Friday, December 18, 2009

Entertainment Center ReSkinned for HDTV

The End of Analog

The End of Analog

Here's the image I took when TV went digital. And that's pretty much the image we've had since. Well, that's not quite true. We did discover high on the dial we still get RetroTV over analog, a couple religious channels, a shopping channel and Univision.

Of the five, RetroTV is by far the most entertaining. They have two low-budget morning shows one local, one out of Florida almost entirely serving content from Southern Living Magazine and corporations. It's pretty painful. The rest of the day is old shows like The Incredible Hulk, Gun Smoke and Ironsides. The A-Team in the afternoons is sweet.

For Christmas we decided to hop on the HDTV bandwagon, so it was time to look at the entertainment center. The new TV just wouldn't fit and all the stores wanted several hundred for a new stand. I decided I could hack the current stand into a new one.

Here we go.

Upgrading your old Entertainment Center to Entertainment Center 2.0
  1. Detach top and sides
  2. Measure height of components and mark new height
  3. Cut to new height
  4. Reattach sides and center support
  5. Take extra material, cut another center support to match since TV now on top
  6. Reassemble

Entertainment Center ReSkinned
I'm pretty happy with the result. (Sorry picture quality is so horrible... I'll get something better when the TV arrives)



If you are considering a similar project here's Brent's quick tips for hacking particle board furniture:
  • To reduce chips make sure you tape with masking tape where you'll be cutting.
  • Put the visible face up when making cuts.
  • Start cuts from the face that will be visible.
  • For straight cuts with a circular saw clamp a board to the board you are cutting so that it can act as a fence for the saw.
  • If possible use existing square edges for edges that will be visible and hide your cuts behind overhangs and on top where in shadows. No matter how good of a job you do, particle board will chip a little, especially on the back side.
  • Lay particle board on a soft surface for cutting (like a towel or blanket) so vibrations don't scratch the surface
  • Use a new(ish) saw blade for best results
  • Predrill all new screw holes to avoid splitting

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Welcome is MIA

It's a wonder really anyone visits our country. I can only speak to the courtesies I received as a US Citizen at Miami International, but I'd place my treatment something akin to that of a cow at the slaughterhouse.

My first interaction with my countrymen in over two weeks was such a delight I laughed out loud, a woman screaming at the top of her lungs "USA" and gesticulating wildly. If anyone was confused her first tactic was to yell louder, her second tactic was to grab their passport out of their hand and physically push them into one chute or the other.

Puerto Plata airport

Puerto Plata airport by jessicasays

Arriving in the Dominican Republic my first impression was a free rum and coke and warm smile. And that was just to keep me company as I went through customs. Talk about greetings. Not that customs was a hassle in the DR. There was no line and it was pretty much check the passport, stamp and go. Nothing says "You are welcome here, make yourself at home" like sipping a drink while they stamp your passport and you wait for your bag to appear.

Budweiser, Coors, Miller, Coca-cola, Pepsi, McDonalds, Burger King, Jack Daniels... any American company really... are you listening? Seriously. I think we can do better. At the very least maybe we can teach border patrol to cough up a smile and say politely, "Welcome to America"? I'll leave the security theatre of it all alone for now. Today I'm talking about manners and better marketing America.

After the yelling lady we were herded into a corral which eventually led to one of eight Customs Agents. The man who stamped our passports was genuinely friendly, though unfortunately either poorly trained - or possibly so disarmed by Shelly's smile, something that must be infrequent in the travelers he faces after such a joyous welcome home from the yelling lady that he made the wrong magic marker authentication doodle.

It was a half half mile walk down a corridor to a surly older agent in a tactical sweater who refused us enter to America. We asked him calmly, but repeatedly, what was wrong. All he would offer was, "Wrong mark, go see agent who did this." We were forced to retrace our steps, find a way past the lady screaming "USA" without getting shoved and return to corrals. After another twenty minutes we eventually returned to the friendly customs agent, who apologized for his error and changed the blue magic marker scribble from a one to something more two-like. Another half mile walk, and this token satisfied the surly tactical sweater dude and we were free to kiss the soil.

