Caribbean Blue

The catamaran comes to an easy stop a couple hundred yards from the palm-studded shore. The aqua-blue water is the most beautiful I've ever seen. It is transparent and I can see the white sandy bottom of the shallow sea.

We strip down to our bathing suits and step down the ladder into the warm translucent water. I feel the fine sandy grain beneath my feet and in the cracks of my toes.

I pull goggles over my eyes and slip into the sea. Like an amphibious creature I stroke my arms and legs and feel the salty liquid flow across my shoulders. I stare down at the floor of the sea and watch it roll beneath me, unblemished. Occasionally there is a strand of seaweed or a tiny crab burrowing a hole.

I come up for air, slide the goggles over my head, and wipe my eyes with my arm. Jenelle is there and she has something to show me. She leads me over near the catamaran to our new German friends. They are holding a large orange and red starfish they found on the sand. It is beautiful!

Our time is up and we now climb back onto the catamaran and once again raise the sail. We cruise along the deep-blue waters with coastline in sight. I enjoy the breeze across my face and occasional splash of water. Boaters lean over the railing and take pleasure in the moment.

The catamaran comes to an easy stop at the white sandy shore of Saona Island. It is the most beautiful beach I've ever seen. Palm trees by the hundreds grow on and around the beach, including one on the shore that grows diagonally over the water. The sand is fine. Swimmers lounge in the luke-warm water. Plastic beach chairs sit reclined beneath a blaring golden sun. Thatched pavilions offer shade for those in need.

I lie down on my chair, close my eyes, and imagine what this island would be like with no people. In my mind I envision it is sunset. A small fire near the shore crackles and beyond that the waves lap across the sand. There are no other noises because no one else is here. The sea unfolds forever on the horizon, putting an eternity between me and the closest person.

In my daydream I envision what this island must have been like in another time. I am Robinson Crusoe. This island is my home. I sleep on the sand and bathe in the ocean. I drink the milk of coconuts and the water of a gurgling spring. Sunsets come and go and storms stir up the angry sky. It is peaceful. I am alone. I relish the moment in my mind.

But I am not alone on Saona Island. It is filled with people. Yet it is still beautiful.

Jenelle and I walk along the shore, sometimes with our feet in the frothy white of the waves. We see small boats docked along the edge, floating atop the greenish-blue water.

Further afield the beach is less sandy, but filled with smooth rocks and driftwood. Jenelle finds a conch shell larger than her hand.

We walk near the crooked palm. There is a line of people waiting to get their picture as they climb atop the tree. We pause to watch and note the notoriety of the palm.

The sun becomes more intense as the day moves on. I feel the heat on my chest and sense the beginning of a burn. Without further delay I wade into the water and dive head first into the silky sea. Instantly it drowns the heat and ripples through my hair as I propel myself forward. I stand up and let the droplets drizzle down my skin.

Others relax in the water also. A man with swarthy skin paddles a canoe. A crew of Dominican workers bring a boat to shore and tie it down. Women clad in bikinis lie face-down on the sand and let the Caribbean sun bake their backs and shoulders.

After a couple hours of dallying on the island it is time to load the boat and head back. This time we don't board a catamaran, but instead a speedboat. We put on life jackets and squeeze tightly onto benches.

Then, with a lurch, the boat takes off at an amazing pace. No longer do we casually move across the blue water, but now we accelerate at a voracious speed. Wind races across our faces and with every small undulation the boat springs out of the water with air beneath the hull. Everyone wears a smile because this ride is as good as anything at Disneyland! ♠

Old Dominican Cemetery

While waiting for Jenelle to get ready I walked to the old cemetery. It is in the center of Santo Domingo on Independence Avenue and is quite picturesque with palm trees and white crosses. I walked all the way around looking for an entrance, but found the main gate locked. 

I stopped a man on the street and asked him how to enter. He asked me where I was from and I said, “Soy Americano,” then clarified I was from the United States. He smiled and said, “We are the same. I will help you!” 

We approached a gentleman on the corner sitting on a green plastic chair. He informed us the man with the keys hadn't arrived yet, but soon would come. I was very appreciative for their help, but didn't have the time to wait. 

I made another lap around the cemetery, peering through the fence every chance I could. The grounds lacked maintenance. Tall grass grew all around. Although I wasn't able to go inside, I still enjoyed great views. The few stones I was able to read came with death dates from the early 1900's. 

The first burial in the cemetery came in 1824 during the Haitian occupation. It was a 16-year old girl named Juana Flores. The histories describe her as a mulatta with dark hair that fell to her waist. Her parents were unwilling to accept her marriage to her lover, which caused Juana to fall into a deep depression. Unable to escape, she decided to take her own life and ingested a poisonous substance. The following day, August 29, 1824, she passed away. She is now known as the “Baroness” Juana Flores.

