride was beautiful and exciting, like an old-fashioned hay ride but better by orders of magnitude. The stars were simply gorgeous, and the descent bumpy and steep. There was a grand view of the city lights and the valley; it’s strange how some things are a lot prettier when viewed from afar.
In Los Cocos, we caught motos. Riding a motor at night in the city was both exciting and, at times, something that scared the shit out of me. We rode with B in front, me in back. The bike felt to me sometimes like the front wheel was going to pop off the ground, or the rear was going to come out from under me. Three people on such a small bike (115cc), but I’d not try to pull it off in the States!
After riding in a couple of carro públicos, we arrived at a brand new shopping mall, perfect condition, exceedingly nice even by US standards. PCV B and I went to see Moulin Rouge, and the others went to see something else. Overall being in such a high-class place was surreal. It was kind of like having left the Dominican Republic temporarily.
On the way back, around 10P, I had the great pleasure of listening to trainer L as he bargained a taxi driver all the way down from RD$750 to RD$100, a rate that was so ridiculously low that we practically celebrated as we got on our way. In the end, the driver demanded more, and we paid him RD$250.
Trainer E and PCV B got out at B’s house. The taxi driver turned around and let us out at the clinic where trainer L is staying. I spent the night uncomfortably sharing a bed with the man, his feet at the headboard, mine at his head. In the morning, we told Doña Francisca not to tell PCT J or PCT E about our excursion because, L explained “regrettably, the plans were made at the last moment, too late to tell the girls, but we would not want them to feel excluded.”
Of course, they had been very intentionally excluded– would we have been able to tell such a bold-faced lie in the States?
Note to readers: This is a review of my personal journal from my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Dominican Republic more than a decade ago. I have done my best not to change what I wrote, even if I feel differently now or found out later that I what I wrote was factually incorrect. Part of the joy of reading old journals is seeing a story arc where I’ve learned new things.
In this entry and others, names have been shortened to initials to provide some privacy. Those who were there will recognize the characters, but my journaling is not about other people or their experience.