I sure hope servicemen and women get to bypass this ridiculous charade.

I will admit Miami was better than a recent arrival to Newark from abroad, but anyone who has spent any time in New Jersey knows that is far from a compliment. We as a country have to be able to do better. I was mostly in the "US Citizen Only" lines, and I can only imagine how we treat foreigners with a nice tan. What an embarrassment.

Let's get a some security folks together with some marketing folks and maybe we can find a way to make this both secure *and* enjoyable. Those Disney Imagineers would really come in handy here. Perhaps if we don't treat everyone like the enemy (including our own citizens) we might have less enemies? A better experience in immigration isn't going to stop someone who is already chanting "Death to America!", but it is harder to yell with salt water taffy in your mouth.

Fish on a Plane
Ivar's Seafood's marketing folks are brilliant, perhaps they might have some good ideas

Can't the country that invented the Snuggie do better to make everyone a little more comfortable and do a better job to market American companies - and America - in the process?

"Welcome to America! Here's your free Snuggie and Happy Meal!"

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Luna de Miel

A small surprise

A small surprise

I finally finished writing up my journal entries from our luna de miel (honeymoon) in the Dominican Republic.  It was a great trip and I had fun reliving it to share with you.

Here's a list of all twelve posts in chronological order:

But wait, there's more! For full photographic richness there's the Gringo Honeymoon photoset

Or in map form:
And here's the slideshow:

Ana

The morning brought Ana. The tropical storm was clearing Puerto Rico and due in Punta Cana by evening. Whitecaps covered the sea and from the balcony we could make out the orange flag flying through slanting rain. Our solo catamaran venture was not to be. All boats were beached and chained. Sunglasses were necessary, not for sun, but blowing sand. Shelly found a small coconut tree washed up on the beach and we strolled hand in hand in the company of a dozen other gringos who found a half full glass in these conditions, possibly only because the rain had filled it. Honestly, compared to the Oregon coast it was still paradise. For one thing you could wade in the water and still feel your toes.

Tropical Storm Incoming

Tropical Storm Incoming

Storm Whipping the Palms
Storm Whipping the Palms

Final trip to the bar
Final trip to the bar

But our time was short and the mood of the resort mirrored our emotions. It felt like the end of summer camp. Chiefly because of the rain we were the only ones outside their room. It was only those leaving who filled the hallways and lobbies. We said our goodbyes, left our propinas with staff members we had befriended and found our van to the airport.

The airport was a rude reintroduction. Two hundred gringos in a queue, one American Airlines employee to check them in. Quite a shift from the pampering we had left so recently. We softened the return to reality with a bottle of wine the hotel had gifted us, inexplicably already opened. It helped, but we only made a small dent in it before we reached security and passed the bottle off to a very grateful gardener who was outside the airport formally, but separated by a three foot stone wall. We made his day. Actually, his joy made my day as well. The rest of the trip was a routine, but rough awakening to western incivility.

Coconutty
Coconutty

Monday, November 16, 2009

Bávaro

If you want Brent to relax, it's best like Kootenai to take him on a long run, don't feed him well and keep him awake... having done that for nearly two weeks, relaxation came easy.

We got up late. We lounged under the palm umbrellas. We played in the surf. We hung out at the pool bar. We ran on the beach together. We dined in the evening and danced at the nightclub. It wasn't until the third day of sybaritic laziness that I started getting restless.

Majestic Colonial at Night

Majestic Colonial at Night

Hi, Bocce!
Hi, Bocce!

