My daughter-in-law from Japan and our two young granddaughters who have been living with us this year will be leaving soon. We wanted to give them one more taste of a Caribbean beach before they leave. We reserved a couple of rooms in a resort at a nearby beach town called Cabarete. It is famous for its beaches and a sport called kite surfing, but the main reason we selected it was because it was close and familiar. She is about five months along now in her pregnancy and we didn’t want to travel very far for our spring fling.
The word “vacation” conjures up different images for different people. For my wife it is defined as anywhere she doesn’t have to cook or do dishes. So this time we arranged for something called “the all-inclusive”. This is the first time we have tried this in the three years we’ve been here and it turned out to be a relaxing experience. It reminded me of what a cruise on a ship might be like.
A large board in the central lobby listed various activities scheduled for the day from which we could pick if we wanted. These ranged all the way from water aerobics to line dancing to kids’ club activities to learning how to dance the salsa. In the evening, entertainment events were available such as a Michael Jackson impersonator or a movie.
However, the activities that beckoned to us most were a bit less extravagant. Our granddaughters were up at 7:00 on that first morning. We heard a small rap on the adjoining door. When I staggered out of bed to answer, two girls wearing bathing suits and broad, anxious grins pleaded, “Pool, please.”
So we spent hours (joyfully and willingly) watching them play in the figure-eight-style pool or playing tag with the waves on the beach.
It has been said that eventually one gets to the age where slipping into something more comfortable means taking a bath in a tub of Ben Gay. After three days of trying to keep up with our girls I realize that I may have entered that age. We craved time to sit on the balcony just outside our room and bask in the tropical warmth and each other’s company.
Three meals were served buffet style each day with a snack bar open the rest of the time offering hamburgers, nachos, and Italian-style pizza cooked in a large, open stone oven. Drinks were available on demand. Our favorite turned out to be a tropical drink called Banana Mama. Waitresses in short skirts and smiling men in uniforms combed the eating areas filling water glasses and cleaning up empty plates. All of them could speak English “a little bit” (a-lee-tul beet) and were most likely hired because of their infectious smiles and charming personalities. One waiter named Rolando delighted in teasing our youngest granddaughter. Whenever he would find the sandal that she would invariably drop on the floor while she was eating, he would stick it in his pocket so she would see it and squeal in protest. He came to say goodbye just before he took one day off.
With this kind of abundance and availability I would guess that each of us easily put on an extra five pounds. It was truly a vacation in the sense of escaping our normal routine, but it is also something one would tire of after awhile.
It did not escape our notice that most of the patrons were European … German, Dutch, Spanish. I discovered a day later that the identity bands that each person wore were color coded based on what language we spoke …. very pragmatic. I also noticed that I could find very few hot pink bands (English speakers). All the English speakers I greeted were from Canada … not one from America.
The resort is located on one end of Cabarete beach which extends probably two miles along the arc of a natural shallow inlet. To walk off some of our caloric intake my wife and I took a long walk along this beach. As we moved from one end of the beach, where mostly Europeans were visiting, to the other end, where mostly Dominicans were visiting, we noticed a stark contrast. As we walked farther along we saw more trash strewn on the beach, more dogs running loose, more boom boxes belting out LOUD party music, more laughter and drinking. It was like walking from a library into a bar. With one exception we decided that we preferred the library end of the beach.
That one exception was an event which occurred one late afternoon on the first full day of our stay. My wife and I had spent a couple of hours watching our granddaughters on the beach and wanted to retreat from the sun and sand. We left them in the capable hands of their mother and went to get a drink and lie in a hammock in the shade. About an hour later our daughter-in-law hurriedly approached us with a worried look on her face.
A group of four women in blue uniform shirts had approached her while she was on the beach. They showed her an album of possible hair braiding styles and asked if she would like one for herself and the girls. Intrigued, she asked how much it would be. They didn’t tell her directly and with some more persuasion Akari agreed. Keep in mind these were Haitian women speaking broken English in a Spanish country to a Japanese woman. The confusion that must have existed at the Tower of Babel comes to mind as I describe this, but I think they used it to their advantage.
When they were almost finished with the last person they told her it would be 6000 pesos for each person. This translates to a total of around $500 American dollars and, of course, she didn’t have anywhere near that amount with her. My daughter-in-law is a compassionate person and felt trapped, especially when they told her that at least two of the ladies were pregnant and they needed the money for the coming babies.
Because I had been to the beach a few times before, I was aware of the beach hawkers’ tactics and I knew she had been taken advantage of. I also knew I had to step in to deal with this situation, and I dreaded it. Just before I went out onto the beach I checked with my wife to ask how much she would expect to pay if she had her hair styled in a local salon. We settled on a certain price. I pulled out three one thousand peso bills and headed into battle.
With the four women surrounding me I explained that they had taken unfair advantage of my daughter-in-law. Because of their dishonesty of not stating a price before hand, she was led to believe she had enough money to pay for it. She had to come to me and this made me upset, I said.
These women knew only rudimentary English and most likely didn’t understand all my words but they knew what I meant. When they realized that I wasn’t going to pay them what they wanted, the conversation became quite animated. The oldest of the four became quite aggressive and I matched her volume syllable for syllable. When she saw that the commotion was creating a scene she said, “Shhhh.” So I told her, “Oh, you don’t want me to make noise? I will make big noise! I will tell everyone what you tried to do if you don’t take what I offer you.” As I turned to go, the older woman grabbed my money and said, “It OK, we take it.”
The next day we walked past them as they hovered on the outskirts of the beach in the shade waiting for their next target. As I went by, she looked at me, and then turned to the women who were with her. With a wag of her finger she nodded toward me and said to them, “Papa, no-no!”
A similar situation happened on the day we left the beach. Arriving at the bus station we discovered that we would have to wait for two hours for the next departure. So we decided to grab a taxi to take us to the other bus station that had a bus leaving in a half hour. A man at the counter heard our conversation (he grew up in New York) and told us that he worked for a taxi company and he would send a taxi right over. We thanked him, moved our luggage outside, and waited. Soon a taxi screeched to a halt and an older man loaded our luggage into the trunk. When he asked for 300 pesos I winced and told him that I paid only 500 pesos for the entire six-mile trip from the resort … but I would consider 200 pesos even though it is nearly twice as much as an equivalent trip in Santiago. When He countered with 250 I told him to take the luggage out. He dropped his shoulders in resignation and said, “No, no, it’s OK.”
In some ways living in a third world country is like living in a battle field. I recently attended a one day self-defense seminar put on by a couple of ex-military Christian men. They have seen that the foreign missionary is a highly visible target for certain unsavory types and certain precautions should be taken when living in another country. This is a discussion for another day, but it made me realize that I am living in a battle field of possible danger and unfamiliar customs. Reading in Psalms recently I realized that God’s protection and help is a very real and practical thing.
Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear:
Though war should rise up against me, in this will I be confident.
One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after;
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to inquire in his temple.” Psalm 27:3,4
This kind of dickering and assertiveness is not natural to me, but I’m finding it to be an important survival skill in this country, and an area that God is using to help me grow in my faith. Maybe if I stay here long enough, my nickname will become, “Papa, no-no.”
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