Dispatches from Republica Dominicana Part 3: Transportation Adventures

Senior Motoconcho – Motorcycle Taxi Driver

Dear Senior Motoconcho,

I fully concede that yours is the finest motoconcho in all of the Dominican Republic.  I also retain full comprehension of the services that you and your colleagues provide.  And yet, though I see you every day as I cross the corner of our street, you remain unconvinced of my faith in you on this matter.  Why must you again implore me to use your services when my feet are already taking me where they want me to go?  Rest assured that when I want your services I will not be ambiguous – for I will indeed, ASK FOR THEM!

 

Moto, Moto, Moto!?!

This is the call of the informal economy which thrives here, alongside prostitution and recreational substances.  Not only do the 5-19 gentlemen drivers hover at important intersections waiting to drive Dominicans or better yet, tourists, anywhere they might want to go within the limits of a tank of gas, they keep up active side businesses in all kinds of other informal trades.  They change currency, deal a little Viagra, salvage scrap metal, and can get you pretty much anything for which you have the money and /or the inclination.  

One night, as we walked back to our little apartment at the school, we crossed the street in front of the usual cluster of 3-6 local drivers.  They took up their usual call like crows on a stoop, and I waved them off with a smile and a polite, “No, gracias.”  One jumped in front of me holding up a 4-pack of the little blue pills of “street Viagra” in front of my face, nodding eagerly. 

What he hadn’t seen was Shari following right behind me.  As I stopped and she came around to my side, my would-be dealer’s face became, well, flaccid, as the rest of the group started to snicker.  Shari jumped up waving her finger with a little Latina attitude, “No-oo!  No necesita para el!”   Everyone burst out laughing and our gentleman driver buried his face in his hands and looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.   They may be doing all kinds of things which skirt the borders of law and taxes, but one thing you don’t do here is put someone in an awkward position in front of his lady.

Carro Publico

In the developing world, public transportation is not just a means to get somewhere; it is also a form of entertainment.  Where else can you sit with 2 other people on your lap for 10-15 minutes, never get their names, see their faces, or even be able to pick them out of a line up? 

The carro publicos (public cars) in Sosua, are small sedans, like a mid-90’s Mazda 626, or perhaps something a bit larger, a Corolla, maybe, but nothing so spacious as an 80’s wagon.  Into these cars, they pack 7 or 8 people, excluding the driver.  Personal space becomes a thing of the past; you even must step outside to change your mind.  There is another choice, of course, we could hire a private taxi for about the same cost as a fancy dinner on the town; or for 50 cents, we could pack in with the other Dominicans and ride with one butt cheek on the seat and the other on the door handle or on someone else’s leg.  It’s just how things roll here. 

During the rush hours you can find a “gua gua,”(gwah-gwah) a small bus or van. Into a vehicle which will comfortably hold 10, they will pack 24.  The money guy stands up on the running board of the van door (if there even is a door) scaring up costumers, giving change and helping tourists like us get where we are going.  They hang on to the inside of the van ceiling with cash in their hand as they go hauling ass down the bumpy road.  Often, when the van gets full, several other men join him on the running board.   

If there is any cubic space within the interior of the van, it gets filled with a person, baggage, chicken, or child.  If you are in the back when your stop comes, they all happily unload in front of you so that you and your stuff can quickly and easily get out.  If you’ve ever had to weave and shove your way through a crowded subway car to make your exit before the door closes on your face, this feels practically civilized by comparison.  It’s all part of the fun.  Then, like a wave, they rush back into the vehicle filling every void and off they go again.  These are a resourceful people, and they will use up every last bit of that vehicle’s life, its engine, its brakes, its shocks, and of course, its speakers.  It is a raucous ride as hilarious as it crowded, as loud as it is worrisome.   Settling in with everyday people as they travel in this everyday manner I feel the things I've taken for granted for so long gradually slip away.  I feel my assumptions and my expectations shift, and with it my understanding of what it means to be human.