It's a wonderful LIFE !!! Santiago de los Caballeros

YUP!!!! I agree.

Sounds like you had your first taste of our lovely
Dominican Ladies JEALOUSY! Well, keep your hands to yourself, even though you intentions are innocent. Yes, EVERY beautiful Lady here
smiles at you.
Our novias, or esposas don't mind it too much. But the second smile to you from a stranger will evoke a reaction chum.
Be careful.
Tom.

So true.....  I once incited a full out brawl in a grocery store parking lot.....  not on purpose of course.

Mi esposa does not wait till the second smile before she smacks me and she is a gringa.

Once had a chic put her hand on my ass as I walked by and she smacked her   Told her that my ass was hers.

Bob K

Bob,might I be so bold as to ask which one you said this to?

Hahahahaha  Bob I  can  see her doing this...

She said it to the chica


Bob K

Yes planner it was pretty funny

Bob K

Part 23

La Republica Dominicana y la vida maravillosa

La esquina (the corner)

Like any other place in the world, the DR has, like any other city, places where one can meet on a weekend, Friday night, and find food, music, alcohol and mating potential. These are elements of existence and certainly are not forbidden subject material. In that there were restrictions regarding my travel ability and means of leaving the barrio; while on my first visit, I had nothing better to do, than just sit and observe. The corner by the prison provided me with a vast supply of cultural and historical value. Of course, yes, I could be seen maybe across the street, with my little plastic chair, leaning back against the prison wall, and watching people. The bus parked in front of the prison, served me well in providing a sort of incognito surrounding for me to do my people watching. Yes, there were times where someone would see and notice me and move on, or ignore me. For the most part I just blended in, and of course after the sunset, there was a whole panoramic view available of the street corner just across from the prison……

In deciding to preserve my experiences and observations in this forum, I have decided that it is time to get a little more serious about how I present them. There are a few who I have entrusted to now begin the proper assembly and order to my journal entry and observed writing about the Republica Dominicana. In that I will take a sabbatical for a season, I now want to encourage everyone who has followed this thread,,, to please give me input to some of the things that are important to you and others that may inquire via this Expat.com site. Please PM me and I will inform you as to how this could be achieved. Thank you for you positive and kind, and also correction when necessary response to what I have tried to attempt. Blessings.

Oh groby57 tell me this is not the end of you so informative and entertaining narrative here.

Bob K

I hope not. Although pretty  sure we all have stories to tell,  just not the same way!!!   Corners now there is a subject all in and of itself....... LOL

Bob,
You may not know it, there was a time when I had a singing career. In fact I received many requests. The thing is I sang anyway.

Planner
Around and on every corner exists tragedy and success. Of which shall we venture?

The fun part honey,  every corner has a colmado.  Different kinds of colmados of course.   My favorites are the dancing colmados......LOL 

In Santo Domingo is one we call "the Prostitutes Colmado".  This is where they gather before hours to have a cold one or two, a dance or two and then off they go for a nights work.......    I have had more fun in that colmado in Santo Domingo then any other colmado in this country! 

It is really a neighborhood gathering place.  You  buy your drinks,  have a seat at the counter or gather chairs and a small plastic table and you are good to go.  Prices are about  5% above the cost in the grocery store for your drinks.

The place is almost always rocking, turn on the "juke box" and the dancing starts!  Sometimes you will hear the same song 12 times in 3 hours but that is what they want that is what they get.

Oh the outfits................ subject all on its own. I had a business idea to make giant size shoe horns  and sell them.  I figured that must be how they got their asses into those jeans - at least  3 sizes too small!

Groby, I have no fear, I read your post & understand what it means.  Wake up people & SEE !

Hey Planner, the ladies, all kinds, almost 100 percent wear
those stretchy jeans or pants. Which makes them all look great!
You got it Gypsy & Greg.
Bob, methinks Greg's post are going to go on forever!
Especially if we follow his simple request.

Part 24

Secret Sealed

Maybe it was because of the dramatic finish of the game between the Aguilas and the Tigres, (post #87) that I found myself standing somewhat dazed and a bit confused there in front of el maestro. Those hands that had lifted me up to my feet, and quickly freed me from the wasteland of the seasoned chair. The chair that now would be remembered in the archives of things past and things forgotten. You see every culture has their Horracio. He is the guy that can make things appear and disappear, as if you thought you had lost your capacity to recall, or not recall their existence.

