Rubber Boots in the Rainforest (Day 2)

The sky was still gray and dreary when we awoke at 5:30. I slipped on my pants and shirt and pulled on my shoes. It was a short walk across the lawn to the bathroom. 

As soon as it was light enough to see we gathered with David and walked around the lodge. He pointed out various plants and tees growing in the vicinity such as a cinnamon tree and a lemongrass bush. He plucked off a pod from what he called a lipstick plant. The little seeds inside, when broken, created a red paint and could be used cosmetically. 

There was a cocoa tree, the kind you use to make chocolate; and a coca tree, the kind you use to make cocaine. He gave us a brief rundown on the latter. 

Walking around the lodge, learning of the various plants.

Lemongrass plant.

Rubber boots on the bed.

We ate breakfast at the lodge where we were joined by a green parrot who flew onto the table to steal a chunk of bread. He refused to talk with us, probably upset we didn't feed him. 

We packed our belongings and brought them to the van. Little did we know that there were other families living in the jungle near the lodge . . . and we would be giving their kids a ride to school. 

Leonel sat next to us. He was about five years old. His sibling sat behind wearing a Spider-Man shirt. Their school was a forty minute drive on a dirt road. I don't know if they bum rides off tour vans everyday or not. But it was certainly a chore to get the kids to school. We saw two other vehicles packed with 8 or 9 kids. 

This green parakeet wanted to join us for breakfast.

Leonel on his way to school.

We were also told that this area has true native tribes who have nearly no contact with the outside world. Perhaps an anthropologist may live with them, but tourists are strictly forbidden to go anywhere near. They told the story of a white person getting killed with an arrow a few years ago when they got too close. 

We drove through the jungle, mostly on flatland now, but also down small hills as we were still declining in elevation. We caught our first good glimpse of the river, the Madre de Dios. These would be the waters upon which we would ride. 

The Madre de Dios River.

The village of Atalaya wasn't much. The school was right across the so-called street from the boat dock. We all had to wait. The school kids were early and had to wait for their teacher. We had to wait for the boat driver. 

It was a good time to sit down and watch. The school kids were fake-fighting one with another. A dog wandered past. A rooster stood in the street and crowed. The rest of us lounged around, waiting for the boat. For ten minutes the heavens opened and rain poured down. 

Just down the hill from the street was the river—wide, yet deep enough to navigate a boat. At the opposite side stood rolling hills partially shrouded in clouds and totally covered in jungle. 

Boat on the river.

Village of Atalaya. Schoolboy waiting for the teacher to arrive.

A wandering rooster.

Waiting for the boatman to come.

The boat was long with a canopy covering the seats. Cesar, a local villager, sat toward the stern running the motor. The six of us climbed in and Cesar fired up the engine. 

The Madre de Dios River is part of the Amazon Basin and flows from the foothills of the Andes Mountains in Peru into Bolivia and to the border of Brazil where it becomes one with the Madeira River. These same waters then travel another 800 miles before they merge with the mighty Amazon River. 

As our vessel was set in motion we soon passed a waterfall that tumbled into the water. A house perched on a rock overlooking the bend, commanding a great view. We traveled down-stream and I wondered if there were any indigenous tribes living in these hills. 

This was our small, beloved group.

Waterfall pouring into the river.

In one place we passed through a section of whitewater, causing the barge to be tossed upon the surface. With all our luggage and other gear, I sure didn't want to capsize. We had to trust the driver. 

At another spot we pulled over at the bank. We removed our shoes and replaced them with rubber boots. We stepped out of the boat and began a walk through the jungle. 

Walking through the jungle into a banana grove.

This was a true jungle. The pathway was so narrow it was dark, having groves of bamboo trees and vines dangling down. We stepped in puddles of water and sections of mud, proving the necessity of the boots. At one point we passed through a miniature banana grove. 

Our destination: a hot springs. I will admit that when we arrived I was a bit disappointed. The warm water was now contained in a rectangular cement box three-feet deep and the size of a miniature swimming pool. There was a small bamboo changing room that didn't feel too private because while inside you could see people on the outside perfectly well! 

I changed into my swimming suit and spent twenty minutes in the water with the Czech couple, while the Aussie and the Russian sat near the edge on a stool and talked with us. By the time we got out, dried off and changed, the rain began to pour. And it didn't stop. 

The humble hot springs.

Rain in the rain forest should feel perfectly natural, but it was taking us to the next level of adventure. Rocks became more slippery, mud deeper, clothes wetter. David, our guide, pulled off banana leaves for each of us and we used them as umbrellas. 

