The Other Santo Domingo

While at a tourist attraction in East Santo Domingo, we peered over a stone fence and to my pleasant surprise found a cockfighting club across the street. To spend a few hours watching sparing roosters was on my “to do” list, but we didn't know if we'd have time. Now that we had found one across the road, it would be a piece of cake to work into our schedule. 

When we were done visiting the tourist attraction we entered the streets of Santo Domingo via the only exit available. All we had to do was turn right and follow the sidewalk to the far side of the block, then cross the street. But it wasn't that easy. 

As soon as we started walking, we were stopped by a group of police. “Where are you going?” they asked. I don't remember if I spoke in English or Spanish, but replied that we wanted to walk to the Club Gallistico. He immediately shook his head and said, “No, you can't do that. That's too dangerous.” He fed us with more mumbo jumbo, then offered to find a taxi driver to take us elsewhere. 

Man fishing with a can in the Caribbean Sea, Santo Domingo.

Street sweeper.

He walked inside the tourist attraction (and probably found one of his friends), and came out with a guy willing to drive us. We didn't need to go much further. Maybe a mile. He dropped us off and we spent an hour at the “Columbus Lighthouse.” 

After that I didn't know where to go. Here, there were no taxis, the parking lot was empty, and no sign of public transportation. I saw someone walk across the street toward another neighborhood. I thought that would be a good idea. 

But once again, we were stopped by police before we got to the road. “Where are you going?” 

“Over there to find something to eat,” I said. 

Once again he shook his head and said, “You can't do that. It's too dangerous.” 

He walked over to talk to one of his buddies, then returned to us. “Come with me,” he said. Within a minute we were in the back of his police car! 

We didn't know how this would turn out. There are all sorts of stories about corrupt cops and kidnappings in third-world countries. What were they going to do with us? 

But we didn't drive far. Probably less than a mile. 

He pulled over next to a small beater car with a cracked windshield. The driver was sound asleep on the seat. The police had to knock on the window to wake him up. He lurched suddenly before he realized what was going on. 

“Can you take these two to their hotel?” 

So he was finding us a taxi driver. I suppose the police were just trying to keep us safe. They probably felt there were certain areas in the city where tourists didn't belong. I thank them for this, but still wish I could have watched my rooster fight. 

The police told us to be sure to agree on a price before we left, which we did. But the driver claimed that the drive was further than he expected and tried to charge us more. Such shenanigans were common in Santo Domingo. 

Obelisk of Santo Domingo.

Man washing a minivan.

I loved my stay in this Dominican capital city. As I have written earlier, part of this city has an Old World charm. But as is true with any place, it also has a rougher, seedier side. As this story illustrates, not all is romantic in Santo Domingo. 

Some areas of the city had trash strewn everywhere as if it were a communal dumpster. Above every street seemed to be strung a dozen power lines, appearing like a tangled mess behind a television set. Dogs and cats roamed wherever they pleased. 

Streets of Santo Domingo below a tangle of wires.

Watching the street was a twisted pleasure. Traffic was pure chaos with no regulations at most intersections, compelling all to fend for themselves. Stop signs often meant nothing. They loved to honk. Potholes were everywhere. 

Mopeds were a popular choice of transport and were often used to transfer entire families, as well as loads of material in the way we would use the bed of a truck. 

One mode of public transportation that is popular among locals are beat-up minivans called públicos. When I say beat-up, I really mean it. Usually the sliding door is either open or missing and they drive down the road with a guy standing at the door (probably to take the money). Most of the ones I saw were old dented up Daihatsu's that looked like terrorist vehicles. Apparently they have fixed routes and are very inexpensive. 

Minivan taxis, or públicos, in Chinatown, Santo Domingo.

We were also surprised to learn that Santo Domingo has a Chinatown. Located northwest of the Colonial Zone, it is complete with a welcoming paifang, several Chinese restaurants, statues and food carts. I would have explored, but with our limited time I was more interested in finding the authentic Dominican Town. 

Once we had a crazy lady yell at us continuously for five minutes from the other side of the street. The rant had something to do with America, the Central Bank and the poor. She admitted she was crazy. 

A game of basketball in Santo Domingo.

A friendly game of checkers is a common sight on streets.

For the most part we felt safe in Santo Domingo, but perhaps that is because we stayed in the safer zones like Ciudad Colonial and Gazcue. Like Mexico, it seemed to be highly militarized. I went to an ATM and not only found a line of people, but also men in military uniforms toting automatic rifles.

Probably the biggest concern were the hustlers. These are the vendors on the streets or taxi drivers who are always ready to swindle a few extra dollars from naive tourists. It's a game you learn as you go. Almost every visitor will be taken advantage a time or two.  

Having said that, Santo Domingo is a wonderful city. One of the things I liked most was watching all the families. Sometimes it feels as if the family is a dying breed in the U.S., but in the D.R., it is alive and well. On Saturday night, at the Plaza Juan Barón, we found a carnival with amusement rides, cotton candy and karaoke. Mothers and fathers were there with their toddlers while teenagers ran free, moving from ride to ride. It was a chaotically crazy environment, but a fun one. The plaza sat next to the sea, inviting a warm Caribbean breeze. We bought some yaniqueques before returning to our room. 

Carnival with amusement rides at Plaza Juan Barón.

A friendly group of girls.

The city certainly came alive at night no matter where you were at. It seemed as if music blared from every street corner and every store front. Old men sat outside on the street and watched the people. Sometimes they played dominoes or chess. They didn't have much, but were happy to be alive—and enjoying life. 

On our final night in Santo Domingo, we decided not to take a taxi back to our hotel from the Colonial Zone. Instead, we would walk the one mile distance on a pedestrian street called Calle El Conde. It turned out to be the most lively place of the evening. 

Storefronts were open, artists sold paintings, men played checkers, hustlers pushed to sell their wares. Jenelle bought some larimar from a tall guy that looked and sounded like a Haitian immigrant. He wore his hair in dreadlocks and reminded me of Bob Marley. He was very nice, but we had to haggle him down on price. 

Pedestrian street of Calle el Conde.

Typical modern art in Santo Domingo.

The pedestrian street was well lit, but after we got to Independence Park we had to be on our toes. We stopped by our room to drop off what we'd bought, then returned to the street for one last hurrah in Santo Domingo. 

We walked for five minutes along empty streets to a mini market we had spotted earlier. We ordered four sandwiches, two for now and two for tomorrow at the airport. We sat on plastic chairs in front of the store, out in the open air. The night was winding down. The occasional van or moped sped past. The ice cream shop next door was closing up. It gave us time to take it all in. 

If I ever get the chance to return to Santo Domingo, I would do it in a heartbeat. It is a very photogenic and charming city, full of energy, but rough around the edges. And no, we didn't make it to a cockfight. That will be first on our agenda next time we come! ♠

Our final night in Santo Domingo, eating at a Mini Market.