Happy Din(n)ers
Happy Din(n)ers

Our Room
Our Room

Majestic Colonial Grounds
Majestic Colonial Grounds

Majestic Colonial Grounds
Beach

Caribbean
Caribbean

Palmrella
Palmrella

Relaxing
Relaxing

I told Shelly I was going for a stroll. It started innocently enough, but before long I felt the siren call of a village I could just make out on the horizon down the beach. It looked so close and the miles passed easily with the constant visual stimulation of near-naked ladies lining the beaches of one resort after another. Take this story as a cautionary tale, beware of the power of the Caribbean sea, sand soccer games and topless oiled lass, after thong-clad ass.

It was nearly an hour before I reached the village, after which, realizing my tardiness, I sprinted the whole way back. Despite my speed I couldn't help but notice how much attention I was getting. I returned to the resort over an hour later to Shelly's arm folded stance which quickly changed from rebuke to concern long before I made it within ear shot. Arriving she exclaimed in horror, "What happened?" Not understanding, I followed her gaze downward to see the entire front of my shorts covered in blood. Aghast, I ran into the sea to wash off and survey the damage. Too bad neither one of us thought to stop and take a photo. It was an alarming amount of blood.

I discovered the velcro closure on swim trunks - which I must admit had caused some minor chafing at 27 Charcos, had attacked the end of my manhood. The wound wasn't hospital worthy, or even bandage-able, but it was certainly below-average for my honeymoon. It was time to put on the not-in-service light and self-medicate at the beach bar.

Route of my infamous run
Route of my infamous run

Vendor area at the end of my Run
Vendor area at the end of my run

There's a Camera on your face
There's a camera on your face my dear

Sugary Sandscript
Sugary Sandscript

Love Love
Love Love

This would be great...
This would be great... if there weren't people on my face

Later that evening we dressed up in the finery that we'd schlepped for two weeks just for the occasion. Shelly wore her white bicycle getaway dress and I a suit and tie for our "special" honeymooners romantic meal. I'll spare you, my readers, my diatribe on human psychology I have in mind for resort management and summarize only with, if your resort is looking to save money, don't do so by promising your guests special treatment only to deliver buffet leftovers and service so poor that the new groom is forced to serve his own drinks for himself, his new bride and other forgotten honeymooners sitting in seclusion at their tables in the far corner of the restaurant.

All Dressed Up
All Dressed Up

Grin 1 of 3
Grin

Despite my injuries including: sunburn, a chaffed crotch and a badly bruised rib from a poor boat exit snorkeling - Shelly and I were both up for adventure by our fourth day. In the morning we rented tandem sea kayaks which we took out in the surf and reef. Afternoon brought catamaran lessons. The guide was not bilingual and judging by Shelly's translations, lingual may have been a stretch. But through the international system of grunts and hand gestures he managed to translate the intricacies of sailing. Well, maybe not the intricacies but I was able to tack into the wind and return with the wind before handing the rudder off to Shelly who repeated my movements with the use of words. He was quite the guide. Now that I mention it, quiet, somewhat unfriendly guides were a theme of the trip, though in compared to Buco at 27 Charcos, this guy was Julie on the Love Boat.

Sailing was incredible. If I ever live near a large body of water, I will have access to a sailboat. It was so liberating to harness the wind and glide across the water - sometimes nearly directly into the wind. Like skiing is to snowmobiling, sailing is to boating. There is a smoothness, a oneness and fluidity to it I had never experienced before on water. I loved it.

We dined our last night at the buffet, shaking our heads at the variety and quality of the food and left wondering why we bothered with the "gourmet" restaurants or the "special bridal dinner." The ceviche and fresh grouper pan-fried to order were outstanding. Not to mention the mangu, one of many varieties of plantain dishes, but by far the most memorable. We capped off our last evening with a Presidente, a chi chi and a barefoot stroll on the beach under a clear sky in advance of the coming storm.

Signing Off
Signing Off

Higuey

Our bus from La Romana to Higuey arrived under a steady downpour. The sewers were overflowing in trash-laden rivers down the streets. Despite the rain, we were immediately surrounded by children and adults aggressively begging for money and grabbing at us and our bags. Our luggage suggested wealth which our two stomachs new little of, having shared only a small pizza and a couple crackers in the last twenty-four hours.

