The road to Santo Domingo, a city located in the middle of the island, crawls through the sprawling mountains. In these parts, life has a slower rhythm and the locals live from what they make with their own hands. And sell with their own words. For a dollar.
There’s no street names in the villages. Dominican people paint their houses. The colour of a particular house is that house’s address.
Typical cottage. Ikea furniture everywhere.
It’s been centuries since I’ve last seen a tape recorder.
I’m not sure what this gentleman was making, because he didn’t speak English and I don’t speak the mountain people language. It was coffee- or chocolate-based. Their mountains are covered with coffee and chocolate. It’s basically paradise.
One of the rules of photographing people. The longer you point your camera at somebody’s face, the bigger the probability they will start staring at you. Groundbreaking stuff.
Which ride is it today?
You’ve got to help me identify this fruit. I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
But I’m great at talking to animals.
Come on, Scooby, strike a pose.
Another mystery. This is not a banana tree. What is it, then? Some of you is bound to know this. Put your answer in the comment section. The rest of you – read that comment. It’s a great bit of trivia.
I really felt at home here. This place has 2 million inhabitants, a lot of ugly (though not disgustingly ugly) ads on the streets, one subway line and a huge church they can’t seem to finish building.
I left Santo Domingo to visit the public beach. There’s no hotels, security guards and lady waitresses carrying trays of tropical drinks here.
My next blog post will be about my island-bound cruise. Remember my search for the perfect beach? Well, you’ll get one that came really, really close.