Cucaracha

A Peruvian was describing to me in broken English the “belleza” of his country. I told him that soon I’ll be traveling this direction, having been invited by a women’s group.

“Where exacto?”

“D.R.”

“Dominicans? They are cucarachas!” blurted he.

I had heard before some judgments “duros” about D.R., yet they wouldn’t stop me from going there. We always have a chance to develop our own opinion, don’t we? However, in my head on the way to J.F.K. was stuck the old Schlager “Oh, cucaracha, oh, cucaracha, la-la-la, ta-ta-ta!”

The flight went easy, just three hours direct from New York City, without even a stopover in Miami, which normally happens if you fly to Central or South America. Most of the people on the plane spoke Spanish, the language I started to study before my trip.Espanol has been popular since the Cuban Revolution, and now has become almost obligatory as the second language in many U.S. states. The growing population of Latin-America immigrants keeps pushing it further. Look at the names of towns along the border: El Paso, Amarillo, (which means “yellow”), Santa Fe, Carpinteria, San Diego – even Los Angeles (for some reason depicted as the City of Angels).

Spending five years in Paris and speaking French I could guess a few words; nevertheless, my Spanish was “minimo” to hold a conversation. Puerto Plata met me and my Italian companion with guitar Latina music. We couldn’t resist to make dance movements and give our change to the smiling musicians.

It was midwinter in New York with its wet snow and harsh winds.

“Estuvo el tiempo bueno? “ a passenger asked the customs officer.

“Si, si!”

Plus 75; F, we put our coats, gloves, high boots away to the bags, leaving just T-shirts on. Then we rented a white Toyota Corolla, politely rejecting numerous offers of help from the guys – muchachos – at the Puerto Plata airport.

“Hola, chica, yo te guiero!”

The road to Amhsa Marina had a lot of lush greenery: all kinds of palms, banana and coconut trees, tobacco and sugar cane. In front of us lie distant blue mountains – D.R. Alps as we learned. This dreamlike horizon was contrasted with less “bellos” human creations: unstable huts, unfinished bridges, instant shops selling the fruit of the rich native earth. Also, too many motorcycles served here as taxis and polluted the air with their diesel fuel. In Aruba, I remember another solution was found: small red scooters for tourists, not noisy, not aggressive to the environment. Yet the most I admire is Beijing where I filmed its countless bikes, great for the atmosphere and for the muscles. Especially neat these rows of bikes seemed during a rain as every cyclist was wearing a different color of covering. They looked like yellow, blue, red butterflies rushing by.

We decided to turn into Chiquito, well know for its horse farms. Yes, horses were there: brown stallions on the grass surrounded by numerous white cranes. I imagined living next to these horses – not riding them, just petting them and feeding them and sitting on the grass with them and the cranes.

When we drove further, though, we saw more and more empty plastic bottles and foam boxes on the ground. Also several abandoned villas and hotels, gorgeously built in Southern style vitrages and mahogany doors. We talked about the Twin Towers being destroyed in NYC on 9/11 and its affects on businesses all over the world.

The uplifting spirit of “Guantanamero” – one of my favorite melodies was on the radio as we entered Amhsa Marina. Quickly, we unpacked and went swimming. The strong riptide pulled us in and we could barely withstand; yet the salty water of the Atlantic Ocean left us refreshed and revived. In half an hour, dressed up, we were ready to perform.

The mixed crowd at the library surprised me. Of course, some Dominicans came, as well as Americans, and French, which could be expected since Haiti an ex-French colony shares the island with D.R. I was pleased to see also Russians, who are curious enough to be now, after glasnost, everywhere you go. A Russian young woman told us that D.R. has Punta Rusia – isle paraiso. Our public also included about 25% of Germans. I discovered that they had immigrated to D.R. during the second world war and made the German language practically the second one of the Dominican Republic. In Sosua, where the library is located, many names of restaurants, shops, and laundromats are written in German only: Zum Schweizer, Bunte, Wacherei, Nachrichten, etc.

After giving lectures I like to relieve stress with a massage which was appropriately arranged in Amhsa Marina. While waiting for the appointment we played ball at the poll and had a pineapple drink at the Bar Disco Calypso. Suddenly we felt hungry and ate at the Jalapeno Restaurant. Yam, yucca with D.R. seafood, plus papaya, melons, passion fruit for dessert. Light and wholesome.

The massage parlor had two cabins, so we got separated, My masseuse was fit, black and very friendly. In English, she knew only one word: “pain”. She squeezed the tight knots on my back and kept asking, “Pain?” Pain?”

“How do you know where?” I laughed and turned. She responded with a smile opening her perfect teeth. Her gently pressure removed all tension. No more pain. Her baby slept on the couchette outside of the cabin. Young women are often left pregnant without any support here. I thought about my masseuse: if all “cucharachas” are that good, I’m moving to Dominicana to help clean it up.