The village of Luperon – dan
We came to Luperon from the sea and so it happened that our first contact with the inhabitants took place out on the water. We arrived at the coast in almost complete darkness at 2:00 am. I could make out the silhouette of mountains clearly outlined against the star-filled sky ahead of us, a few lights along the coast and then the beam of a nearby flashlight shown in our direction. Later another and then another small light stabbed out of the darkness saying; I’m here, don’t run me down. I figured those little lights must be coming from small fishing boats that are either too small or too poor to have running lights and that they must have been rowing or drifting because we didn’t hear any motors. That was our first contact with the people of Luperon, the brave fisherman who, miles out on the open ocean, were working in the darkness.
Later, after standing off and on the coast, waiting for dawn to come, we headed into the harbor in the company of many small boats, most propelled by oars. One of the rowers ahead of me whistled sharply twice to get my attention, then briefly took his hand off an oar, held it high over his head and with his index finger pointed to starboard twice - meaning; shallow ahead, go right. I waved my thanks and altered our course accordingly. I kept our RMPs low not wanting to rush by any of the small boats, glad for their guidance into a strange harbor and proud to be in their company.
After anchoring we dinghied into the quay to clear in. We landed right next to the rusted remains of what must have once been a steel boat of about 70’ in length. Several men were on the hulk, working barefooted with acetylene torches, cutting it up into plate size pieces. Those plates of rusted metal were then placed into old grain sacks and loaded onto a nearby truck. Two men on a small motorcycle drove by, the guy on the back had a 15 HP outboard motor balanced on his shoulders.
Further down the quay we came to a group of a half dozen men standing in a circle and talking. One of the men was dressed in fatigues and was casually leaning on a pump shotgun like it was a walking stick or a crutch. Not wanting to interrupt we waited until there was a pause in the conversation. Ola, pardon, Commandante? Was the best I could do with my limited Spanish. The man in the fatigues turned around, broke out in a broad smile, stepped forward, extended his right hand to shake and asked me; check in? I said “si” and he pointed further down the quay to two small trailers.
When we entered the small, windowless, non-airconditioned office of immigrations, the officer inside was preoccupied, texting on his cell phone. When he was done with we proceeded with the paper work, which was all duplicated via carbon paper. I hadn’t realized that they still made carbon paper.
After completing the check-in procedure we headed into town. The streets are sometimes paved and lined with sidewalks, the buildings modest, closely spaced and colorful. Dogs slept in doorways, on the sidewalks and even in the street. Chickens ran free everywhere. Cats gazed on in serenity. Motorbikes whizzed by, locals lounged in the shade chatting and watching the world go by. Latin music came from all over the place.
We were looking for the gift shop where we hoped to hook up with Alex who we heard ran the WiFi business that serviced the harbor as well as the town. We found a small building simply labeled "Gift Shop", which was an open shop filled with woodcarvings, jewelry and other curios. It was occupied by an attractive young woman, a beautiful child and an older man. The older man was inside a booth, behind a glass window, an old pistol laid on the counter next to his hand. Their English was just a little better than my Spanish but they understood what we were looking for. Alex wasn’t there at the moment but a phone call would summon him. Did we have a phone? When I said no I got a look that seemed somewhere between surprise and pity. The young lady whipped out a cell phone and after a rapid exchange in Spanish told us that Alex would be by in a while. So in the meantime we headed off up the road in search of bread and fresh fruit.
We stepped aside to make way for two men with a pole on their shoulders from which hung a large galvanized bucket that was filled with a heavy load of hog’s feet that looked as if they had only recently been detached from the original owners.
We came to the next corner we found it filled with men on 100cc motorcycles wearing checker-cab yellow vests that declared themselves Motortaxies.
We found a little place that had beautiful looking fruit stacked in front. We selected some papayas and a pineapple then went inside to pay. The light was dim inside the shop. Some grain was being weighed on an old scale on my right and chicken parts on one to my left. Whack went a large machete and a few more chicken parts were tossed on the scale.
Out on the street three men rode by all on the back of the same small motorcycle. Another motorcyclist went by, the driver had a 12-gage shotgun with a pistol grip, extra shells fixed to its side, that was lying casually across his lap.
Back at Gift Shop we hooked up with Alex, a very amiably young man who introduced us to his wife, two year old son and “me papa who gives that best rates of anyone for money exchange". Alex signed us up for WiFi. He explained that the power was out, so that even thought he had a computer in front of him, all our business, including logon instructions for me, had to be hand written. Alex explained that there wasn’t enough power for the whole town at once. So they share power by turning off sections at a time. He then made a balancing gesture with his hands and shrugged his shoulders. Once our business was completed Alex told me a little bit about himself. He had been studying architecture in Santo Domingo but left before completing his degree. He got work doing computer support for the nearby resorts and then went on to set up his own internet business. A very enterprising and resourceful guy. While we were talking two men on horses galloped by his shop front. I asked him about the pistola next to papa; was it safe here? Would someone actually try to rob them? Senior, he said, "this is like a bank, we must have security".
Later we walked to the outskirts of town, which had a much wilder and even more relaxed atmosphere. A small motorcycle went by with what could be a whole family onboard; father driving, mother on back and infant on the tank. We were startled by a small heard of cattle running towards us in the street and relieved when they suddenly turned off just before us. A man asked Susan if he could help us find something. She thanked him and said that we were just walking. He replied that; “It’s safe here, you can go anywhere, we are good people”. And that seems abundantly apparent.
When we got back to our boat we were delighted when we were able to log to the internet via Alex’s WiFi network. I wasn’t sure what to expect, as we never were able to get WiFi working at our marina back in Connecticut. Luperon is like that; full of contradictions and delightful surprises around every bend.
