recelo y aborrecimiento en la republica dominica.

I attempted to keep a journal during my family's four plus day excursion to the Dominican Republic last week, but somehow I was sidetracked by the fact that I COMPLETELY HATED IT THERE. After the first night, the highlight of my day was waking up and realizing I'd have one less day there before I went home. In any event, the journal ended up devolving into a fit of gonzo journalism madness after the first few entries. Here it is, in its entirety, unedited. I'm never going back there. Ever.

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01.14.08

I don't like it here.

I'm in the Dominican Republic, with my family, for 5 nights and 4 days. In theory, it seems like a wonderful idea; it's the middle of January, when it is freezing and wet at Echobase, escaping to a warm sunny island of tropical love and alcoholic drinks is almost a no-brainer. And yes, that part is most decidedly good. I like that part. It is nice. It's just. . . I don't know. If I'm to get away from stuff, it would include my family, and would involve my friends coming with. And preferably where I don't feel uncomfortably far from home.

But let me back up a bit.

We left the house at 5 AM, which means I was up at 4 AM. Which is bad, because I am physically unable to fall asleep before 3. So yeah, about an hour or two of sleep. AWESOME. A cold drive to Newark, a 3 hour wait in the airport. Fun, yes, hooray, huzzah. We boarded, we took off, everything according to spec. (I will say that my favorite part of flying is that moment right after the plane leaves the tarmac, and the g-forces and air pressure differential are acting on your body, and all I can think is "Yes! Humanity! Technology! SCIENCE!" So yeah, so anyway,) The flight was uneventful. So very very uneventful.

The island's an hour ahead of EST, so we landed around 1 PM. We got picked up by a shuttle at the terminal, and the drove the longest most depressing drive ever. The architecture and growth on the part of the island we drove through was like all the abandoned and decayed parts of the Jersey shore lined up for miles upon miles, and then surrounded by lots and lots of minibikes and poverty. Lots. Anyway.

I'm not doing a good job explaining myself, I think. It just seems like this wave of existential funk just overtook me when we landed here. An example: dinner tonight was at an outdoor restaurant on the resort grounds. It's supposed to be "French cuisine," but. . . it's still a buffet. Buffet food in another country is still just buffet food. And the channels that come in best on the television are local New York City stations and the Discovery Channel. And maybe that's a big part of my issue. What's different is TOO different, and what's the same is TOO the same. The balance of foreign otherness and home-osity is very skewed, and my brain can't handle it.

4 days, 3 nights to go. I'm hoping this picks up.
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01.15.08

I have made a friend here. His name is Lewis, and he is a local lizard. An anole, if I am guessing right. He was on the ceiling last night when we came in from dinner, and has stayed the night watching over me and scaring away predators. I am forever in his debt.

I am still vexed by this place. They don't let you leave the resort. We are essentially trapped here, until deemed okay to release. Maybe they wish to protect us from the locals, which seems odd, as this island was the first permanent European settlement in the Western Hemisphere. Anyway...

I don't like laying in the sun. And other than laying on the couch, watching "Cash Cab" and "Mythbusters" (both FINE programs though they are), that is pretty much the extent of what we can do here. I am glad I brought a large book with me, as I will undoubtedly need to fill the time doing something, since I have no guitar, no friends, no phone service, and no internet.

Lewis continues to watch over me. I trust him. We have conversations. We discuss world politics and the fate of the american dollar in the global market. He makes a few salient points, but I think he is underestimating the current (coming?) recession.

In any event, today was uneventful, for the most part. More buffet food. More boredom. More ennui. I think someone/thing is watching me through the window, but I'm sure it's just my imagination.
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01.16.08

[a transmission sent to the Bandit Queen]

I have managed to acquire a wireless connection and my mom's laptop. Though it is technology, and this island is inherently untrustworthy in that regard. Send help! I am miserable and wish to return to Echo Base post-haste. I am afraid that I am either slowly going insane, or that every living thing here is out to get me.

I miss my bandit queen, and midnight time travel adventures, and yelling about things that matter. I fear that there is a killer after me, he is hunting me in my dreams. There are things here, places, moments, all conspiring against me in another language.

Lewis has disappeared, I am worried for his safety. I want to come home. Now. 2 days left in this foreign paradise of discontent, and then I shall be free. But even then, I am not sure. There is a bird at the window, and he is staring at me. I do not trust his motives.

I miss you. Even more than normal. It might be because when I am home, I have the knowledge that if I wished, I could forgo obligations and drive to the Fort and enjoy your presence. At this moment that is impossible. That, plus my encroaching dread, are fueling my paranoia.

2 days left.

End communication.
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01.17.08

Things have taken a turn. Lewis is dead. They are coming.

I don't think I can be allowed to say anymore.
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01.18.08

We are on the way home. I am seated next to a couple who are the quintessential Ugly Americans. I want to stab them in the head with the butter knife given to me along with my ham sandwich. But I know I cannot, as the persona who would do that stayed on the island, and I would be detained as soon as we landed. I need to be free, to tell the story, to tell of Lewis and his bravery. But I'm finding even as I write these words the details are fading. Did they ever exist? Are memories factual representations of truth, simple electrical signals, or something more? Do they hold resonance with the past, or just effect the present?

Some things last in the psyche, words and meanings, and some things float away like blood in the spray of the ocean. These things that have happened, that I can no longer recall clearly. . . does this make them any less real? Hallucinations brought on by too much sun and sleep deprivation, paranoia and existentialist crisis combine to make jagged edges in my memory. Whatever. Does it matter? Does anything really, other than the departure point and destination?

I don't know. I'm going home. Echobase, do you copy?

Author's Note

The title is a pidgin version of "Fear and Loathing in the Dominican Republic."