After spending a week in Ohio and celebrating John's dad's 90th (!) birthday, we were back on the boat in Luperon harbor by the beginning of May. Leaving the boat at anchor anywhere is a cause for concern, but she fared just fine, under the watchful eye of some of our neighbors here in the harbor. She didn't drag her anchor, and no one bothered her, so we were thankful.
Being here in the Dominican Republic is special for us, since John has relatives here. That, I think, buys us some points with some of the locals, and some envy from other cruisers who would love to have someone to visit for a real honest-to-goodness Dominican experience.
We left on Wednesday afternoon on the local bus to spend a few days with John's cousin and his family in Santo Domingo. We love to use local transportation when we can, so that we can be with the people and try to get a sense of who they are and how they live. The Transporte de Cibao bus was not air conditioned, so windows open. We spent 5 hours going from the northern coast to the southern coast. What a ride! The driver kept the door open and the driver's helper leaped up and down to help people on and off with their packages. John's cousin called while we were in route, but there was no way we were going to hear the phone ring, with the honking of horns, the crying of the babies and the clucking of the chickens in the seat behind me (I am NOT making this up.) The bus transported people, packages, school children back to school after siesta, and whatever else needed to be moved cheaply from one end of the country to the other. The ticket was about $7 US. Imagine a cab ride in Manhattan (which most people can relate to) minus the anger with the driver using his horn almost as much as the accelerator, (certainly more than he used the brake), but instead, weaving in and out past trucks loaded with bananas, motorcycles (called motohonchos) with 3 to 4 people onboard, and the occasional mounted horseman, or donkey, laden with fruit for market. We were completely stopped for a couple of minutes by cabajeros (cowboys) on horseback herding cattle down the road, cracking their whips just like in the movies (but, I think, only better!).
The scenery was magnificent. The highest mountains in the West Indies are right here, with Pico Duarte being 10,416 feet high. We passed sugar cane, banana, orange and tobacco plantations, and areas so thick with vegetation you would have to cut your way through, all very green and lush. We also, however, passed some of the most poverty-laden areas we have yet seen on our trip. The average salary in the country is about $200 US/month. I'm sure these people don't make that much.
Which leads me to a comment about the people here. We have been anchored near the little village of Luperon, now, for about a month. The village has between 1 and 2 thousand people, but it bustles like it was thousands more. No one is idle. Even though it is a very poor village, the people are all well dressed, although not fancy, but always clean. We have only been approached by one elderly man who wanted money, but constantly by people who want to perform a service, from being a guide to giving us a ride to wherever we need to go. Everyone has a 'business'. It seems that from the time they get out of school, everyone has something they are engaged in. In front of someone's house, you might find them cutting up the fish they caught that morning, or the chickens they just harvested. People are always welding, painting something, selling something; this is not a sleepy little village. It hops. Near the main intersection, and the one (non-working) traffic light, there are usually about 20 young men with their motohonchos calling out for customers. Up the street, are the (car) taxis, where you can buy the whole carload and go now, or wait for the car to be filled (and I mean filled—to the point of sitting on each other's laps!) before you go. You can go to a restaurant owned by a former North American, or sit at a table in the front of someone's house, where you can have the 'especial del dia', which is always chicken and rice.
This is a very rich, fertile country, with deposits of precious minerals and scenery to die for. But, I think its finest asset are its people. May sound like some travel brochure, but these people are not only industrious, they seem to be constantly laughing, teasing each other, and, I have observed, don't get all bent out of shape at little things that don't go their way. They are also quite attractive. They are a mixture of European (Spanish mostly) and African, with skin mostly a medium brown. One final thing that impresses me is how they carry themselves, with pride and dignity, everyone from the very young to the very old. With people like these, and a country rich in all it has to offer, it leaves me hoping that the political situation will someday be such that the people as a whole will be able to benefit. While some cruisers here complain of corruption, we have seen very little. We have found people very honest. For example, when John nearly overpaid (due to a currency conversion error) the men who delivered water to the boat, they refused to accept more than the originally stated price. Stories are told of taxi drivers who didn't have the correct change tracking down customers two days latter to return the extra money paid. Still, there is definitely official corruption here. The previous two comandantes in Luperon were fired for demanding bribes, explaining why we had no problem.
