En Carro Publico

Most of the Public cars are older than me and no, this doesn't mean that they are antiques. It is a small miracle that these cars can (more or less) stay in one piece, let alone run. Here is a survival guide for riding in public cars if you ever happen to find yourself in Santo Domingo.

General Purpose: To move a maximum number of people a short distance in s straight line along major streets as quickly*, comfortably**, and cheaply*** as possible.

*traffic can be quite bad during rush hour, so it is often faster to walk

**Dominicans define comfortable transportation as anything that isn't walking

***make sure you are actually taking a public car and not hopping in a car with someone who will rob you

Recognizing a Public Car: if you are walking along a major street in the direction of traffic, you won't find a public car, it will find you. You will probably here a muffler dragging and an anemic horn welcoming you into the cars dilapidated interior. Don't be alarmed if there are two or three drivers vying for the privilege of packing one more passenger into their already (to a North American eye) packed cars. If you do not wish to take a public car, ignore them, or shake your finger “no.” All other gestures will be considered informed consent. If you are looking for a ride, here are some things you can look for to ensure that you are in fact getting into a genuine public car:

• Toyota Camry/Carrola or Honda Accord built between 1975 and 1990
• Smashed windshield held together with packing tape
• Lack of mirrors
• Radio playing from the one speaker that still (barely) works
• At least three people plus a driver already on board
• A sticker on the door or a little sign on the roof that says the route
• Specially painted roof (colour depends on route)

Bonus points:

• The car rolls to a stop in front of you because it has stalled
• There are already a total of seven people in the car and one of them weighs at least 300 lbs.
• Once inside you may notice other sure signs of a bonafide public car like lack of a knob on the shifter, general lack of upholster and no functioning gauges

Etiquette: Before you enter the car, be sure to find your seat, and always enter from a door on the right hand side of the car. Two people can sit in the front passenger seat (make sure the driver can still use the shifter). Four people can sit in the rear seat. The third person from the left hand door scoots forward. Also, these cars are fragile, so be sure not to slam the door on the way in (Note: you may have to use the outside handle on the door when you leave, because the inside one is broken or missing). Don't worry about sweating on everyone, it' s the polite thing to do in this situation. When the driver puts his hand toward you he is ready to take your fare (either RD$20 or RD$15, depending on the route) but if you are going to be traveling most of the route, he will probably charge you double. If the driver doesn't put his hand out towards you, you should tap him on the shoulder and pass it to him. Don't worry about having the correct change. The drivers are multitalented and can carry on a conversation, drive a broken down standard, and count change all at the same time. Don't be shy, chat to the stranger sitting on your lap, it makes things seem less awkward.

Public cars may not be the most comfortable way to get from A to B, but they have a way of bringing people together. If we didn't use them, we would be missing out on the great opportunity of sitting on a strangers lap.

The View From My Front Door

If God isn't in daily things, I don't know where to find him.

He is not in my neighbour's red Acura NSX. Or the exploitation of Haitian construction workers (my neighbours to the other side) who get paid three dollars a day to lug bags of cement up jerry-rigged scaffolding in forty-five degree heat. He is not in the razor wired, dog guarded, digital cabled palatial compounds that surround me. I may be wrong, but he doesn't seem to be in the rolling blackouts or water shortages. He is not in the genocide of the Taino or the history of brutal colonialism. It seems that people have made these things without need of too much help. It seems that these things are too flashy for God to have much to do with them.

I had a most exquisite cup of coffee this morning. I am not, traditionally, a coffee person, but I've recently been persuaded that coffee can be a beautiful and delicious thing. Besides the obvious (to me at least) socio-political implications of drinking coffee the biggest reason I didn't like coffee was the sheer volume one was expected to drink. Guzzling a vat of weak, Luke-warm coffee seems to be a quintessentially North American thing to do. One need not look far to find a better way to enjoy coffee. This morning I brewed a cup of coffee in a small espresso maker. I filled the bottom compartment with cold water. Then I filled the middle compartment with freshly roasted Dominican coffee, screwed the whole apparatus together and carefully balanced it over the gas burner. After a couple minutes the thing began to splutter and in another twenty seconds I had about three ounces of delicious coffee. I poured it into a small china mug and added a little bit of honey for sweetness. I could get used to this elegant ritual.

There is something sacred too about fruit. Bananas picked ripe that morning and brought into town to be sold on a fruit cart, or one of the many different kinds of mangoes. Like the Colmado, everyone has a fruit stand, they are every bit as frequent and convenient as the neighbourhood stores. From a block away you can see Papayas the size of footballs crowning the carts. If there's a patch of shade on the street there will probably be a fruit stand with a couple connoisseurs divining out the perfect mango as noisy, overloaded motorcycles smoke their way past.

There is also a small moment of grace at the end of each day. After the sun has burned a path across the sky and just before it sets, the heat suddenly dissipates. For about twenty minutes (before the cement begins giving back the heat it has been absorbing all day) you can sit outside in perfect comfort. Another day of relentless heat is forgiven just as the people begin to come home from work.

In this honking, roaring, sun soaked city, the daily things are often tucked into corners. But they are there, waiting to be found.

Our Colmado

Almost every block of Santo Domingo, RD, has what they call a "Colmado". This small store sells everyday essentials such as food and water, but more importantly it is a place where the neighbourhood meets to drink ice cold beer, play dominoes and sit in the shade. It gets better: they deliver! Steph and I have only been in the Domincan Republic for about a week, but our Colmado is already a life line. It is less than a hundred meters down the street so when we call for a new jug of water or some eggs, they arrive at our front door within a minute or two on the back of a moped.

I'll use "My Colmado" to deliver a fresh taste every week of some of my creative output and the culture here. Friday is delivery day, but if you need anything in the meantime, don't be shy, give me a call.