From a Dominican very affluent, to the man with a burro and a cart, they all have one thing in common. We call it a cell phone. Yes, at that moment when the dust had settled, el maestro drew his phone out of his pocket as quickly and smoothly, as a pistolero. He spoke a number, and before I could say anything, he was pontificating about some event that had happened outside his house, in which a runaway moto had just missed him and had transformed this family heirloom into an unrecognizable form, beyond hope of resurrection or prosthetic cure. He disconnected the call and looked at me. “Todo va a estar bien goyo, todo va a estar bien.” Then he quickly drew his phone again, almost in a panic. He called his niece and let her know to intercept the ladies, and have the senoras head back to the store for some other stuff. Even though he has close to a century under his belt, I was quickly paying attention to the feedback of his witty demeanor and his well thought out detail. In short time Horrocio was at the door.  “Apurate, apurate!!”  Poncho had a broom in his hand and was motivating Horrocio who seemed unattached to the whole event. Calmly, kneeling with one leg on the floor, balancing himself with his one crutch,” the cleaner” began to remove the evidence produced by this violation of personal property. Handful by handful he carefully picked up the carnage of epic proportions, and put them into burlap sack. Poncho had now found a rag of sorts, and moistened it with water drawn from one of the big blue barrels. He now had Horracio wipe and clean the last specs of dust and splinters from areas quite a long way from ground zero of this event. Tying the burlap sack with a strip he had cut away from the top of it, he eased it out the door, balancing himself with his crutch, and hobbling with his one leg, turned and then navigated slowly yet steady, up and around the corner, and disappeared. My soul took reverence of an individual who had earned his position in life, and the tragic consequences he paid while taking a full side hit on his left side, while trying to deliver a propane tank on his moto, many years back. The mangled leg was amputated, and from that day, a different pathway was established for Horracio.

Poncho then stood there and offered me his big leather, low to the floor, easy chair. In that I had not prospered so well in my courtship of Dominican chairs, my mind was screaming “no!” yet knowing he wanted to seal a secret with me, and this was his leverage in doing so, I accepted his invitation, and slowly lowered myself into the chair. My hands on the armrests and my legs straight out in front of me, I slowing descended, letting the softness of the leather form an agreement with me, and finally submersed myself into its clutches.

Sitting there staring at the 1990s big “27” TV, I noticed several others off to the side of the room, along with other retired electro domesticos of different genres. My guess is that someday Horracio will once again appear and disappear as Poncho seizes another opportunity that might be presented, from fate itself. His superstition that his favorite team won a championship while watching the series on a certain TV, now were taking a toll on the senora as she lacked enough space to properly place the chairs that she now had, around the dining table in a proper way. Maybe the radio that he threw out of frustration another year, when again his favorite team had lost a series; his silence revealed that maybe just maybe, Horracio had more visits pending in the future, for this household. Horracio has survived on his ability to keep peace in many a Dominican home. To both senora and senor, without acknowledgement of one or the other, Horracio is a household name, which is only spoken when someone has a problem that only the Dominican human resource department, that being Horracio himself, can resolve.

Steady and without emotion, both the old TV and radio have delivered their subscribed requests. They hold no contempt for the emotions of Poncho, they sit idle, waiting for another day, when at last they will be beckoned once again to deliver a truth, and then wait for the determined level of attachment to which will decide, their final destiny.

Damn I enjoy my morning coffee with this blog.

You hit on so many truisms this morning.  It made me smile a lot.

Thanks for a great start to my day!

Bob K

Part 25

The Dominican Mindset

Tools

When discovering the many ways in which one is challenged to think here in the DR, I came to realize very quickly that there were a few things that I needed to understand. The quicker I came to get my head around stuff, the better it was for my relationship with the native populous. Upon arriving the second time, I was introduced to the Dominican home maintenance program. Preventative was not an option. Crises action would most likely be a descriptive that could best be explained, when it happens, deal with it. Having a shop or garage with a vast armament of tools, materials and organization, well,,,,these are not things they would understand, at least the majority anyway. Whenever something happens, you hear, “no te preocupes”, don’t worry. And then the problem just takes a hiatus to the current situation at hand. In saying this, I recall talking to the senora and being somewhat distracted by the sound of hammering. She explained her son in-law was building a door or gate to secure the side of the house so no one could go in the back. Very quickly I asked if he was hammering nails into wood or into concrete. She said “both”. So there you have it. Almost everything in the interior of a barrio house is of block which has a hollow inside that is often partly filled with concrete of course. The exterior is always filled with concrete, or at least it should be. Without trying to even get involved, at least from 6000 miles away, I chose not to engage in this project.