Anyway, I digress. After our most interesting ride, we arrived in Santo Domingo about 6:30 p.m. As there are, I think, three bus companies, we called John's cousin from the bus and had the nice lady across the aisle from us tell Byron where to pick us up. When he heard which bus we were coming in on, he assured us he would be there when we arrived so (I think) we wouldn't be frightened. Not to worry, however. The area of the city was 'sketchy', but the people were not, so, it was just interesting.
We were warmly welcomed by Byron, his wife, Norma, and one of their sons, Alvis. Members of our family who had visited with Byron and family before had told us we were in for a treat, and they were right. They live in a large, beautiful house in the city. It would be comparable to living on a side street in Manhattan (to get the picture). The houses all have the decorative (and serve a security function) wrought iron around the decks and windows. They do not need screens. I was looking at some of the high-rise apartments in the city and noticed that some of the apartments on the upper levels don't even have a sliding door. Where the sliding door would be, it is just open to a wonderful deck, surrounded by the ornamental wrought iron railing. On the side of the opening would be drapes which are held back by sashes, and of course, the all-important hurricane shutters which roll up out of the way above the opening. Floors are tile. Plants are everywhere. I've always been somewhat envious visiting areas where their yards and porches are filled with what we northerners can only know as 'house' plants.
Oh, but then, I digress again. When we arrived, we got settled into the guest room and dinner was served. Byron and Norma have a cook, Consuela, who served up a variety of the best meals I had eaten since we left Rhode Island a year and a half ago. I had been losing weight on this trip, but I think I succeeded in gaining some of it back this week. We ate, visited late, and made our 'plan of attack' for the following two days of sightseeing.
We began Thursday with an overview of the old city, with Byron giving us a car tour and pointing out buildings of interest. One such building, is the Faro a Colon, which is a monument erected on the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' landfall in 1492. Supposedly, the structure, which is quite large, contains the ashes of the old guy, but no one will ever be sure because they were supposedly moved over the centuries from the Dominican Republic to Spain, back to the Dominican Republic, then to Cuba and then supposedly back to Spain. However, in 1877, when the cathedral here was renovated, they turned up a casket bearing the inscription “Almirante Christobal Colon”, so it's anybody's guess as to where he really is. The monument is surrounded by trees donated by Byron from his farm. Byron had a nursery business for many years, being the chief exporter of, among other plants, the braided fica trees we love in the US. His clients, however, were mostly in Europe.
We returned to the house for lunch after which Byron dropped us off at one end of the colonial area. John and I walked the colonial area, stopping first at the oldest church in the new world, the Catedral Basilica Santa Maria la Menor, built between 1514 and 1540 (about 100 years before the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth)! We eat this stuff up! There are the ruins of the oldest hospital in the new world, as well as buildings dating from the early 16th century which are now museums and shops. My favorite was Diego Colon's (Christopher Colon's (Columbus) son's) house. Suffice it to say, he lived very well. As were walking through, however, I kept wondering where all the fireplaces were~~how did these people keep warm? Then it dawned on me where I was....duh. The almost constant breezes and moderate temperatures make for nearly perfect weather with days requiring heating or air conditioning rare.
Santo Domingo is built on the banks of the River Ozama. It was founded by another of Christopher Columbus' brothers, Bartolomeo, in 1498. It suffered an earthquake in 1562 and was attacked by Sir Francis Drake, the dreaded English pirate, in 1586. It was known as Cuidad Trujillo, during the reign of the dictator from the 1930's until 1961, but reverted after the assassination of that less than honorable human being (you see no monuments to this US sponsored dictator, only his victims). Santo Domingo is now home to some 3 million people and the largest city in the country.