This is not to say we weren't still having fun and enjoying the experience, but somehow the idea of the all-you-can eat buffet waiting ahead at the all-inclusive in Punta Cana didn't sound all that bad. We were rounding a corner in our travels.

We made a quick dash through outstretched hands, jumping small streams of water and debris before heaving our bags in the back of a bus readying to depart. One boy ran ahead, skating on the oil-slicked floors of the bus station ahead of me, grabbing the rear brush guard and whipping around the rear of the bus out of sight with all the skill of Dan Jansen on a good day. I could just make out his feet behind the rear tire as I bent to load the luggage. Shelly boarded, and I stayed behind the bus until the luggage door was closed and locked before running and jumping aboard the bus as it departed.

Yes, it was time. The fun of exploration was dwindling under the helplessness one feels when confronted with poverty of this magnitude. The insularity of the resort suddenly didn't sound so bad. One guagua ride and a bus sermon later we landed in another world. The Punta Cana Airport and more gringos than we had seen on the entire trip combined - all huddled under the open thatched roof looking startled and afraid under strobe-like illumination of lightning strikes.

We quickly found the contacts who we'd been unable for the past two weeks to raise on the phone. They made up a flight number to appease the resort who couldn't dream of gringos spending time on the island somewhere besides the resort. Moments later we were on a posh bus receiving tips on safe travel in the Dominican Republic, "Do not drink the water and we strongly advise against traveling by motoconcho or local microbuses." We were nearly as disoriented as our American, Canadian and European companions. Posh became painful when we discovered our resort was last in a long parade of stops. It was like running to the bathroom only to find a locked door. Starving we opened our only sustenance, what was left of our last bottle or rum. Our haggard appearance allowed me to befriend two ladies from Baltimore, who, it seemed had the most horrid travel experience ever - a delayed direct flight. Well, the worst ever until the conversation turned and they asked us how our flight went.

Pampering always leaves me uncomfortable, but the idea of the buffet grew more enticing by the mile. Relaxing around a pool or on the beach with a cold Presidente didn't sound half bad either. And that is pretty much how we spent the first twenty-four hours: We walked the grounds the acquaint ourselves. We feasted at the buffet. We shared the jacuzzi in our room. We slept in late. We hit up the buffet again.

Landing

Landing

Friday, November 06, 2009

Bayibe

In the future when I end up on the side of the highway beside a cafeteria in the middle of nowhere, with a humorous array of bags amidst heavy truck traffic with the sun setting, I'll be sure to at least snap a picture.

We'd arranged for special treatment and clearly that is what we had received. The bus, we were assured, would stop in La Romana, but she hurtled right through. Then for sure we thought it would stop and let us off at the road to Bayibe, but no dice. By this point Shelly and I were pretty concerned, concern that was met with indifference by the driver who assured us he was stopping soon, roughly a mile after the last road to Bayibe, which is how we had arrived here, at the cafeteria in the middle cattle pastures, apparently the halfway point on the run between Santo Dominto and Punta Cana, and clearly he'd done us no favors at all. In case we had any doubt, the the 10,000 peso "deal" he'd arranged with a local pickup driver to carry us the last 12 km sealed it. It was ok, though, because even if we want to be fleeced for being gringos we were totally unprepared - as checking out of our last lodging they had refused to take credit and as a result we were painfully low on pesos. So what could we do? We carried our bags across the highway and waited.

Thankfully, after fifteen fruitless minutes a guagua did arrive and they managed to convice us to return not a two minutes backward to the turnoff to Bayibe, but fifteen minutes backward to La Romana where they assured us we would be able to catch the last bus to Bayibe. Running across traffic we made it. It was cramped, but because we got on at the start they allowed us and our three bags to make the journey. As gringisimo as our appearance must have seemed, we were easily trumped by the Italian woman ahead of us who tossed disgusted looks back to her husband beside us who could only shrug as we piled first four, then five to a row in the crammed van. One can only imagine the looks she threw when Shelly and my bags and bodies were replaced with a dozen people in Bayibe before the guagua roared off leaving us standing in the town center amidst a raucous street party.

