Yesterday I had one of those moments. One of those moments where you have a realization, a recognition of the reality of where you are and what you're doing. I had arrived about 5:00ish on a bus from Santo Domingo to San Juan de la Maguana, the city closest to my campo of El Batey where I am now living for the next two years. In San Juan I found a motoconchista (motorcycle taxi driver) that knew the previous volunteer (and found out later that the man was a little in love with her) and offered to take me to my site. However, I had a slight dilemma. I needed money desperately. I had borrowed money for my bus ticket from another volunteer that happened to be there because the ATMs at the nearest branch of our bank to the bus depot were broken, and the ATMs from the other bank wouldn't let me take out money. I didn't even have enough money to pay the motoconcho driver unless I went to the bank. So I had to trust the guy to take me to the ATM to take out my money. Meanwhile I had two backpacks filled with all my most important belongings and my guitar with me, which let me tell you it is not easy to manage all that on a motorcycle. So I strapped on my casco (helmet), handed him one of my bags, put the other one on my back and looped my guitar over that, and wrapped my arms around this guy's waist. Well, I got my money and then we did this loop to a gas station so the driver could get gas put into his motorcycle, which he didn't turn off of course. No one I have yet seen turns off their vehicle while gassing up. A worrisome practice but I have yet to see anyone blow up thank goodness. Then we proceeded to take several more turns onto the "highway" (I use the term loosely) that heads towards my campo. And no, I still haven't gotten to that moment of realization that I was talking about.
So off we go, one of my bags in front of him, the other and my guitar strapped to my back, money and cell phones in my pockets. The "highway" that quickly goes from broken pavement to a rutted dirt road is already muddy from earlier rains. There's a drizzle coming down which leaves beads on the visor of my casco (helmet). We slide out now and again in the mud but my driver quickly regains control. I can see the hills, vibrant and green all around me. Chickens, goats, cows, sheep, and pigs look up as we speed by. Dark clouds fill the sky, threatening to open up and drench us at any moment. Thunder roars and lightning claps ahead of us, moving in our direction, definitely too close for comfort. And I smiled...
I keep trying to find a way to sum it up, but it's the mixture of emotions that's hard to explain. It's not that I wasn't scared because I was, and it's not that I wasn't apprehensive because I was that as well. It was just this moment of clarity when I realized that despite my fear and apprehension, I loved it. I loved every minute of it.
I did however, want to kiss the ground when I made it home safely, although slightly muddy from spinning out, as well as the fact that I had to get off and walk up a hill at one point so the driver could get the motorcycle up it. I paid $100 pesos for the ride although I have to say it is priceless as a memory.
Not me on a motoconcho obviously but just so you get an idea of what it looks like!
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