It's so damn hot

It is, I tell you.

The locals all sit around in groups, talking. Is it because they are too hot to do anything, because they are unemployed, because they like talking, or a mixture of all three. I should ask someone, but I'm not sure how to prhase the question, or whether they would even understand what I am talking about, because most of these people have never and will never go to another country to compare themselves with. However, the people seem happy enough, the children seem well fed, and are give free reighn to wander around. A small boy attacks a chair languidly with a machette, a small girl plays about a foot from the road. I guess she's used to it, and her grandma is probably around somewhere. It must be nice for kids, there are always several friendly adults sitting on the porch talking or playing dominos. Dominos here is quite a popular game, guys slam the tiles down on the table, as they finger chips that I have not quite figured out the use of, save they represent money. A person looks on, like a waiter, who has change, and a piece of paper. I shall play soon, and show them how we do in New Zealand.

I ask the owner of a local ex-pat/sailor bar, and he says people sit around because they are lazy. He also says there is heaps of prostitution about, and that guys pimp their girlfriends. Thats enough hearsay for now.

They have hairless sheep here, immune to the devistating effects of fly blow. I walk with them a way down the mainstreet, then our paths diverge, me to to a shop, and them across a vacant lot. Well, not entirely vacant, it contains a hell of a lot of rubbish. The Dominicans have the attitute to rubbish that it's good, and should therefore be strewn everywhere.

In the main street there are some roadworks going on. About 30 guys stand or sit around talking while one guy digs a hole. I come back later, and the whole town is out to watch. I cant blame them, now a digger and a steamroller have joined the fray. Someone else is helping now too, he throws down cement mix to add to the clay and dirt that is being dumped upon the clay/dirt foundation.

Dogs are seen a little differently here, in that they are not. They seem to exist independantly of humans, like big stupid rats or something, eating scraps, fighting, and attacking the multitude of fleas that surely line their mangy hides.

I purchase some sweets in a shop from a stunning girl, one of the many I have seen, who could quite easily be a profesional model. Here though, if not lured into prostitution she will probably be a shop keeper. Which,. when you think about it, is for the best really, because models are unreachable, have nasty drug habits, and cause many girls to get complexes about themselves, whereas hot shop keepers will always say hi and they make buying the milk and newspaper more pleasant and while it's possible they have a drug habit, they are not role models, so its really their own buisness.

I head back to the boat. A teenager sits at the dock, looking longingly at a boat. I ask him if the boat is his. He responds in a kind of caw, I guess he cant talk. I ask him if he can take me to my boat. He caws again and raises one finger "one peso?" I ask. I figure the boat is not his. He then shakes the empty tank of the boat, takes a funnel, and searches other dinghies, which are undoubtely those of the other cruisers for extra fuel tanks. "No, its OK" I say.

A haggard looking girl in her late twenties calls me over. "No, gracias" I say, not wanting to buy whatever it is she is selling. Nice girls are shy, right?

I got the sweets for the Cuban officials, who we shall be bumping into in a few days. Buerocracy, which is really a euphemism for institutionalised bribery, is rampant, and we are going to be boarded many times by guys who want coca cola and dolores americanos. That means dolores American, for you non native speakers. My theory is if we give them some sachet orange juice, biscuts, and some sweets for their kids, they will find it harder to ask for money. Either that, or they will think we are weak, and they will demand a higher tribute. Anyway, this gringo is going to find out one way or the other.

You get all these people over here who want money off you, for the most ridiculous things. This kind of crap happens all the time, so I have made a few simple rules for gringos:


1. It's best to say "no, gracias" to everyone who wants your attention, because they want to sell you something that a) you dont want or b) you want but they will put a mark up on it which you could save if you walked around the corner to the shop that sells it


2. People who say "my friend" all the time are actually not your friend. Though it may seem charming in a kind of dopey way, and may make you feel kindly to this person who has so quickly taken you into their confidence, in New Zealand the word that would be used in this instance is "mate", or perhaps in America "Buddy" or "Pal"
Now compare:

Juan: Hey, my friend. Come over here! I have something to show you, my friend, just for you, my friend!

to this:

John: Hey, mate, come over here! I have something to show you, mate! Just for you, mate!

You see? The normal distrust that we have for strangers is lost in translation.


3. Always ask for the price first. Repeat it several times, and make sure it is for every thing. "Es precio final? Es precio final?". Act like you are a sincere drunk. Then, give the person a big cheesy smile, say "Mi amigo! Tu es mi verdad amigo!"(you are my true friend") and shake his or her hand. Theres no way they can ask for more money later with a water tight agreement like that.