Meringue was blaring from the corner store and were it not for our bags and nearly complete lack of money we would have immediately joined the fifty plus people spilling out of the store and into the street.

Unfortunately, we had to find lodging before everyone went to bed. The residents we greeted were friendly, answering us cordially with a smile. The slow casual vibe of the town was narcotic. We soon learned the bank was closed and there was no ATM, so we were down to what we carried. After a few failures we located a small cabin near the town center in our price range (pobre). The tap water smelled like sewage and air conditioning blew cold tobacco smoke instead of air, but it was delight. Ok, so there was a horizontal surface and the door locked. All good.

We found a small pizza joint we could also afford, and we shared a long dinner. The length was not necessarily by design, but again I guess you get what you pay for, and we were in no position to pay.

By morning we were down to cold pizza and crackers. Not the best breakfast, but when your down to only a couple pesos any food is amazing and the crackers help scrape the tobacco taste from the air conditioning off your tongue.

Outside our door we found a town transformed. Gone was the slow comfortable vibe. Today one would think Bayibe was hosting Woodstock. Though warned by guidebooks, we were still startled by the morning activity. Big diesel trucks were everywhere, overloaded with cases or rum, coke, presidente and food stuffs. Teams of men worked to fill oversized coolers on the beach. Was a hurricane making landfall? Yes, in the form of dozens of buses packed with gringos bound for a booze cruise - snorkel/scuba trip to Catalina Island.

We chose to avoid the Punta Cana droves a bit longer and attempted instead something more local, to simply rent snorkel gear and swim out in the bay. We were thwarted at first by an extremely rude German woman at the corner scuba shop downtown, luckily a walk down the beach and Shelly's mad spanish skills landed a one hour boat and guide rental for both of us for $30. We did have to wait an hour until all the packed boats of gringos left town to ensure we didn't get run over in the melee.

Our first dive was at a wrecked ship, some 40 meters long and submerged in about 12 meters of water. The fish were not as impressive as Sosua and I was somewhat disappointed, but there was an eerie aspect to diving down to the wreck. I tried to get some photos of Shelly diving down to the boat, but before long the sound of nearby boats screaming by and the wake crashing over our snorkel tops led us back out of the water to the boat.

Shel Diving to Wreck
Shel Diving to a Wreck

By this point, the inner bay had cleared of boats and water had calmed to allow safe exploring. The entire floor of Bayibe Bay was only four to six feet deep and covered with coral. Fish of every color swarmed about - and that was before Shelly started sharing the leftover pizza crust. Within seconds, we were surrounded by more fish than water. White and yellow angel-like fish collided with our bodies and clouded our vision. Soon, other schools moved in filling out the rainbow with blues, oranges and green. Several peculiar species stuck out including foot-long deep purple fish accented by an all orange tail introduced in a sharp arrow shape, another resembled a rugby shirt striped in wide white, gray, black and Argentine blue. The most memorable were translucent long thin sword-like fish, but with with thin shovel-like noses which moved slowly through the reef highlighted by neon blue piping. It was incredible. Shelly didn't even get seasick.

Bayibe Bay
Bayibe Bay

Speaking of conditions, our hour ended just as the sky darken and we hit the beach under a light rain. By the time we reached our cabin rain was falling in sheets. We were grateful not to be on one of the Punta Cana tour boats crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the open sea.

Instead, we waited for the storm to pass before loading our things onto the waiting guagua and handing over our last pesos to return again to La Romana.

Monday, November 02, 2009

Zona Colonial

Zona Colonial
Zona Colonial

After the fruhstucks of Villa Serena we were left ill-fortified by the meager rations at El Beatrio to face the gauntlet of tour guides, beggars and street vendors we would meet in Zona Colonial, the old historic city center of Santo Domingo. We made it to only a couple sites, the highlight of which had to be the Larimar Museum - a poetic/mystical take on geology - before we had to find sustenance in a comedoria that did not disappoint. For only 100 pesos each we ate until we were stuffed on the so-called Dominican flag: rice (arroz), chicken (pollo) and beans (frilloles).