After seeing the oldest church in the New World, we headed for the Fortaleza Ozama, built in 1503 near the mouth of the river. It was used until the 1970's. Within the fort is the Torre del Homenaje (Tower of Homage) with 7 foot walls. Climb to the top of the tower and you can see the importance of this structure for guarding the city.
The Alcazar de Colon was next on the agenda. It was built by Chris' son, Diego, who became the first viceroy of the new world. It is a copy of a castle in Toledo, Spain, (only on a smaller scale) and has one of those ceilings adorned with finely painted wood, complete with sculpted animal heads. It is full of original 16th century furniture.
The Museo de las Casas Reales was quite an interesting building, covering the history of the island from the Taino indians (original inhabitants) through the 18th century. There is a great collection of ancient armaments, including some armor, inlaid rifles, swords, crossbows and a Roman legionnaire's helmet dating from the year 1.
After a day of sightseeing, and some tired feet, Byron and Alvis picked us up at the other end of the colonial zone and we returned home for dinner and more conversation.
Destination DR
Continuing our south by north strategy, we skirted past the coral heads east and north of our anchorage off Ambergris Cay around Fish Cay and into the deep water of the Columbus Passage mid morning on April 13. This was our second attempt to wend our way through the treacherous coral heads around Ambergris. The morning before we found ourselves dodging coral heads, getting off course and narrow escaping a bad end. Discretion and exhaustion led us back through the coral maze in which we had found ourselves to our previous anchorage and our new found friends, Robin and Diana on S/V Solveig. The core value in cruising being flexibility, we cast off our frayed plan and took advantage of the situation at hand. Circumstances and bad navigation prevented our intended departure but provided the opportunity for a delightful evening of good food and wonderful conversation on Solveig. Robin, a retired CERN nuclear physicist and Diana, a former British spy, proved to be entertaining and gracious hosts as we dined well and held forth on a variety of topics with intelligence and insight. In other words, we agreed on just about everything.
Like the New Zealanders, they were also a part of the band of Southbounders we had met in George Town. They had originally planned to reach Trinidad, but their plans changed when their bottom paint began peeling off in large sheets from their steel hulled sloop. Apparently, when the boat yard in Ft. Lauderdale painted the bottom earlier in the year, the temperature was so cold the paint never cured properly, meaning that it had to be done over. So, instead of continuing south, they were spending the next couple of weeks in the Turks and Caicos. They would haul the boat in Provo and have the bottom painted and leave the boat there, on the hard, during hurricane season and return home to the UK. In the meantime they would explore the beautiful and relatively unspoiled Turks and Caicos.
After sailing several hours north to avoid the coral reefs, we finally turned south, southeast toward Luperon, on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. With an east and east southeast wind of 16-20 knots, we were able to sail and motor sail pretty much in the desired direction. We made as much easterly as we could, knowing that the wind would back to the southeast. Again we had a current working against us. Still, in great weather and 2-4' seas, we had as fine a passage as could be expected. Sailing all night in a tunnel of darkness, we emerged in the morning to see the hazy mountains of the Dominican Republic. On a dying wind and flat seas, we headed for the Luperon inlet watching dolphins lazily feeding just ahead. The entrance was fairly easy to spot. We identified what the chart called a “conspicuous house” just west of the mouth of the inlet. With a waypoint, a heading and using a distinctive mountain profile as a range, we slowly proceeded into the harbor. The water is deep almost to shore and the cruising guide provided excellent directions. The murky inlet water gave no clue as to depth, but we easily made our way into this very protected anchorage. As we passed M/T Essential Parts, Tom, the captain came out on deck to provide good advice regarding anchoring. While the harbor is generally deep, there are a few very shallow spots that aren't obvious. Just as we dropped anchor, we heard a friendly, “Hola, excellente (referencing our anchoring skills)!” Papo, motored alongside. He explained in a mix of Spanish and English that he can supply us with whatever we need. We call him the (gun toting) 'consegliere' of the harbor. We have called him when we needed anything from drinking water to diesel fuel. He comes right out with whatever you want, which is good, because there is no marina into which you can go to fuel up. He called the “Comandante” on the radio to inform him of our arrival and explained that we should wait to be boarded and cleared, but if after several hours no one came out, we could head into the government dock and proceed to the Aduana.