In preparing my maletas for the second viaje to the DR, I started a collection of kitchen gadgets, towels, hair dryer, plancha de pelo, and other household items. One thing I did pack was a 12 v impact Dewalt drill with a box of basic inserts to complement this tool. Oh, yes I did take a set of screw drivers also. There was electrical tape and some other minor handyman stuff included. Over all I was pretty sure I could do many of the small tasks necessary. Of course also I had bought several hundred concrete anchors and self-tap screws so that my trips to the ferraterria would be limited. It is probably safe to say I was sure I was ready to give them a DR version of Tool Time Tim and then some.

My attachment to the exterior gate or door to the back patio was about to be challenged. Having to lift the sagging door to enter the back court was my first inclination that there needed to be an adjustment to this interesting composition of non-matching hardware hinges and screws and concrete nails long enough to install rain gutters back home. As much as I tried to avoid anyone noticing me manipulating the gate in order to pass, the senora brought my attention to it by trying to convince me someone had tried to climb over it. It is the Spanish language we have to blame in many cases. Like the phrase, “se cayo, y se rompio la taza de mi mano.” This literally means, from my hand, the cup, falling itself, and breaking itself. So when she told me that the gate had fallen by itself and now was not functioning as it should, it made perfect sense to me. Inside I was laughing, as I do many times. Of course the trick is not to let her see me laughing. This is serious business. Looking carefully at the creation before me, I began to formulate a strategy to best approach this project without both offending the previous manufacturers, and also make sure it was fully functional. Being the “new guy”, on the block I did not want to start out on shaky ground when it came to being more personally involved in others ongoing projects or finished ones either. Without knowing it, I would encounter my first DR project with a very limited collection of tools, and also under the watchful eye, even though from a distance, of the senora de la casa.

Ahhhhh yes the endless fixes...... as a woman with a toolbox (most of which I know how to use) I have been told and shown it's men's work.  And yup, I am good with that. But damn if they don't wanna use the tools.....

Love the story so far....

And sure to come, the great Bards axiom.. "neither a lender nor borrower. be."   Welcome to my mind, Groby. Glad to have you back after your short absence. You do have the fare to ride that bus, there is room for more of us through your words.  To paraphrase that old radio show ... "The Groby Knows"..

Another interesting post on how things "work" or don't "work" here.

Bob K

Part 26

Arreglado de la puerta

Crouching like a lion ready to spring on its prey, with my open palms on each side of my eyes blocking my peripheral view, like Tiger Woods studying a birdy put, I now was focusing on the task at hand. Repairing a gate that allowed access to the back court patio of my little house in the barrio was now on my radar. Getting a fix on its position and what its intended role in the big picture entailed, I now understood what had to be done. Looking back, without much processing of my plan, automatically my apprenticed Dominican nature took over.

A few days before, I had bought a wall mount bracket for the 27 inch flat screen TV. It came with eight good sized lag bolts that I used along with big plastic anchors into the concrete block. I had drilled for eight and was finalizing the process when the senora strongly suggested that I use only three. If it comes with eight, then you must use eight. Being a bearer of peace and good light, I surrendered my agreement of needing eight, and of course installed the wall mount with three, quite husky, lag bolts.

Looking closely at the rough cut 2x4 that was connected to the concrete wall, I could see that this gate was depending on the wall mounted 2x4s to lend it its integrity. The sun had made its angle perfect for me to get a sense of how this 2x4 was mounted. There were nail heads flush with this board, yet plenty of daylight that broadened toward the top. Taking my bear hands on a suspect thought, I began to wiggle this 2x4. Within no more than a half dozen wiggles, it gave way and found itself in the palm of my hands. The concrete nails that had been used to secure it were 5 inches long. They had been removed and re nailed numerous times, the telltale sign, being the amount of hammer marks and previous nail holes in the board and wall. My guess is the thought that bigger nails meant a stronger gate. Upon removing the 2x4, I noticed a row of plastic anchors conveniently in line with the 2x4 needed for support.” Why hadn’t anyone used these?” I thought. Inserting a drill bit in my DeWalt drill, I was now ready to begin this tedious task of giving this pathway a new life. Sparing you my allegorical comparisons to life and such until a reflection of this read is considered, I did enjoy some of the truths that I encountered on this particular day.

