This past weekend I went to Los Rios, where Sarah (an enviro volunteer) lives. There was a group of about 14 of us there to celebrate her community’s fiestas patronales (saint’s festival). Sarah lives to the south of me, however as public transportation-worthy highways are scarce in the southwest region of the DR, I traveled about an hour to the east, then an hour south, then back toward the west to get to her.
The fiesta was a delightful time and there was even a small Ferris wheel to ride! In true Dominican style, having none of those awful “safety” regulations to follow, they spun that Ferris wheel round and round as fast as they could, making it more of a roller coaster than a Ferris wheel. I’m siding with the Dominicans on this one—I love me a good Jersey shore Ferris wheel but the Dominicans know how to do it best—más rapido! However, the feeling of absolute freeing abandonment is somewhat tapered down by the thought that, at any moment, the rust that has been corroding this old not-taken-care-of Ferris wheel could send your Ferris wheel seat flying out into the starry night. At least my last Ferris wheel ride would have been amazing.
So Sunday, Elise (an enviro volunteer who kind of lives near me) and I decided to hell with going all the way back east to get up to our sites. We’d gotten word that there was a new highway being constructed with a more direct route to San Juan. Unfortunately, it was questionable as to whether it was actually finished or not, and we were told that there was no public transportation there. However, being stubbornly adventurous Peace Corps volunteers who would just about sell our souls to save 5 pesos, we headed for the entrance to this highway. For those geographically capable readers, we arrived to this highway entrance via a guagua (minivan/bus) to Neyba, then a bola to Batey 2. Sidenote: A bola means “free ride.” It’s the equivalent of hitchhiking in the States, but much less taboo here in the DR. It is also the one activity in this country that is somewhat easier for women to accomplish as we not only look less threatening, but perhaps if the bola-giver is lucky enough, he might mangar a visa to the U.S. Yeah, okay.
So we arrive unscathed at the entrance to the carreterra nueva. I wish I had had my camera so I could show you fine folks a picture. I’ve been to many a place in this country and elsewhere that seemed to be the middle of nowhere, but this highway, the way it stretched back into the mountains, the way it had nothing but sugarcane fields in every immediate direction, the way there were no cars or shade-bearing trees anywhere in sight. This, I was sure, was the actual physical center point of “nowhere.” While it would have been smart at this point to give up on our dream of riding the carreterra nueva and continue on to the usual eastward route, we decided to stick it out. So we started walking. If there had been a helicopter with a camera crew above us filming, we could have made this into an opening scene for some sort of film—horror, adventure, the possibilities are endless.
To shorten this up a bit, we eventually caught a bola with an 18-wheeler headed for Vallejuelo. We made such good friends with Bobby and Hansel (yes, these were their authentic Dominican-given names), that we detoured from San Juan to go have lunch at Bobby’s family’s house (where I ate goat for the first time) and then got a bola to San Juan in some sort of PT Cruiser-esque vehicle driven by a guy who I’m pretty sure is the Haitian James Earl Jones (every time he spoke, I thought of Bell Atlantic).
To end this story, I’d like to inform all of you that our trip (which was meant to be a shortcut) ended up taking 5 ½ hours. The other way—the one that goes all the way east, then back west, takes about 3 hours. However, the extra time was completely worth the beautiful mountain views, the free meal, the 200 pesos saved, and the fact that we can now claim to have ridden on the carreterra nueva (which I have already boasted about to at least half my town). All in all, a successful experience.
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