Buen dia! Good day, it is!! After my adventure alone on a Caribbean Island, where a military man with a machine gun escorted me to the ladies room, it’s good to be home.
So seldom do things go as planned that I go with the flow, greeting it with a comfortable, and still a little wary familiarity.
Santiago de los Caballeros nestled in the mountains became the scene of driving lessons; the first being, don’t between dark and ten pm. The second is to always have a full tank of gas when desperately lost.
Travel allowed me to put beliefs into action, which gave depth to my soul. At the red lights, vendors swarm the cars, pushing their wares at the window. “Hey, American Lady,” many smile not trying to hide surprise of seeing me. “Mira, aqui!!” Suddenly the young men turn on the charm, going from big smile to equally grand pouty face when hearing my polite, “No, gracias.” Smiles and waves were exchanged.
My sincere gracias to all the wonderful people selling produce or adapters on the corner! With your help I found the autopista to head back to Santo Domingo.
A light rain in a strange city where crazy driving is a participant sport pushed me over the edge after an hour of being lost in rush hour. The window is down so I can peer around the five-way intersection. I look him in the eye to tell him, “No, gracias.” The short stature fellow with his directly close to the side of mine started telling me about his wife and child. I saw his eyes dart around the front seat and land on my belly pack for a second.
My stress level hit the roof and exploded into tears. In a wild combination of Spanish and English, I told how I’d been lost for an hour and a half and needed to get back to Santo Domingo.
I saw it in his eyes; I became a person. He sprang into action waving wildly, “Aqui, derecho.” He gestured forward, and then turned to face me, “Derecha, autopista!” “Derecha, derecha!”
He walked in front of three lanes of cars waiting for the red light, signaling them wait and me to come on; I followed in my little rental. We waved as the light changed and I was a little more confidently on the road again.
At the end of the long day on the road to Santo Domingo guess what; she who gets lost is at it again on the outskirts of town. I found my way to a marginal road heading toward a myriad of expressways, none of which came with a label. Tired with high stress feels cranky; do I scream or cry? Oh, hell, why not both?
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| Not the man described in the story |
Sitting in a long line gave me time to think out choices; oh, just show me a sign. Here comes a four foot something high guy missing a foot. One crutch is held by the stump of his upper right arm. The another crutch is held by a hand that holds a contribution cup. He ambulated towards me with hopeful eyes. He broke my heart. I reached into my belly pack as I asked the whereabouts of the John F. Kennedy expressway. He told me to turn left ahead with sagging hopes. Just then I popped what felt like a rather large coin into his cup. The light allowed me to get close, but not pass.
Do I turn left or a u-turn opting to try this major looking expressway? I decided on the obvious, took a deep breath, and looked in the side view mirror, where upon seeing the coin, and I don’t know how he did it, but he waved the crutch with his stump. I glanced at the light with the timer; it was going to be a while.
In the side view mirror, I saw this adorable little man ambulating with the skill of a primate and in a second he stood by the car, gesturing with the stump that secured a crutch he outlined the path I should take to be on the Kennedy. We made each other’s day; how priceless.
If thrown off the course I mapped out the night before, my plan b is to find wifi. In the poor areas forget it; if a place has wifi there’s a sign bragging about it. Driving down the shore I see a restaurant I ate at the last time in Santo Domingo, so I now know I’m near the Colonial Zone. Their food is excellent, oh, I hope they have WIFI.
No, I’m so tired and hungry; it’s four in the afternoon. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and the hotel I’ve reserved has a fabulous gym.
Again I prayed for a sign; I looked up. It said Sheraton; I have always enjoyed staying at Sheratons. My troubles would soon be over; I just knew it.
Lickity split, I’m walking up to the Sheraton entrance, which is completely overpowered by a Casino Entrance. What the hell, maybe casino has a restaurant with WIFI.
The sharp dressed man at the door gives me a smug, I’ve seen it all grin, as I smile and say hello, how are you in Spanish. Also in Spanish, I ask if the restaurant has WIFI. He gives me a face that says, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about with hands to add emphasis. That seemed so odd after all the country boys I’ve been speaking with all week.
A casino next to a Sheraton is a Caribbean tourist capital is going to hire a front door man who is at least bilingual, but I don’t know this I’m just a woman.
“Habla Ingles?” I ask in a hopeful tone. The pause that followed any drama queen would claim, and in a voice that spoke with difficulty finally squeaked out, “Yes, I speak English.”
“Does the restaurant have WIFI, the internet?” He pretended not to know. He was enjoying this way too much, so I walked out of the casino and into the Sheraton, where after cajoling the manager I was allowed to order a half hour before they opened for dinner.
With feeder streets on the way to roads to be traveled all listed my nearby destination hotel should be a snap to find, but no, I missed a sign someplace. I’m sitting at the light fuming when a tiny young woman carrying a doll-sized baby appeared at the window. Reflexively I shook my head. My mood foul I didn’t think. As she walked away, I called her back.
We are all the same thing, God’s creations. My soul could have been in that body; how could I send her away, when I had money in my bag. I handed her a coin; she bowed and left. I prayed for her to journey her hard road well.
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