Stewartsville - New World Record
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
161
235
Trip End
Mar 04, 2006
Stewartsville, New Jersey
Friday, February 24, 2006
We were seated at out favourite bar restaurant in Santo Domingo, underneath the large Aspen tree that drops leaves, buds and bird poop on you unless you are definitely seated under the umbrellas. The waiter opened the crisp chilled Presidente, the top easing out the familiar gasp of malty hops and bubbles.... Mmmm. Well it was our last morning in the Dominican Republic so we were going out on top.
Remember, always look the person in the eye as you clink glasses, say cheers, and take the first sip.
It was a joyous experience, even if I did get bird shit on me - three times.
We soon must wander back towards the hotel to finish packing. At one stage a large fire cracker went off in the street, perhaps as an early celebrationary bang for Dominican Independence Day, which is this weekend. Given the amount of guns we have seen openly displayed around the country, it was a little scary to say the least. It sounded like a pump action shotty to both of us.
Soon enough we are in our own private minibus, onward to the Aeropeurto, the Salsa music pumping from its speakers and mini TV screens in the back. If there is one thing that can sum up the Caribbean laid back attitude to life, it is the Duty Free Shop at the Santo Domingo airport. Seven staff, two customers, and still no one can get served. The Dominicans do struggle to get a wriggle on to say the least. You want anything done here in the Dominican Republic? "Manana, Manana" is the answer... Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
Then its onto the Continental flight for the trip back to New Jersey, and Newark airport. Goatgirl's Mum and Dad are to greet us once we have cleared customs, whisking us back to Stewartsville for the night. Pat and Andy have put on some traditional American fare for me - Hot Dogs, Macaroni and Cheese and Apple Pie. Their hospitality has been fantastic.
I have been kicking myself for not having a Hot Dog when I was in New York. One of Goatgirl's friends calls the ones that you buy in the streets of NYC "Sewer Dogs".
Perhaps it was a good thing I waited until I got to Beacon Street in New Jersey before I finally had one.