We cleaned up the boat as we waited...and waited...and waited. Three hours later, still no Comandante In the DR, the naval Comandante often has no access to a boat. Therefore, he has to get a ride with someone. The vessel being cleared is expected to help pay for the gas. That may explain the delay. Tired of waiting and hungry, we lowered the dinghy and headed to shore, walked to the Aduana and began the process of clearing in. Many cruisers have decried cruising in the DR, complaining of bribe taking and confusing, changing requirements. Our experience doesn't support those complaints. Even with our poor command of Spanish, the officials patiently worked through the minimal paperwork, insisted on providing receipts for each transaction and even let us get lunch in town while waiting for the Comandante and the Agricultural inspector to be available.
Back on the boat and two hours later, the navy ties up alongside with ½ dozen men, including an agricultural inspector. One man in street shoes, removes them before boarding to avoid marking up the deck. The whole process goes smoothly and I offer, but must insist upon, a couple of dollars to defray the cost of gas. I believe, based on our experience, that as tourism has increased in the DR, the government has taken steps to reduce the incidence of bribe taking and standardize the process. We ended up paying about $130 US to enter and received receipts for everything, except the gas money. Reputation, language and ignorance often create unwarranted suspicions. We met an American couple from Texas who believed the fees were outrageous and worried that they had been cheated. They pointed to a schedule of fees and exclaimed that the $350 per person fee until we pointed out that the prices were in pesos, not dollars and equivalent to about $10 US.
Luperon, a small, rural, town, 2 hours from the nearest airport and not far from Haiti, sits on the shore of one of the most protected harbors in the Eastern Caribbean. Surrounded by mountains and protected from the sea by a dogleg inlet, no safer spot could be found. Mangrove trees line the harbor providing both a soft landing for any boat that goes adrift as well. They also offer a means to secure lines to shore in the event of a storm. The town itself consists of 2 primary streets that converge at the dock. Goats, dogs and chickens compete with cars, burros, and 'motoconchos' (small motorcycles that provide taxi service) on Calle Duarte, the main street. Lined with a mix of shabby, small vegetable stores, a welding shop, one room residences and restaurants, the street bustles with activity. People greet each other and strangers cheerfully. With the houses sitting right on the street, the sidewalk becomes an extension of the homes and businesses. Men and women play dominoes at tables, slamming the pieces down with enthusiasm. Girls braid each others' hair, farmers sell produce from the back of their trucks and a loudspeaker broadcasts clucking chickens, announcing the arrival of a pickup carrying freshly killed birds for sale, whole or cut to order.
Always on the lookout for a good meal after being on the water for a couple of days, we take the steps up to a second floor restaurant overlooking the main intersection with the town's sole traffic light (non-working). Andre, the owner/manager, soon appears, welcomes us in French accented English. A French Canadian who sailed into Luperon 5 years ago with the intention of continuing on through the Caribbean, he opened the restaurant only recently. As the food is served he advises us that, “If you don't like the food, you don't have to pay!” An American, sitting next to us, empty plate in front of him, tells Andre with a smile that his meal was terrible! “Too late”, replies Andre. Our neighbor introduces himself and we learn that he is Bill from Logan, Ohio, not far from where my mother was born and raised! He too sailed to Luperon several years ago, planning to sail to Australia, only to get caught up the this dynamic, friendly, beautiful but poor country. He is retired from the Boy Scouts of America, where he organized camps, excursions, etc. for hundreds of boys at a time. He decided to use his organizing skills here in his retirement. He runs a nonprofit, nondenominational mission that builds homes for the poor and helps the local people by procuring school supplies, medicine, whatever is needed.