After laying out the board and drilling new holes in it, I was now ready to mount it using five lag bolts. Ok, so you already know what’s next right? 

Considering attachments in our lives, are we top heavy with an overabundant of them?

Could we survive and somehow still have the capacity to enjoy life with a lighter load?

Ok, shucks, I just had to throw that in there, didn’t I?

Hey Greg, here, if it works, don't touch it.
If it's bent, it's supposed to be.
If it's broke, leave it alone, it will fix itself.
Beautiful country!

Oh Greg I smiled through out that post. 
Remember two thing here about getting things done:
1.  Job security especially if you have to come back
2  Related to #1 the motto of the day  "never do once what  you have the opportunity to do multiple times:



Bob K

I once believed that Groby was writing to just a few.  Then I realized that not all folks are comfortable lI doesn't mean that there is nothing inside, it just means that they are more private with their innermost thoughts staying inside, shown only to those closest to them. Bless all of you, from the loquacious to the silent.  Time is  strange, never a yesterday & never a tomorrow, just now.  It is always now.  Tom Wolfe said it all, "You Can't Go Home Again".   It is just a memory, clouded by the time of NOW..   It is OK to let the inside out.

Part 27

La Puerta de la Republica Dominicana

Staring at the row of plastic anchors embedded in the concrete wall, I was struck with an overwhelming sense that this experience was always waiting for me to arrive at this particular juncture. With the light bearing the true transparent condition of the attached support 2 x 4, I then began to understand why this was happening now, and not earlier in my life. I was going to state that it is strange that gypsy401 put to ink an enlightenment of truth, “You can’t go home again”. However, it has been confirmed in my soul, he understands me.

As I related the truth of the sunlight revealing the weakness of this attachment, I then began to form my own truth as to why going forward will find more strength. Leaving the white picket fence, with the perfect house and all the accessories that went with it, “Life”, and taking a journey into an unknown wilderness of chaos and unpredictability, would test my resolve, and take me to a level of consciousness never ever considered.

The row of anchors already in place had never been considered or had they? The more I thought about this, the more it came to me, that perhaps, lacking, were a few tools that would expedite this project to its fullest potential.

Trying to unravel someone else  idea or dream of how the gate should be built was not up to me in its inception. Never would I be considered in its planning or creation. Even though I could take a pathway of frustration when thinking of the many things that I found awkward and cumbersome when staring at the gate, I myself most likely was dealing with events of life and most likely they had their own characteristics that defined me at that time. Two time lines in parallel existence, yet so far apart. This day was to bring the two of us to a junction of decisive conclusion as of what would we become or how would we cease to exist.

When the senora suggested that only three of the lag bolts were necessary to secure the television mount, what would happen to the other five was yet not decided. Fate and faith were running parallel fronts at the same time. Hoping the TV would not find the concrete floor, and setting aside the bolts for another day or project, to be reenlisted once again, was my thought at the time. Upon seeing the plastic anchors in the concrete wall, instantly it become a concluded fact that the lag bolts would find their final destiny. Knowing that I had no adjustable wrench, socket set, or even vice grips, there arrived the nagging necessity to inquire of a simple pair of pliers. Upon request an extended hand conceded a household treasure, a set of lineman pliers. They had a full grip on one side and a half on the other. Taking them in my bare hands I began to turn and feed the bolts into and through the 2 x 4 into the plastic anchor secured in the concrete wall. After having all five started, as to make sure they lined up, I then began the more serious task of working them into the concrete anchors. At first it seemed like it would not be that difficult, then,,,,,,,the pliers slipped off the bolt head and instantly pinched the bottom part of my finger. Like a kid learning to ride a bike, I quickly erased this inconvenience from my thoughts and continued to turn and slip and yip a bit. By the time I had the last of the bolts secured, my fingers looked like I had been trying to remove crabs from a crab trap without gloves.

The heat of a DR day was beating down on me, the sweat pouring off me like the bucket of water on my first DR shower, the bachata music blaring from the corner colmado, the motos, the dogs, the kids, the whole ambience of a country with no filters of any kind had now wore me down to the point where I needed to either get out now, or find a sliver of hope, that this was a journey of unprecedented intent.

