A Trip to the DR

Today after our morning staff meeting we decided to take a trip to the DR to buy some groceries. While a number of the same items are available for sale in Cap, the grocery prices are cheaper in the Dominican, and since a visitor needed to return to the DR today, we decided to make it a grocery trip.

Erin, Nikki and I grabbed our shopping bags and squeezed into the cab of the small pick-up with the woman who needed to go the DR. Rikerns drove. Driving in Haiti feels very little like driving in the states. The dirt roads are so filled with potholes and rough rock that “keeping to the right” has no meaning. The bumping and jostling causes your sweaty skin to rub and chafe against whoever you sit next to and those with propensity toward motion sickness are just in trouble. Of course this is the description for riding up front. Riding in back of any vehicle is another story entirely, and I havn't even come close to riding Haitian style in a crowded tap-tap or moto.

There is a good paved road most of the way to the DR, so after riding on rough rural ones, the smooth surface is a treat. Though the speed limit sign indicates 50 kph Rikerns drives at speeds well above and below the limit, using the horn to communicate his presence and intention. The road is shared with numerous vehicles, animals, and people. Motos (motorcycles) bearing anything from a twin size mattress to a family of 5 with bags and packages stuffed between, speed along the outermost part of the lane and we honk to inform them of our advance. There are a few other pick-ups or four wheel drive vehicles, many of them not-for-profit labeled, but some by working Haitians or the wealthy. Interspersed are larger dump truck which rule the road and proclaim their dominance with loud honks. Then there are the tap-taps. These vehicles are usually pick-ups outfitted with a cab and metal railings in which 12-20 people stuff themselves. Sometimes the roofs are also covered with items or additional people. A guy in the back acts as bouncer and fare collector, monitoring who gets on or off.

On the roadsides people ride or drive donkeys and horses with heavy loads. Women sit sideways in woven saddles with woven bags filled with market goods.

We were stopped by Haitian police, twice, doing road-sides checks. They requested our passports, spoke with Rikerns inquiring of our business and allowed us to pass.

Rikerns whizzed in and out of our lane, slowing for speed bumps and children, speeding up in the clearing while acrid smoke burned in my nose from intermittent ditch fires. The land changes from tropical to semi-arid and back again during the drive and the wind in my face and sun on my arm feel comfortable despite the stickiness inside the cab of the pickup.

We arrived at the border around noon. The crossing consisted off a short bridge with a Haitian gate on one end and a Domican Republic gate on the other. No one talked to us or asked for identification. We simply walked across with others. Some guards were busy spraying off tires of vehicles crossing, in an attempt to limit the spread of Cholera, which has not yet reached the DR.

I have just begun to form sentences and thoughts in Creole, but as we crossed the border everything became Spanish. My brain ached as I tried to bring up a simple “hello” in Spanish. As if in gridlock the only foreign words I could form were Creole! I could understand some of the speech but was helpless to respond. By the time we stopped for lunch a short time later, I could remember enough to ask for water, but not much more.

We walked a few blocks further to reach the supermarket. In this town the roads were paved on every street. There were gutters to take waste water and little trash littered the road. Little storefronts lined the streets with quite modern looking items within. The supermarket itself was clean and orderly, like a small version of what you might find in the States. Pricing seemed to vary depending on availability. A small bag of oats was about $6 USD and a box of Cheerios was just over $5. I left the Cheerios in favor of a local box of cornflakes for $2 and splurged on a small tin of olive oil for $7. Local items were better priced such as a local variety of pop for $1 for a 3 litre as was a small bottle of lime juice for the same price. I was also able to buy a large ball of Dutch cheese for $8, which I will split with the Vande Lune's.

We left the store with heavy bags, hailed a modified moto to load up the groceries on. Nikki rode with the moto and our groceries where she'd meet up with Rikerns to load them up, and Erin and I walked back the border crossing to meet her, enduring cat calls and hissing as we walked.

All in all, it took us 5 hours and $300 to drive to the border, have lunch, get groceries, and return home. Things that are easy and inexpensive at home are not so easy or inexpensive here. Of course, adapting to local foods and tastes will be far less expensive, but I guess we take this one step at a time.