The friendly, industrious people of Luperon reflect a lively and diverse culture and leave a positive impression. At the same time, the economic poverty is obvious. Andre told us the average employee earns about $3 USD a day and while prices for some things are low, many items are at least as expensive as they are in the States. Still, nearly everyone you pass offers a friendly “Hola!” People seem to care greatly about their personal appearance, dressing well considering their apparent lack of means. We get numerous offers for assistance, with some gratuity expected, but few beggars. Nearly everyone, young and old seem to be looking for a way to hustle a few pesos. If a service is provided they expect compensation, but no handouts. If you don't wish the service offered, a simple, "No, gracious" moves them on to the next prospective customer.
We are excited to be at last in the Caribbean. The people, the landscape and the Spanish heritage all promise a refreshing contrast to the former English colonies of the Bahamas. On top of that, we hope to visit my cousin Byron who lives in Santo Domingo.
Note: Pictures to follow. No high speed internet available and life is short.
Like the New Zealanders, they were also a part of the band of Southbounders we had met in George Town. They had originally planned to reach Trinidad, but their plans changed when their bottom paint began peeling off in large sheets from their steel hulled sloop. Apparently, when the boat yard in Ft. Lauderdale painted the bottom earlier in the year, the temperature was so cold the paint never cured properly, meaning that it had to be done over. So, instead of continuing south, they were spending the next couple of weeks in the Turks and Caicos. They would haul the boat in Provo and have the bottom painted and leave the boat there, on the hard, during hurricane season and return home to the UK. In the meantime they would explore the beautiful and relatively unspoiled Turks and Caicos.
After sailing several hours north to avoid the coral reefs, we finally turned south, southeast toward Luperon, on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. With an east and east southeast wind of 16-20 knots, we were able to sail and motor sail pretty much in the desired direction. We made as much easterly as we could, knowing that the wind would back to the southeast. Again we had a current working against us. Still, in great weather and 2-4' seas, we had as fine a passage as could be expected. Sailing all night in a tunnel of darkness, we emerged in the morning to see the hazy mountains of the Dominican Republic. On a dying wind and flat seas, we headed for the Luperon inlet watching dolphins lazily feeding just ahead. The entrance was fairly easy to spot. We identified what the chart called a “conspicuous house” just west of the mouth of the inlet. With a waypoint, a heading and using a distinctive mountain profile as a range, we slowly proceeded into the harbor. The water is deep almost to shore and the cruising guide provided excellent directions. The murky inlet water gave no clue as to depth, but we easily made our way into this very protected anchorage. As we passed M/T Essential Parts, Tom, the captain came out on deck to provide good advice regarding anchoring. While the harbor is generally deep, there are a few very shallow spots that aren't obvious. Just as we dropped anchor, we heard a friendly, “Hola, excellente (referencing our anchoring skills)!” Papo, motored alongside. He explained in a mix of Spanish and English that he can supply us with whatever we need. We call him the (gun toting) 'consegliere' of the harbor. We have called him when we needed anything from drinking water to diesel fuel. He comes right out with whatever you want, which is good, because there is no marina into which you can go to fuel up. He called the “Comandante” on the radio to inform him of our arrival and explained that we should wait to be boarded and cleared, but if after several hours no one came out, we could head into the government dock and proceed to the Aduana.
We cleaned up the boat as we waited...and waited...and waited. Three hours later, still no Comandante In the DR, the naval Comandante often has no access to a boat. Therefore, he has to get a ride with someone. The vessel being cleared is expected to help pay for the gas. That may explain the delay. Tired of waiting and hungry, we lowered the dinghy and headed to shore, walked to the Aduana and began the process of clearing in. Many cruisers have decried cruising in the DR, complaining of bribe taking and confusing, changing requirements. Our experience doesn't support those complaints. Even with our poor command of Spanish, the officials patiently worked through the minimal paperwork, insisted on providing receipts for each transaction and even let us get lunch in town while waiting for the Comandante and the Agricultural inspector to be available.