Several people are also buried here who died during the 1965 Revolution. Since that year there have been no further burials. 

The cemetery lies outside the old city walls and away from the tourist center. Few foreigners, I would imagine, ever visit the cemetery. On this day, I would have to be satisfied with a couple laps around the grounds, peering through the bars. ♠

 

 

Quest for the Dominican Dish

Fish and tostones.

Half the experience of foreign travel comes in eating the local food. 

Before our recent trip to the Dominican Republic, I was excited to contact Lucy, a dear friend whose roots run deep in that country. I asked her if she had any suggestions on food that we must try. Her response was enthusiastic and extensive. 

She messaged me a list Dominican dishes, complete with pictures, the Spanish translation, where they could be found, and how they tasted. And she didn't stop there. I was sent pictures of fruits, desserts and drinks. By the time she was done, my mouth was salivating and I was anxious to begin my quest.

But my search proved to be a bit more difficult than I had anticipated. Our trip would be split between beach and city. Our first stop, Playa Dominicus, had one of the prettiest beaches I had ever seen! But authentic Dominican food was another story. This coastal town on the Caribbean Sea, popular with Europeans, proved to have almost exclusively Italian food! 

Plantains are common throughout the Dominican Republic.

After enjoying an evening of fine white sand, calm blue waters and a beautiful sunset against a silhouette of palm trees, we wandered back into town for our first sit-down meal. We decided on an outdoor restaurant serving pizza, spaghetti and linguine. There was one sole Dominican dish on the menu, and of course, that's what I ordered: arroz con habichuelas. 

Rice and beans are a staple in many Central American countries, including the Caribbean. This meal was simple. I received a scoop of herbed rice alongside a small bowl of black beans, stewed in a broth of spices. It came with a tasty leg of chicken. I think this meal could also be called la bandera, which is considered the national dish. Translated as 'flag', this dish consists of rice, beans, meat and salad. No matter what you call it, the meal was simple and satisfying. 

Arroz con habichuelas.

The next four days proved just as challenging. We didn't eat constant Dominican food like I had hoped, but rather a taste here, a bite there. The one constant was the free breakfast at our hotel. Every morning we were brought a plate of fresh fruit: always a sliced banana, pineapple and papaya. The papaya and pineapple were probably the juiciest and sweetest I had ever eaten. 

On another day we had a pleasant surprise on the beach when a lady came around selling small samples of sweets. When she announced what she had, I immediately recognized it as one of Lucy's recommendations. I bought a small cup of dulce de coco for 50 pesos. It was easily the most wonderful dessert I had the entire trip.  A coconut dessert par excellence! Each day after that I kept an eye out for that lady, hoping to buy more, but never saw her again. 

Sweet Dominican fruit.

Little cups of heaven being sold on the beach. My favorite was dulce de coco.

Twice we took a boat tour to an exotic island where we spent the day either snorkeling or lounging on the beach. Each day they fed us a buffet-style lunch. This gave us a chance to sample several kinds of food, but we didn't know the name of any, nor if it was authentic. We dished up rice and beans, fresh fruit, rolls, sausage and grilled chicken. They tried to charge us an arm and a leg to boil up a fresh lobster, but we passed. Maybe we should have done it. 

Buffet on the beach.

One of the fascinating aspects of Dominican food is that much of it is a fusion between many different cultures. Just like the people who inhabit the island, any food could likely have roots in Africa, Spain, other Caribbean countries, or even West Asia and China. 

One such dish is mofongo, a recipe influenced from Africa, with Spanish and Taíno influence. It consists primarily of fried plantains which are then mashed and cooked with a variety of spices. We found ours at a restaurant in Playa Dominicus where it came served with a salsa and topped with several (hard) chicharrónes (or pork cracklings). It had a wonderful, but simple flavor, especially when topped with sauce. 

Mofongo.

My favorite eating experience came after swimming at an isolated beach in Bayahibe. Lucy had told us that the beach was the best place to eat fish and tostones, and she was right. After crawling out of the water and drying off, we walked across the dirt road and found a so-called restaurant in someone's back yard. (For the longer version, click here.) 

We walked inside an area enclosed by a bamboo fence and sat down to a wobbly table. There were no menus. A lady with an Aunt Jemima scarf around her head took our order and a few minutes later we watched her taking a slimy fish back to her little shack. 

After another thirty minutes she returned with a beautifully grilled fish, which included head and fins, as well as a plate of rice and tostones, or fried plantains. The fish was arguably the best I ever had; moist in the middle and well-flavored. The tostones had a hint of salty sweetness. 

We saw no other customers while we were there and I enjoyed every minute. We even got to watch a gecko crawl on the wall behind us! 