Energized, we continued our tour only to have it heavily modified by a strong summer downpour interspersed with quick sun breaks. We dashed through Fortaleza Ozama (first castle in the Americas), Cathedral Santa María La Menor (America's first cathedral), and final found our way inside out of the rain at the National Museum. The Amber Museum provided the conclusion of our sightseeing in the form of an oh so helpful - can I just give you a tip to walk the heck away - guide.

Floral Alleyway
Floral Alleyway

My slow spanish comprehension
My slow Spanish comprehension

Coral Tympanum
Coral Tympanum

1st Western Church in New World
1st Western Church in the New World

Skull-bedecked Impost
Skull-bedecked Impost

Pay no attention to the ghost
Pay no attention to the ghost in the corner

Santo Domingo Fortress
Santo Domingo Fortress

Drake attacked these walls
Drake attacked these walls

Safe Harbor
Safe Harbor

Coral Masonry
Coral Masonry

Falling Water
Falling Water

Deluge
Deluge

Interesting Map
Interesting Map, I'm not sure about the facts or the presentation

I'm a Fan
I'm a Fan

Sightseeing complete, we took a late afternoon siesta anticipating a wild night out in the big city later. When we awoke instead to a Monday night. Monday was not the evening for Santo Domingo. Most clubs were closed Monday and Tuesday so we did our best considering conditions and dined on the pedestrian arcade. We caught up with the world on the restaraunt's wifi and traded dancing for playing with the street dogs while pining for our own puppies.

I awoke the next morning in a Rick Steves induced haze.  We'd run from site to site the day previous, but I didn't really feel we'd seen the real Santo Domingo.  As a result, I was quite on board when Shelly suggested we travel to what was describe to us as the local shopping mall to buy gifts for friends before departing the capital.  We took the long way to the mall, some side trips intentional, others accidental.  It was enjoyable not being the target of street vendors and simply another man on the street with a hot wife deserving of whistles.  Ok, so we didn't quite blend in.  But we gringos stumbled through town discovering all sorts of gems like a delightful produce cargo bicycle, a monument to revolutionary heroes, and a bevy of riot police taking a siesta in the park.

Fruit Vendor Cargo Bicycle
Fruit Vendor Cargo Bicycle

Market
Market

We finally located the "mall" after nearly an hour of exploration.  It was not a mall at all in the western sense, but instead a farmers market ringing a building packed with tourist vendor stalls overflowing with painting, larimar, amber, baskets, cigars and carvings.  I sat back and did my mute impression again as Shelly haggled with the vendors, reducing the price at least three times, sometimes ten times below the sticker price.  A few chochtkes heavier and few pesos lighter we resumed our cross town trek finding the malecon (boardwalk) and Gazque, a commercial and residential district where we had a late lunch at the latin equivalent of a Boston Market.

Line Worker's Nightmare
Line Worker's Nightmare

Again our luck and timing held, learning at the end of our exploration without planning it just enough time to pay the hotel bill, hop a taxi and buy a ticket to La Romana with just one minor, but significant, complication.  The bus we were promised to La Romana no longer stopped in La Romana.  It went through La Romana, but it didn't stop.  We were again victims of poor transportation advice.  After some eye-rolling consultation and some rapid pleading in spanish on Shelly's behalf, magically the driver and staff agreed to stop the bus in La Romana and drop us off for a not too exorbitant negotiated fee.  With less than a minute to spare our bags were loaded and we were aboard on our way to La Romana.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

El Capital

Our attempt to kayak to the the storybook island in the sea beyond Villa Serena was thwarted almost before it began. The affable German woman who had encouraged such a journey had been replaced by a more uptight upstart, and she assured us in the high seas it was not safe.

