it was only day one ...

You really have to laugh.

My baby sister saw a pic Papi posted of us while we were in the 2nd tow truck after our car broke down and asked, "Why are you smiling?!?!"

Because you have to laugh.

We have a car we bought from the devil himself.  We had it 'repaired' the day before we left for our trip to the nerve center of this country.

I've been having some troubles being stranded at the side of the road in our small town in the country, but there's one problem area you do not want to experience being broken down in, and true to our nature of never ending drama, this is where the car was grounded.

Now, I've spoken before about how we're living in a pretty vicious country, but just to recap for those of you who are new to my world, people in this country are so desperate to get their cerveza for the day, they will kill you for 5 pesos.

I am not exaggerating.

We set out to the capitol, Santo Domingo, to get my salt air impaired piano fixed by the best in the country.

But not only that, we had 2 computers, also slain from living too close to the ocean, along with our computer we've been sharing and an iPad for the other soul who doesn't get to the shared computer first.

Oh, and cash in case we got stranded.

Off we drove with our tinted windows, to be sure people couldn't see we were gringos right away in hopes that we don't get accosted, and drove on a highway where there is nothing for miles, except for the occasional horse.

It's an ideal stretch for serial killers to dump bodies in, but we don't have that problem in this country.  Generally speaking, that seems to be more of a phenomenon of white men in 1st world countries.

However, it is a great place to be dumped after desperate pirates take everything you own, then kill you so you can't identify them.

Satan's Sedan croaked and we were stranded in bum-fuck-nowhere, Dominican Republic, near 2 horses who seemed to salute us with an anxious, "Neigh!!!!"

We were fortunate that this toll road had an emergency number.  We called it and the woman who spoke speed Spanish did her best to get information out of me about where we were.

"Ummm ... near 2 horses and coconut trees."  It couldn't have been arduous to find the farcical gringos with a raised hood.

When they arrived, they found me searching the grass.  Why?  Because when I had taken the radiator cap off, the lid blew off like a volcano.

Not to mention, I had green coolant dripping from my face, hair and clothing.  The saving grace was that I had waited long enough that the coolant did it's job and I didn't get a 3rd degree burn from boiling fluid.

Papi had a good laugh at my face of disgust.  Yeah.  Really funny.

Anyway, thanks to our emergency crew we didn't get killed by fortune hunters.

The emergency crew called a tow truck for us, but he could only bring us to the first toll booth.  We needed a 2nd one once we passed that border.

Upon meeting the first driver, I had asked Papi to please sit in the middle, so that I didn't have to sit beside what my spidey senses told me was a creepy man.

"No!  You speak Spanish!" Papi said.  Oh yes.  This guy whispered things to me in Spanish that Papi couldn't understand.

Really, I couldn't understand the words, but I understood the energy quite clearly.

We got to the 2nd leg of the highway of hell without being raped and the new tow truck driver, who was a sweet family man, got us to a repair shop with our car and all it's belongings in tow.

This is where we met the garage owner who had two thumbs ...

... i'm not kidding ... it was QUITE fascinating ...

... who told us that our engine was dead.

Dead engine.  Stuck 3 hours away from home, no clue to know whether he was lying or not with one option: we had to accept that we were going to have to pay for a new engine if we were to make it home again with the demon's dump of a jalopy.

An engine takes a little time to be put into a car, so we had a forced vacation, but there's so much more to tell you.

Why I'm writing a blog instead of practising my piano that we went all the way there to get fixed?  Because I can't find my fucking piano power cord.

Jeeeeeezus have I left all my cords in Santo Domingo?!?!?!

We can't do anything without drama, which is entertainment for everyone.

Don't ever feel bad if you have a boring life.

I'm thanking my angels that we got through the trip and made it back home alive.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to a puking puppy.

And people wonder why I started drinking again ...

i allow my life to be filled with peace

bag

Bags.

So.  Many.  Bags.

Not only do stores in this fine country have an obsession with plastic bags, they also encourage their employees to do 2 of the most horrible things ever: tie the handles and bag many of the items separately if they can.

Bags, doubled, for 36 eggs which are already in plastic encasings to deliver them to the market.  Triple plastic.

Seriously.  That's not going to stop them from breaking!

Or, doubled for any kind of meat that is also already in it's own layer of plastic, making sure it's separated in another bag from vegetables (of which you're going to wash anyway) that couldn't possibly be near meat, or you will die a slow, suffering death with the devil itself.

But what makes it worse, is the fact that Papi always rips the handles to open them, rendering them useless.

Papi is too impatient to delicately open the plastic knot.

Sometimes, you can find me in the kitchen with a fork trying to pry open the bag, with the most utter care, to salvage those handles so that I can use those bags again.

I won't let go of the environmentalist in me, even if I live in a country considered un-environmental.

However, most of the time I have my reusable bags, that I brought all the way from Canada, handy.

When they see me coming, they know now that I have my bags, because I am the crazy bag gringa.

Occasionally, I find someone who hasn't encountered the eco-queen, who looks at me like I'm from another country.

Yes.  Judging me by my olive skin, I am.

But the other day, someone asked me, "Why?"

Why do I have my bags?  Well, because of the turtles, of course.

So, they had an answer for my answer as well.

"But the bags don't go into the ocean, they get burned."

Yes.  Burned.

That's how they dispose of garbage here; burning.

There are so many differences here than in Canada, so I could say there are many differences in Canada than in the DR.

I recently found out that there actually IS recycling here.  You just have to find it.

People will collect your plastic bottles, but you have to search them out.  So now I will.

Unfortunately, our dogs will eat the bottles before we can find someone to recycle them.

Speaking of dogs ...

... because of course i couldn't go 2 posts without talking about dogs, could i? ...

... the neighbour I thought would never speak to us again was all smiles as she drove past me while I was at the 'Baby Chower'.

Did I tell you about the 'Baby Chower'?

It's a baby shower, only with someone trying to spell in English on a cute-as-can-be, hand-made invite, about as well as Papi can spell in Spanish.

While we were there, the family asked us to be the baby's godparents.

I told them that we had to tell the last people we couldn't do it anymore, because they were lying to try to get money out of us.

We don't have any.  We have a house.

Anyway, I have no idea where this rant came from.

Right.  Bags.

We went shopping on our fancy shopping cart, 'the quad'.

But this time, I brought my reusable bags.

The woman in charge of collecting pesos asked me, "Where are you from?" followed up by, "Welcome to the Dominican Republic."

I told her we are from Canada.

She asked me, "How long have you lived here?"

How long have I lived here?

I guess I've lived here long enough for someone to recognize I actually live here and am not just visiting.

I am home.

i have the power to change my world