A gecko watching us eat.

Moving on we traveled to Santo Domingo. Here I hoped to find a new culinary experience, something less touristy and perhaps more authentic. 

We arrived in the chaotic capital. After checking into our hotel we immediately hit the street hoping to find a place to eat. We were away from the tourist section and finding an eating establishment didn't come as easy as I thought it would. Yes, we saw a few places here and there selling sandwiches, but nothing offering authentic fare. 

Lady selling samples of food for 75 pesos.

We must have appeared lost because a local guy came up and asked what we were looking for. I told him we wanted Dominican food. He then took us into the backstreets, places I would never have found on my own. I wouldn't even call them streets, but walking paths. If he weren't with us, I would have felt we were trespassing. 

He came to one restaurant, but it was closed. Another was open, but all the food was gone except for a serving of rice and beans. A third was selling food, but it wasn't Dominican. None of the restaurants had signs and none were on Google Maps. They were all hidden to the common foreigner. We thanked him for being so kind and parted ways. We settled on a sandwich shop. 

The bottom item is a quipe.

I will comment briefly on a few of the foods we ate during our time in Santo Domingo: 

Quipes. A lady on the street was selling a sampling of food for 75 pesos. It included quipes, which is a fried bulgur roll with flavored meat in the middle. It was brought to the D.R. by immigrants from the Middle East. 

Mangú. Served frequently for breakfast, mangú consists of mashed fried plantains. When it is served with salami, eggs, and cheese, it is considered mangú con los tres golpes (or with the three punches). At the time, we didn't know this was the typical Dominican breakfast, nor did we know that the caramelized onions were supposed to top the mangú. 

Typical Dominican breakfast. Mangú is the mushy stuff on the right.

Cane sugar. Driving anywhere long distance in the Dominican Republic will most likely take you past sugar cane fields. It is no surprise then that cane sugar is the sweetener of preference. I still don't understand the difference, but the sugar we ate in the D.R. had a better taste than that from back home, and the crystals were bigger. 

Batidas. These are smoothies, made with local fruit that is always sweet and fresh. Very yummy.

Yaniqueque. Pretty simple. Fried dough with salt, and sometimes accompanied with ketchup. We only ate this once, which was at family carnival on the Malecón. 

Cane sugar.

Street food cart selling yaniqueques and quipes.

For our final day in Santo Domingo we searched out a restaurant for one last hoorah. We decided on El Conuco, a cozy little place in the Gazcue District. We chose it because it specialized in Dominican food. 

Although outside the restaurant appeared like every other street in Santo Domingo, inside it looked like a giant tiki hut. The floor was laid in stone with wooden tables atop it. Walls were painted a variety of bright colors and ceiling fans circulated outdoor air. 

I ordered a bowl of sancocho, a typical Domincan stew with meat, potato, yucca, plantain, yam and a drumstick on top. It was accompanied with a bowl of rice. The stew had a very good, but not overwhelming flavor and the texture was thick and smooth. 

My family thinks I'm crazy, but I love stews. They are hearty. They are nutritious. They are savory. Stews from a foreign country usually represent what the typical person would eat. Perhaps everyday. Dishes that are stews usually don't become world-famous, but often they are more authentic than those that do.

I relished every bite. I alternated between the stew and rice, sometimes dipping the rice into the thick broth. Then I would pull the drumstick out with my fingers and take a nibble. 

Less than twenty four hours later we were gone, out of the country and heading home. Among my memories of the Dominican Republic were the beaches, the people, the chaos of Santo Domingo, and most certainly the food. ♠

 

Sancocho.

 

A Dominican Baseball Game

As we prepared to land in Santo Domingo, I couldn't help but to look down from my airplane window and notice the abundance of baseball diamonds dotting the landscape. They seemed to be everywhere! Not the kind with lush, manicured outfields, but the kind with dirt and no bleachers, surrounded either by jungle or sugar cane fields. 

The national sport of the Dominican Republic is baseball. They have produced many stars to the Major Leagues such as Sammy Sosa and Albert Pujols. As I observed I became nostalgic. It reminded me of how baseball was in the United States fifty years ago. Kids playing in the streets and vacant lots. They didn't have the fancy equipment, the travel teams—or even cleats—like we have now, but they loved the sport. 

Watching a Little League baseball practice in Bayahibe, Dominican Republic.

If you look closely beyond the field you can see the Caribbean Sea.

At one of our beach towns on the southern coast we passed a ball field with Little League-aged kids having practice. The road near the field had sea shells embedded in the road base. There was a small set of bleachers and dugouts, but no outfield fence. If you looked through the trees you could see the blue of the Caribbean Sea. 

