Prison guard and Prisoner, yes it is a strange title but if you read the continuation then I will explain. It is of course an old story of my life in the Dominican Republic in the 1990s when everything could happen. My best friend at that time, unfortunately gone long ago, said: Urban whatever you do, dont tell anything about your life here, yet nobody believes you.
I have told some adventures earlier here in the blog and here is another one. This story, of course, is quite true, however, may seem a little more incredible than my previous blog posts, but believe me I will describe exactly what happened.
To take it all from the beginning, I traveled to the Dominican Republic in 1991 to spend maybe 3 months in the sun and the heat. That the 3 months came to be 3 years is another story. I had a good friend who, together with his Dominican wife, owned a small hotel El Paraiso in a small community called Boca Chica. Boca means by the way mouth and chica means girl. Yes you can interpret it how you want. In any case, I have to move into a room at El Paraiso and do various repairs and maintenance as compensation, to start with. The first thing I went in to was to weld rust on an old Toyota pickup and here comes the first knowledge of what incredibly important it can be with beer.
During a burning sun, I was standing with a gas weld and an up and downside torn Toyota cabin just for myself up at the house my friend lived. He himself was in the hotel and worked at the bar, in the drinking area I want to remember. In the house a maid worked with cleaning and washing. Of course she kept a watchful eye on the stately very white europen who was welding onthe wreck down there in the yard. It would turn out to be of great importance.
Of course I was fucking thirsty in the roasting heat so I walked around the yard and checked if I could find a water hose or water tap where I could quench my thirst. To knock on the door and ask the maid I did not dare because I could not speak a word of Spanish and at that time nobody spoke English. Well. I found no faucet but I found a whole damn basin with water in a reservoir at the back of the house and next to it was an old dehydrated empty paint can, it had to work. However, I hadn’t been able to more than bring the can to my mouth until the maid appeared in a window and screamed PELIGRO! PELIGRO! MOERTE! and I knew what that meant so I spit out the water I just sipped on.
It didn’t take many minutes for my friend to show up with a box of beer made by Presidente. It was other than green water here. He informed me that the rainwater was collected in the tank to be used for washing clothes and must be cooked before drinking. Well enough about that, now you know about how I got started in the new country.
What almost immediately occurred was that I became very familiar with one of the girls who worked in one of the bars in El Paraiso. Love arose quite promptly. It had not been many days since my stay began in the new country before she had moved in with me in my hotel room.
It is now the story of my job as a prison guard soon to begin, and how beer will show its significant power, but more about that in the next blog post.