By the time we returned to the river, it was now a muddy brown. The entire surface seemed to be rolling in whitewater. I don't know if it was just my imagination, but it appeared wider. 

Using a banana leaf for an umbrella.

Rain coming down on the river.

We quickly got beneath the canopy of the boat and drove down-river for twenty minutes and pulled over again. This time we pulled out all our luggage and walked up another trail, this one covered in roots and more mud. The rain still came down. 

At the top of our ten-minute walk was a lodge. Our lodge. No other access other than boat. We were elated at the prospect of lying down on a soft bed. 

Our lodge was only accessible by boat.

Our rooms were very nice. Each bed sat on a wooden floor with a mosquito net tied above. On three sides were glassless windows, and on the fourth a private bathroom. The vaulted ceiling ran between the rooms and was open in the sense that you could throw a tennis ball over the wall and have it land in the neighbor's room. In front was a covered porch with two wooden chairs. I laid on the soft bed, felt the wind blow through the screen window, and listened to the constant rain beating outside. 

We ate in the comedor, which was in another building just up the hill. We walked there in our rubber boots. Dora made us guiso de lisa, a Peruvian stew made from the yellow lisa potato. Once again our meal was filled with interesting topics, including the nuisance of kangaroos in Australia. 

Guiso de lisa with rice.

We had one more excursion for the day, but the constant rain put a question mark on that activity. After some delay, we decided to go for it. 

Once again we marched down the hill. By now, some of the standing water came nearly to the top of our boots. We wore ponchos, but with the wind we were still getting wet. 

The boat now moved on a swollen river that grew by the minute. Our destination was only a couple miles away and this time we docked on the opposite side. 

We walked up another narrow trail. David took the lead, using a machete to clear any devious vines. A stone path built from smooth riverbed rocks raised us above the mud, but their hard round shape caused us to often walk on the ground instead. 

A swampy area filled with a variety of birds.

At a swamp we found two rafts made of balsam wood. We boarded them, using long sticks to push our way along. 

This was a sanctuary for birds. There were many of them, even in the rain. Flying low in the bushes were the flycatchers, their bellies black and bodies small. Perched stoically on the branches of the trees were what locals call stinkbirds. Their official name is hoatzin. They are noted for the spiky plumage on their crest. There was another larger bird that looked a lot like a wild turkey and it sat on ground in the grass. 

Stinkbirds, or officially known at hoatzin.

We used these balsam rafts to push across the swamp.

We pushed across the swamp on our balsam rafts to the other side where we climbed a ladder to the top of a lookout tower. Luckily for us it had a roof, giving a temporary reprieve from the down-pouring water. We used binoculars to look down upon these feathered creatures, all of them unfazed to have us there. 

After half an hour of bird-watching it was time to turn back. It would be getting dark soon and with no lights on the boat it would be dangerous to navigate at night. We climbed down the tower and pushed back across the swamp. As we waked on the trail the rain continued to fall and standing water became deeper. 

Standing on a tower watching birds.

Then, David had us stop. He heard something. 

David has a natural ability, with ears like a dog. He also knows how to whistle and call in an animal. We watched him do his thing . . . and waited. 

Suddenly a branch moved. Then another. In a flash a small animal the size of a ball jumped from one tree to the next. A squirrel monkey! 

Soon there were several. Moving around high in the trees, they were the size of giant rats, which made good pictures nearly impossible. But the moment we will never forget. 

The squirrel monkey is one of the smallest monkeys in the world, but unique to the Amazon. We sat in the pattering rain staring into the canopy of trees above us, straining our eyes to catch a glimpse of them jumping with great dexterity from one branch to the next. Due to the dimness of the sky, these cute little animals appeared mostly as silhouettes. Occasionally we could make out detail and detect their short light-brown fur and long tails. At times they let out a squeal or chirp that reminded me of our squirrels back home. 

By the time we returned to the boat and docked back at the lodge we were using the last possible sunlight. Walking up the trail to the lodge we used flashlights. 

Skies turning dim on a rainy day.

Inside our rooms we removed every article of clothing and hung them wherever possible. I took a shower using water no warmer than that of the river. Even though we were in the Amazon, we were all very cold. 

At dinner we enjoyed another delicious homemade meal. This time Cesar joined us, along with his son, Cesar Junior. It was discovered that we at that table were fluent in seven languages: English, Spanish, Russian, Czech, Quechua, and Matsigenka (a local Amazonian language). 

Junior told us how he loves to swim in the river and his five-year old son is already swimming there. This slice of the Amazon is their life and has become a part of them. The rest of us in the group have traveled all over the world. But the locals here have hardly left the area. Yet they live here, in the Amazon. This is their home. They are happy.