From the Lobby
Storybook Island from the Lobby

Unflapped, we took the kayak for a brief spin offshore and Shelly returned to the front desk explaining in Idaho we had rivers a little more intense than waves a couple of feet tall. She did not budge and we relented, instead traveling down the coast to Argyle Point and visiting with some pelicans on the docks. This too, we would learn was unacceptable. We returned to shore to find the desk clerk, pacing the veranda, her arms folded. We were lectured for our unknown trespass, for apparently kayaking further than several feet offshore was verboten. It was time to depart.  We left wishing we'd made a run for the island despite her objections.

Our return gaugau to Semana was uncharacteristically calm and slow. The driver either cared for his equipment or was so drawn into the animated debate of religious beliefs he was having with his front seat passenger that he forgot that all guaguas must be driven as if both the accelerator and brake pedal operate like a light switch rather than a dimmer - lacking any setting between on and off.

Balandra
Typical Stretch of Asphalt near Balandra

H&R Electromuebles
Small pothole and H & R Electromuebles

Puerto de Samana
Puerto de Samana

As had become our custom we arrived in Semana with mere minutes to spare. We had just enough time to purchase a ticket to Santo Domingo at Caribe Tours, buy some cookies - the only snack we could find at the adjoining bar and jump onto the idling bus. It was the last bus of the day.  What a bus it was. Compared to the tailbone jarring, farm animal-laden transportation we had ridden up until now this was posh. Actually compared to any bus in America this was luxury. It fell somewhere between first and coach on an airplane. Soft cloth seats that reclined, personal air conditioning settings, and the potholes that had shook the guaguas felt like pebbles in our path.

The Nice Bus
The Nice Bus

Campos de Arroz
Campos de Arroz

After half an hour of rough roads retracing our journey two days previous, we turned south and our pace accelerated to highway speeds. It was the fresh asphalt of the newly completed Highway 2 connecting Sanchez to Santo Domingo. Cookies long since consumed and hunger consuming us, we turned to the only consumable we still carried... rum and coke. It didn't fill our bellies, but we forgot about our hunger and the passage of time.

Before we knew it the Carribbean Sea was beside us and the frantic pace of El Capital surrounded our bus. People were everywhere and the madness of the streets of Puerto Plata suddenly looked calm by comparison. Everything was grittier, faster and more intense, best highlighted by the guaguas - no longer clean brightly colored vans, but dent-covered doorless affairs whose conducirs no longer simply collected fairs and banged instructions on the van's side, but also leap from the vehicle into traffic to assist the driver in narrow passages and harrangue taxis and autos.

RD 3
RD 3

Arriving in El Capital
Arriving in El Capital

Recovering our luggage we decided on a hotel, caught a taxi and settled into El Beatrio, which given its positive review in the Lonely Planet had subsequently raised their rate by $20USD/night. I was unwilling to gamble the time and effort for another taxi and another hotel however, and convinced Shelly to stay - partially due to the thought of schlepping the bags and partially due to my love of the old coral walled castle-like interior.

El Beatrio Lobby
El Beatrio Lobby

El Beatrio Breakfast
Coral and Brick Masonry

El Beatrio Courtyard and Rooms
Courtyard and Rooms from Second Floor

It was pushing dark by the time we were settled and we used the opportunity the evening presented to stroll the streets. Not in a deliberate way following a set walking tour, we had tomorrow for that, but serendipitously without stopping to consult directions or guidebooks. The city gave us its own map and identified her own highlights: the pedestrian boulevard where we browsed shop windows until a sudden rain shower forced us inside for croquettas; the city wall over looking the port which served as the focus of much of the Spanish exploration of the New World; an old cathedral which now serves as the resting place of national heroes, city squares; courtyards and a fragment of the city battlements we climbed to take in nighttime falling over the city. We ended our evening in a small corner restaurant where we dined on grouper with the affable owner before stumbling home exhausted to our hotel and marvel of cable television.