We paused for fifteen minutes and with pleasure watched the boys as they took batting practice. Many of the players did very well, showing off their skill, but with others it was obvious they weren't so good. There was a mixture of all kinds. 

As we watched, a father showed up on a moped with his two sons. They jumped off and joined the team. Off to the side a couple of boys played catch and were embarrassed when they missed a ball and I had to fetch it for them. If only they knew how much I wanted to jump in and join them! 

Looking into the dugout of the Leones del Escogido.

As part of our adventure we planned on watching a professional game in Santo Domingo. Yes, I said professional. Until doing research for this trip I had no idea that the Domincan Republic had their own professional baseball league. There are six teams, two of them located in the nation's capital. The winner of the league plays in the Caribbean Series, which includes teams from Cuba, Panama, Columbia, Venezuela and Mexico. 

Our day came to watch the game and we hired a taxi driver to take us to Quisqueya Stadium, far away from the historical Colonial Zone of Santo Domingo. The process to buy tickets wasn't hard at all as we were met by scalpers from the second we left the taxi. 

But after we had bought the tickets and the taxi driver was long gone, we faced our next big obstacle. While walking through security to enter the stadium, they asked for our vaccination cards. What!!?? Of course, we had them, but we left them back at our hotel. It hadn't crossed our minds that we would need them. After a gesture of shock and disbelief, and a true sob-story that our cards were at our hotel, the ticket lady let us in. Hallelujah! 

Man selling concessions.

Quisqueya Stadium is about the size of many Minor League coliseums, having a capacity of just over 14,000 people. It is home for two ball clubs. Tonight we would watch one of them, the Leones del Escogido. 

We found our seats behind home-plate, but up higher in the grandstand. It was a vibrant crowd. There was a lot of enthusiasm and even a band. People waved red flags in the air and drank plenty of the national beer, El Presidente (some of which was spilled on my back by the guy sitting behind us). 

The windup and pitch.

Enjoying ourselves at the ballgame.

While waiting for the game to start I left Jenelle with our seats and walked down to buy a pizza for 900 pesos. While I waited the Dominican national anthem began to play and everyone stopped where they were to pay respect. 

Although the seats were only half-filled, the electricity felt like there were 60,000 people. The crowd, you could tell, loved their sport. Stormy clouds rolled overhead, but didn't drop a single bead of rain. Sunset came and went, and big dome lights turned on. 

Photos on the wall of former players for Escogido.

Photo of Felipe Alou and Juan Marichal, both from the Dominican Republic.

Between innings I went back into the halls of the stadium and glanced at the pictures on the wall. I found portraits of Felipe Alou, Juan Marichal, Junior Naboa, Sammy Sosa and more. All of them played for Escogido at one time in their careers. 

Juan Marichal was nicknamed the Dominican Dandy and was the first from the country to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. As a child he lived on a farm on the northern coast where he took care of the horses, goats and donkeys. He loved to swim and fish. One day while swimming near the river he fell unconscious and remained in a coma for nine days. The doctor ordered a steam bath which eventually helped him wake up. 

He eventually learned how to play baseball from his older brother. In the early days they would find golf balls and pay a shoemaker one peso to sew cloth around it thick enough to use as a baseball. They used tree branches for bats and canvas tarps for mitts. Some of his playmates were the Alou brothers, who would also go on to play in the Major Leagues. 

Remember, as he played as a kid, there were no Dominicans playing professional ball. In fact, Juan was only the second, behind Ozzie Virgil. But that was his aspiration. I don't know anything about his playing with Escogido, but I know he did because I saw the pictures on the wall, wearing the uniform. Juan went on to pitch for the San Francisco Giants, becoming one of the most successful players of his day. 

Seventh inning stretch.

This must be the mascot, but it doesn't look like a lion!

During the seventh inning stretch, everyone stood and sang their version of Take Me Out to the Ballgame. By the end of nine innings, Escogido had won Los Toros del Este by a score of 3 to 1. 

Before we left the stadium I had one last thing I had to do—buy a souvenir. In the gift shop I found an array of expensive merchandise, most in the form of clothing. I noted that many of the jerseys had “Pujols” printed on the back. 

“Did Albert Pujols play for Escogido?” I asked one of the men there. He was quick to point out that yes, he did, and he was even coming to play during the off-season as soon as the regular season was over. (The Dominicans have their season during the winter.) 

I was excited to hear that and it was enough to persuade me to buy a t-shirt with the Escogidos logo on front and Pujols on the back. Even though biographical writers in the U.S. are reluctant to mention the teams Dominican players played for in their home country, it is obvious that locals will know, and are very proud. 

And one other interesting tidbit I learned about Albert Pujols, the Santo Domingo native: when he was young he used limes for baseballs and milk cartons for gloves. ♠ 

Quisqueya Stadium in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.

 

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.