It is now late as I finish this journal entry. There are many more details, but time doesn't allow. The rain has stopped. Wind continues to blow through our screen windows. The frogs are in a massive choir from the muddy bogs of the jungle. 

 

View from our lodge.

 

Into the Amazon (Day 1)

Just before dawn we sat in the lounge of our hotel when David knocked at the glass door. We shook his hand then walked down the cobble-stoned street with packs over our shoulders, down to the corner where a van waited for us across the street. We climbed in the van and met our new travel-mates, which included two Czechs, a Russian, an Aussie, and our cook, Dora, a native Peruvian. 

As we drove out of the city, I knew we were headed south because now the rising sun glared through the window on my left side. At a panaderia on the edge of town we stopped and Dora bought some bread. I purchased a bottle of water and two bread rolls, one for me and the other for Jenna. 

The paved road weaved back and forth, passing farm houses, the occasional street cart, and cows. The road traveled up a mountain, then down to a valley, across a river, then back up a mountain. There were no straight paths. 

At times the road turned to dirt, either from a mudslide, or construction. 

Mount Sahuasiray stands in the distance at an elevation of 19,088 feet.

While approaching another summit, this one at 11,800 feet, we diverted to a dirt road and pulled over near a collection of ancient structures that reminded me in size and appearance of Anasazi granaries. This was Ninamarca, a pre-Inca cemetery. 

According to our guide, each stone structure (called a chullpa) once contained the mummified body of a person in the fetal position. They may have been of nobility or higher class, using the little stone towers to keep their bodies cool. There were, however, no bodies still entombed. Our guide supposed that they were taken out during the Spanish conquest. Over the years a few human bones have been discovered.

What made the site even more fascinating to me was its location. From its vantage point at the top of a hill, it overlooked a small village on one side, and in the distance to the north stood the snow-capped Mount Sahuasiray, which rises over 19,000 feet. 

Chullpas at Ninamarca, a pre-Inca cemetery.

By now we were getting to know the crew. The conversation was very much international and Pavel, the Russian, didn't have much good to say about Putin. Tony, the Aussie, was very personable and loved to talk. I was surprised to hear his conservative viewpoints. 

At 8 o'clock we stopped at Paucartambo for breakfast. Paucartambo is a colonial village with a stone bridge over the river. Many of the old buildings are two stories high with painted blue doors. We stopped along the main road which was across the street from the market. 

The smell of simmering pork filled the air as we walked inside. Four legs and a pig's head simmered inside a cauldron —A lady sold biscuits of bread and there was a bar where locals ate bowls of stew. Upstairs in one room they sliced raw meat and in another they sold fresh fruit.

In front of the market ladies sold food from a cart. We each bought a small avocado sandwich, a slice of sweet bread, and for myself, a warm quinoa beverage with a hint of apple flavor. They poured it into a bag and gave me a straw. 

The village of Paucartambo.

Lady selling food and drink from a cart in Paucartambo.

After leaving Paucartambo, we left the pavement for good. There was no simple pathway this entire ride. Always on the edge of a mountain—an upward slope on one side and a drop-off on the other. 

The road gradually climbed in elevation and I watched the other side of the valley through the window. An unknown river swiftly flowed down the center, and on the other side was a patchwork of farms. I have noticed that here in the Andes they truly know how to efficiently use as much land as possible.

During this section we came across construction, which halted momentum for twenty minutes. During that time a water truck backed into the car in front of us breaking a headlight. We thought we'd never get past them after they started bickering, but luckily they moved aside and we were finally able to carry on our journey. 

Farmland on the hillside and river running below (as seen through the window).

Construction on road that runs to the Amazon.

We continued to wend higher and higher until finally we came out on a mountain pass that was now barren of trees. We traveled over the pass and toward another steep drop-off. I noticed wisps of clouds moving in, some of them below us. Soon, we were enveloped by clouds on all sides. 

Aptly named, this was the beginning of the cloud forest. At 11,151 feet, it would be our last high elevation point. From here it would be a long drive down. 

Beginning of the cloud forest.

Making up for lost time, our driver, Gabriel, sped down the mountain as fast as possible without sliding off the edge. To make matters more nerve-racking for myself as I sat next to the window was that clouds still covered everything. Not only could we barely see in front of us, but the abyss at our left was exactly that—an abyss. We couldn't see the bottom. And to make matters worse, I learned that Gabriel was only 19 years old! 