Back on the boat and two hours later, the navy ties up alongside with ½ dozen men, including an agricultural inspector. One man in street shoes, removes them before boarding to avoid marking up the deck. The whole process goes smoothly and I offer, but must insist upon, a couple of dollars to defray the cost of gas. I believe, based on our experience, that as tourism has increased in the DR, the government has taken steps to reduce the incidence of bribe taking and standardize the process. We ended up paying about $130 US to enter and received receipts for everything, except the gas money. Reputation, language and ignorance often create unwarranted suspicions. We met an American couple from Texas who believed the fees were outrageous and worried that they had been cheated. They pointed to a schedule of fees and exclaimed that the $350 per person fee until we pointed out that the prices were in pesos, not dollars and equivalent to about $10 US.
Luperon, a small, rural, town, 2 hours from the nearest airport and not far from Haiti, sits on the shore of one of the most protected harbors in the Eastern Caribbean. Surrounded by mountains and protected from the sea by a dogleg inlet, no safer spot could be found. Mangrove trees line the harbor providing both a soft landing for any boat that goes adrift as well. They also offer a means to secure lines to shore in the event of a storm. The town itself consists of 2 primary streets that converge at the dock. Goats, dogs and chickens compete with cars, burros, and 'motoconchos' (small motorcycles that provide taxi service) on Calle Duarte, the main street. Lined with a mix of shabby, small vegetable stores, a welding shop, one room residences and restaurants, the street bustles with activity. People greet each other and strangers cheerfully. With the houses sitting right on the street, the sidewalk becomes an extension of the homes and businesses. Men and women play dominoes at tables, slamming the pieces down with enthusiasm. Girls braid each others' hair, farmers sell produce from the back of their trucks and a loudspeaker broadcasts clucking chickens, announcing the arrival of a pickup carrying freshly killed birds for sale, whole or cut to order.
Always on the lookout for a good meal after being on the water for a couple of days, we take the steps up to a second floor restaurant overlooking the main intersection with the town's sole traffic light (non-working). Andre, the owner/manager, soon appears, welcomes us in French accented English. A French Canadian who sailed into Luperon 5 years ago with the intention of continuing on through the Caribbean, he opened the restaurant only recently. As the food is served he advises us that, “If you don't like the food, you don't have to pay!” An American, sitting next to us, empty plate in front of him, tells Andre with a smile that his meal was terrible! “Too late”, replies Andre. Our neighbor introduces himself and we learn that he is Bill from Logan, Ohio, not far from where my mother was born and raised! He too sailed to Luperon several years ago, planning to sail to Australia, only to get caught up the this dynamic, friendly, beautiful but poor country. He is retired from the Boy Scouts of America, where he organized camps, excursions, etc. for hundreds of boys at a time. He decided to use his organizing skills here in his retirement. He runs a nonprofit, nondenominational mission that builds homes for the poor and helps the local people by procuring school supplies, medicine, whatever is needed.
The friendly, industrious people of Luperon reflect a lively and diverse culture and leave a positive impression. At the same time, the economic poverty is obvious. Andre told us the average employee earns about $3 USD a day and while prices for some things are low, many items are at least as expensive as they are in the States. Still, nearly everyone you pass offers a friendly “Hola!” People seem to care greatly about their personal appearance, dressing well considering their apparent lack of means. We get numerous offers for assistance, with some gratuity expected, but few beggars. Nearly everyone, young and old seem to be looking for a way to hustle a few pesos. If a service is provided they expect compensation, but no handouts. If you don't wish the service offered, a simple, "No, gracious" moves them on to the next prospective customer.
We are excited to be at last in the Caribbean. The people, the landscape and the Spanish heritage all promise a refreshing contrast to the former English colonies of the Bahamas. On top of that, we hope to visit my cousin Byron who lives in Santo Domingo.
Note: Pictures to follow. No high speed internet available and life is short.
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