Beach Musings

I'm baking on a beach early on a Saturday morning in Acapulco watching a group of boys play a lively, if furious, game of beach soccer. The breeze coming from the ocean feels magnificent!

All too often I am accosted by vendors selling cruises, hats, shell jewelry, chains, sand pails, pastries, sunglasses, scarves, juices, you name it. The rest of the time, I am bothered by men whistling, calling out "Morena!", or attempting to talk to me in Spanish, which I pretend not to understand. Then they try in broken English, which I also pretend not to understand. Mean of me, I know, but I just want to sun, journal, and daydream on the sand before my flight leaves in 6 hours.

Leaving the Beach
It was so HOT. (Check out the tan.) Luckily, I had this sarong with me to protect me from the rays. Why men must've thought this was extra-sexy?? They were tryin' to holla for REAL while I thought I looked prudish as all get-out.

Calling on the LORD in Cairo, Egypt

 Never one to take the LORD's name in vain, after a hard day in Egypt I involuntarily let out a "Woo, JESUS!" before I caught myself. I had to go all the way back to my roots when my Mudear used to call on the LORD when she was dead tired. That was me today.

Dodging and ignoring the men was a constant battle. I had to be wary of men who sidled up to me making innocent conversation or offering to help me find my way. It turns into an offer to visit their family's shop or asking me a million questions about myself. Now I don't mind male attention & I'm accustomed to getting it while I'm out and about, but these people are aggressive! They don't take no for an answer. Thing is, they wouldn't dare approach an Egyptian woman. It is completely against societal norms.

As tough and easy-going as I am (yes, a contradiction), I shed a few tears the first day I was there. I found few could be trusted, the men were pushy and overbearing, and the women were of little help. Almost everything was a scam!! (No exaggeration.) It also did something to my psyche to be stereotyped and treated differently based on my gender and nationality. Funny, but I'm accustomed to discrimination based on my race in the USA when it happens. It's hard to explain. Determined not to let these factors get in the way of my enjoyment I adopted the look you see above and took to wearing my iPod, which I rarely do while traveling, so I could block out the advances of the men. If I couldn't hear them, they couldn't bother me. I also learned not to make eye contact with them as they saw that as an open invitation. I learned to say الذهاب بعيدا (pronounced em-shee), which means, "Go away", although that was of little help and not a very nice thing to say. Covering myself as much as possible helped, too.

A quick study, by the end of Day 2 I was negotiating with merchants, rudely pushing my way through lines and crowds, and staying in my place as a woman with the best of them.

Smiling at the Pyramids

Siempre - For Me, Always

As I was sitting and waiting for my food at a local neighborhood restaurant in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, a nice young man walked by and began talking to me in lilting Spanish. He held up several Cokes he was carrying and kept talking. "No, gracias," I replied. He continued on his way to the back of the restaurant. When he came back, he plopped ½ a glass of Coke in front of me; his treat. I said a surprised thank you and he smiled sweetly at me and sat amongst his friends to eat his lunch. He would smile at me occasionally as he ate. His friends began teasing him.

As I was leaving, I said, "Muchas gracias por la bebida." He nodded smoothly and said quietly, "Para ti, siempre." I melted.
For me, always.

Stranger in Town, But No Newbie

"How do you know where to go?" I am often asked of my travels. When I got off the bus in Santo Domingo (Dominican Republic) from Punta Cana after 4 hours, I marveled at the difference in feelings from when I got off the plane in Rome two years ago. Then, I was so nervous I stayed in the airport for 2 hours before venturing out into the city. Now when I arrive in a new city in a new land, long gone are those feelings of anxiety. As long as there's a way to get to the airport, I can always go home. That makes me feel like I'm never lost. I know how to get home. I'm not even sure if that makes sense, but that's how I see it.

Someone once asked, "What if you get lost?" Well, when I get to a city I've never been to before I'm already lost. The key is to find where I need to go. I help myself by studying the city's map before I go so that I am somewhat oriented to the city. I familiarize myself with major streets & landmarks so that I can gauge how far (or close) things are, which direction they are, and what to say when asking for directions.

Here's an example: Before I left Bávaro (Dominican Republic), I pinpointed the bus station on a map & located the street of my hotel in Santo Domingo. From there I could tell it wasn't within walking distance, so I would have to catch a bus or taxi. Forever frugal, I knew I'd have to ignore the hawking cabbies when I arrived and find a friendly local to point me to the right bus stop. This is where how to ask comes in handy. Instead of asking for Isabela Católica 155, a street or address they've probably never heard of, I ask how to get to Parque Colón, a park that had popped up more than once on various maps & was listed as a must-see site. That meant it was probably pretty popular and well-known. My hotel was a few streets from there, so I'd ask for further directions once I found my way to the park.


After I got off the bus, I found a nice young lady waiting to cross the street so I asked her which bus stop would have a bus to Parque Colón. She was more than willing to help. After adjusting to Dominican Spanish, I got directions and asked her how much it would be so the driver wouldn't charge me some exorbitant fare. Once I got to the bus stop, I asked another young lady there which bus I needed. She explained that I needed a gua-gua, un coche, to get to my destination. I was confused. A car? At the time I didn't understand what she meant. She knew this and GOD bless her heart, she stood with me until this car full of people stopped and she told the driver where I wanted to go. She surprised me by walking off afterwards. I'd assumed she was waiting for a ride, too. I hurriedly thanked her and hopped in. (See, that's why I'm not afraid to travel. There's always someone willing to go out of their way to help.)

The driver dropped me off at what I thought was Parque Colón. Turns out, it was Parque Independencia. Not a problem. I was closer to my hotel than I was previously. I checked the map in my guidebook and saw I was within walking distance of my destination. I asked a man how to get to Parque Colón and he told me it was a direct shot down El Conde. (I had to strain hard to understand the lilting Spanish of the DR.) As I walked, I realized I must be in the heart of Zona Colonial. I'd read about it online and in the guidebook. How exciting! There were cobbled streets, old 16th century buildings, stores, lively shoppers, and restaurants. Within 10 minutes, I was in Parque Colón. Once there, I asked a passerby how to get to Isabela Católica, the street of my hotel. I checked against my map & knew I could take it from there.


As I was turning down my designated street, I was accosted by a tour guide who tried to sell me a slew of services and steer me toward certain hotels. Little did he know that although I was a stranger, I was no newbie. I'd done my homework and was set. I peeked through the window of his office where a nice German couple was being railroaded. I thanked him profusely and was on my way, thankful I'd done my homework.

Three minutes later, I was checking into my hotel and dropping off my luggage to head out and explore Santo Domingo, doorway to the "New World."