It’s a town!
Giddy excitement had her stretching her neck to see. As they drew closer, Avery realized ‘town’ was a bit of a stretch for the small community. It was more like a village, and from the looks of things, this one was littered with poverty.
Small storefronts lined both sides of the crudely paved road. The few cars that were parked along the street were older, most with rust or dents marking their bodies.
A few locals stood on one corner, one bartering with the other two over a cart filled with fresh melons and what looked like papaya. And as they approached a small four-way intersection, they saw an old farm truck approach, it’s back filled with the biggest heap of fresh bananas Avery had ever seen.
Children stood on the broken sidewalks with their parents, waving at each buggy as it drove past. Their little faces lit up, smiling back at them as if the caravan was taking part in some sort of makeshift dune buggy parade.
To those children, Avery realized that’s probably exactly what she and the others looked like. A parade of tourists catching a glimpse of how these people lived.
Filled with a sympathy for a community she didn’t know, Avery wished she could do more than wave and move past. Give them money or food or clothes.Somethingthat would make their lives a bit easier.
Then she almost immediately felt ashamed. Despite her good intentions, those thoughts would probably be considered offensive if she were to ever verbalize them.
Though they couldn’t see her face, Avery pushed past the heart wrenching scene and smiled and waved as they came upon another group of young children.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something else waving in the air. A flag flying high on one of the villages few electrical poles. She could tell from its design that it was political in nature.
Having taken Spanish in high school, Avery still remembered some of the words. One she recognized immediately waspresedente, or president.
It’s a presidential candidate’s flag.
Looking around, she realized there were several more just like it posted around the remaining buildings. Some taped on doors or windows. Some flying from light poles or makeshift posts.
Emilio Garcia was the candidate’s name. And from the looks of things, he had the support of this entire village.
Suddenly curious about this country and its current political status, Avery made a mental note to research their upcoming election—and Emilio Garcia—when she got back home.
Reaching over to give her bare leg a playful tap, Garrett pressed down on the accelerator as the trail of buggies left the south end of the village and headed out into the countryside once again.
Several minutes later, they pulled onto another narrow street. A neighborhood of sorts, there were a handful of houses on one side of the road and a small, shelter-type structure on the other.
Falling in line, Garrett parked on the side of the road and cut the engine. Unbuckling, Avery removed her helmet and set it in the seat when she got out.
“This is incredible.” She looked around at the goings on as she moved over to where he stood.
A small group of older men sat in chairs under the shelter’s roof. Using the instruments in their hands, they began playing upbeat merengue music that made Avery smile.
“Come on.” Garrett took her hand in his. “I don’t know about you, but I could use something cold to drink.”
Same.
Walking up the hill to the shelter, they went straight to the small concession area located inside. Speaking fluent Spanish—which was both impressive and arousing—Garrett ordered for them both. The young man behind the partition exchanged two tall, canned beers for cash.
Looking closely at the label, Avery realized it wasn’t any she’d ever heard of.
“It’s local,” Garrett informed her. “And it’s good.”
“You’ve had this before?”
He nodded. “Told you, my job requires me to travel.”
“Here?”
“Not this place, specifically. But this isn’t my first time in the Dominican.”
Wow. He reallydidgo far for his job.