Thank you so much for allowing us to witness this.

Part 28

La Puerta de la Republica Dominicana 02

So in identifying the vast opportunities that lay in dormancy in the Dominican Republic, and also the incredible chance to rewrite ones script of life, or simply continue the one you already have started, this I do know, without a doubt it will happen.

Maybe I should have invested time in this expat site before I ventured over to this island. Maybe Bob Ks words, “plan, read, and plan”, would have made a difference in some of my experiences. His wise words would have no meaning if I sensed that he himself had not had the fine fortune of learning some stuff also by experience. There would be no adventure without experiences uncharted.

Upon tending to my wounds encountered in the process of repairing the gate to my patio, I looked into the mirror and saw an older version of the same kid, who would drive nails into his dad’s workbench, just because it was fun. My mindset changed in this very minute. Convenience was not going to be a word readily available in my word box. Retrofit, retrofit and retrofit would now be the most popular of words.

As I came out of the bano and entered into the living room area of the little barrio house, I was asked by the senora if I could help her son in-law Joann, bring in a few things he had brought home from his work at Pricemart. Reaching into the trunk of his battle scared car, I did notice the propane tank now occupying the area where normally a huge bosia (speaker) would be. As I gathered the plastic bags of merchandise, there, to the side of the tank, lying open, was a wrench socket set. Muttering a few words to myself, I then understood that perhaps Joann had a plan all along. His attempt of nailing the gate to the concrete wall was most likely his way of suggesting to the senora that as long as there were needs, he would be needed. Perhaps again, this theme will always exist in the nature of man. Need. 

The TV mounted on the wall is now displaying an extravaganza, with dancing and comedy, the volume is turned up as it is connected to some healthy speakers. As the music peaks, no one notices that there is an ever so slight movement of one of the lags bolts that holds the support,,, connected to the flat screen.

Oh no,  I can  feel what is coming............................

We cannot allow others to define the us in us. We must defend against such assults upon who we are. If we let ourselves become their vison of us we lose th I in "us" & become them.  That is a loss for both.  The truth of us is predicated on our own experiences, not thiers or what they perceive ours to be. When the real "us" appears, it is a surprise to them & many times even to ourselves. Then honesty accrues & all benefit.  Groby & I are kndred spirits writing different scripts to the same story, .... the story of life as we live it. All of us can only do that by being totally honest with ourselves. An impossible task & yet a worthy one to strive for.  Gtoby is correct, it is only by traveling through the previously unknown, can we see ourselves & much more impotantly, see others. As I said once before Sir, I swim in your wake & will swim along side of you one day.  Thank you for the open eyes.

Such a great read.

Experience and "learning" is what makes us strong.  Some just don't get it and are always looking for the easy way out or how not to rock the boat.  So sad for them

Bob K

As I always say, to each  his own. All we can do is  live our lives, share our experiences and each must choose their own path in their own way.

I love reading the  updates on here.  It is educational on a  DR country level but a human spirit level also! 

Gracias Groby!!!   And Gypsy............  is this the "G" boys???

"GEE...., BOYS"?   Another appellation on yop of "WISDOM"?   I din't know if either of us can handle it.  What do you think Groby?      We are just two men on separate paths towards the same goal, .... Life !

Yes , yes. My desire for all mankind is that we learn to love to live. To live, we must love. To love we must learn. Every degree of these elements requires us to push against elements that would tell us otherwise. For this I offer the decree.....Start living and quit dying...L I V E !!!!

You guys are awesome.

Oh so true.

So many of us are so tied up in shit that we forget to "live"

Bob K

To seek, to find, to feel, to love the connections of all things we come across off rhe "normal" paths that we can live the life that resides in all of us.  Many times it is buried by preoccupation with things, with work or with personal status. They are the cancer that eats away the real joy in life.   In other words, get off your collective asses & explore the unknown in you. Something so off the wall that it would never occur to you to do it. Try a walk in the hills alone, ... spend the night alone in the woods, listening to the mysteries of the night & the glory of the coming of a new day.  Too radical? Spend a night on a lonely beach without a basket of food ,  hear the voice of the sea along with the sounds of an empty belly.  I'm sure ya'll can improvise your own personal self exploration of the YOU in YOU.  But be careful, it can be an ongoing adventure once begun.