The drive down lasted forever! This was the part of our journey where we truly dropped into the Amazon. Clouds eventually moved out and vegetation became thick and tangled. Around every hairpin turn was another waterfall on the edge of the road. We passed dozens of them. 

One of many waterfalls off the side of the road.

Most of our journey was along roads like this one, perched next to a cliff.

From time to time we would get out and walk down the road looking for colorful birds. David, our guide, was the best at finding them. Some birds were black and camouflaged well, but the red macaw stood out markedly through the spotting scope whenever we looked. 

During one of our walks on the road the van continued to a further location so Dora would have time to prepare lunch. By the time we arrived she was serving up plates of chaufa at a picnic table on the side of the road. Chaufa is a rice and chicken dish of Chinese influence, but native to Peru. We poured glasses of Coke and enjoyed conversation. 

We learned the names of our Czech friends, Jan and Magdalena. They were in their early thirties and just got engaged while on the Salcantay trek here in Peru. She is a practicing Catholic, but he agnostic. 

Chaufa, a Peruvian dish with Chinese influence.

There were a hundred different things to see on the drive down, but we couldn't stop for all of them. Some waterfalls were better than others and I wish we could have stopped at more. Far below raged a torrential river, but you could barely see it through the trees. Next to the road was a steep ledge that would probably swallow you up if you got too close. It was impossible to know where terra firma ended with all the foliage. 

As we got further down, the road became consistently muddy. Although this was the dry season, it still rained quite frequently in the Amazon. 

And we came to trust Gabriel's driving. Apparently he has been driving big trucks since he was fifteen years old. He is a very good driver. I couldn't do it. Several times he had to stop in the middle of the road and backup for oncoming traffic. He knew the vehicle and knew what felt right. 

We drove through several tunnels. Gabriel slowed to a crawl when passing through because each tunnel was bumpy and filled with standing water and mud. 

A breathtaking view of the mountainside as we drop into the Amazon.

Another waterfall.

Walking down the road looking for birds and monkeys.

A butterfly in the middle of the road.

Our highlight of the day came when we stopped the vehicle to look for monkeys. At first we were out of luck. David whistled for them, but nothing came. 

We were on the verge of giving up when Jan spotted one jumping through the trees. He became excited like a little kid! 

It was a family of them. They are known as brown capuchin monkeys. 

First there was one, then two, then a small group. They climbed on the branches, moving from tree to tree to get a closer look at us. Their hands appeared like black leather gloves and they used them to grasp the bamboo branches as they walked on all fours. When we threw them a banana they stood on hind feet and used their black leather hands to catch. They were pretty good at catch. They ate the banana much like a human, then tossed the peel away when they were done. 

Brown capuchins are very intelligent. They have a relatively large brain for their body size and are good at problem solving. They feed largely on fruit and insects. 

Brown capuchin monkey.

Two brown capuchin monkeys.

David, our guide, was an expert in spotting and calling in wildlife.

It was getting late and we had to go in haste if we were going to make it by dark. We were now finally making it to the lower parts of the Amazon, an elevation near 1,730 feet. We had dropped nearly 10,000 feet! 

Once we leveled out we began seeing shacks and ramshackle brick houses. This was a village and I didn't know its name. Women walked on the street, kids played ball. All the roads remained dirt. 

It was interesting that here the vista opened up and we could once again see into the distance. This was due to villagers removing trees for practical purposes. 

Kids play soccer in a remote village in the Amazon.

Shortly after that village, we came to another. I knew the name of this one—Pillcopata. We didn't stop, but I looked at it through the window. It seemed dirty and it amazed me how villages like these could exist so far away from civilization. By now it had been eleven hours since we left our hotel—most of it on a dirt road. This was extremely remote. 

After leaving the village we crossed a river on a bridge and turned onto a side road which led to our lodge. It was now sunset and the fronds of the jungle were turning into silhouette. 

Amazonian village of Pillcopata.

The old walking bridge still spans the river.

I am sitting in our room as I write this. There are two twin beds, two nightstands, and a chair. The walls are paper thin (I can hear the Russian snoring in the next room). Outside is the music of cicadas and frogs. 

We have one sole light to illuminate our room and it is quite dim. We have an outlet which seems to work. But no internet. 

There are detached bathrooms and showers, which are just a thirty second walk from our room. Jenna found a frog on the bathroom wall. 

There is a communal eating area. Dora and another lady made our dinner. 

This is a surreal feeling. I've always wanted to spend the night in a jungle and here I am. Far away from everything and very disconnected. Either frightening or blissful, depending on how you see it.

 

Our lodge (with bathrooms and showers on right side).

 

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.