Samana, Dominican Republic / 19˚.11.11’N
Tortola, British Virgin Islands / 18˚ N
October 26-27, 2010
My almost favorite place on this ship, the Norwegian Spirit, is the 12th floor “Galaxy of the Stars” cocktail/Diet Pepsi lounge. By the end of the 4th day the drink crew already knew me. “Is it time for a Diet Pepsi, Sir?” the Indian bartender asked me on the 4th night at sea.
“Of course. And my name is Dan.”
Tonight, our fifth night, when I walked in and sat down, he was right there.
“Is it time for a Diet Pepsi, Mr. Daniel?”
Sir. Madam. Mr. Daniel. It’s hard not to like a cruise ship.
But it really is all about the ship. Best to make peace with that early on, ‘cause it’s certainly not about the port.
Witness yesterda
y. We arrived in Samana, Dominican Republic, at noon, boarded tenders at 12:30, got on a bus for a four hour absolutely cheesy tour that would bring us from the town of Samana, over a mountain ridge, to the even more cheesy tourist town of Las Terennas. I was almost embarrassed to part of this trip. Our only contact with locals was a 20 minute bus stop at a tourist shop selling really cheesy tourist bric-a-brac. Poverty abounded on both sides of the bus. It’s hard to make a living outside of tourist areas. Once is Las Terrenas, we were one of four busses. The tow
n, built along a gorgeous sandy, palm studded beach, was probably quite nice once upon a time before hotels and restaurants were built with no zoning involved. Now it was just packed with old farts off the boat—myself included. Ironically, the DR is the kind of place I really like. Impoverished. A bit on the tattered side. Cheap. Full of local color. For me, though, it’s best seen slowly, on local transport, in local busses and independently.
I had a much older friend once, herself gone now a year, who was always coming or going somewhere interesting. Even in her 80’s she’d be on a bike ride from Hanoi to Saigon, trekking in the Himalayas of Nepal, or on a safari in Africa. “The dirtier the better,” she’d say.
I always said I wanted to grow up and be like Sally. She would have liked this place.
The DR is poor. Part of Hispaniola, along with Haiti it’s two of the poorest nations in the Western Hemisphere. Which, I think, accounts for the strong Evangelical influence we saw all over the place.
Jesu
s viene pronto! Búscalo! Jesus is coming soon, Look for it!Jesus es poder. Búscalo! Jesus is power. Look for it!
Jesus es la vida. Búscalo! Jesus is life! Look for it!
Poverty often pushes people towards God.
When I spent almost two weeks in Nicaragua several years ago with the North Country Mission of Hope, I met person after person, who, at least to the standards we know, had nothing—at least materially. But they had a strong faith and a strong sense of hope attached to that faith. Perhaps it’s the same with Dominicans.
In the end, it was only the tour that was a bit of disappointment, along with the pitifully short time spent at port. It certainly wasn’t the island, its people or its stupendous views of long, white, palm-fringed beaches. I met a mental note to come back to this island—but to explore it on my own.
The contrast to that and today’s destination, Tortola, The British Virgin Islands, was sharp.
Poverty often pushes people towards God.
When I spent almost two weeks in Nicaragua several years ago with the North Country Mission of Hope, I met person after person, who, at least to the standards we know, had nothing—at least materially. But they had a strong faith and a strong sense of hope attached to that faith. Perhaps it’s the same with Dominicans.
In the end, it was only the tour that was a bit of disappointment, along with the pitifully short time spent at port. It certainly wasn’t the island, its people or its stupendous views of long, white, palm-fringed beaches. I met a mental note to come back to this island—but to explore it on my own.
The contrast to that and today’s destination, Tortola, The British Virgin Islands, was sharp.
We travelled through the night, slowly, I imagine, to our second port of call. The next morning we got off the shi
p vowing not to take a boat sponsored tour on an island small enough to spit across. Instead, we bought an off-boat island tour which brought us out of Road Town, the upscale port city, up into the mountains where we stopped often to get magnificent vistas of a remarkable volcanic shoreline, and views of many of smaller Virgin Islands that were but a speck on the horizon. But here in this small, economically comfortable, British outpost, there was nary a sign
of God. A few churches, but certainly no signs that we were in the last days with Jesus coming soon. The citizens here lived the good life, in nice houses, with nice shops, good restaurants. In other words they had good jobs that gave them good salaries. God might be easier to put in the back pocket when you’ve got more than you need. Just a thought.
Our day on Tortola was uneventful, but pleasant, but I’m not convinced there’s enough of a reason to return.
Two islands, neighbors, but radically different. I’m glad I had the opportunity to visit them, albeit briefly.
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