Just got back from an idyllic break in the powder white sands of the Dominican Republic, in no doubt as to why this country isn't one of the G8. It runs on Caribbean time so take a seat, place your order and make sure you have a steady supply of margaritas as you wait and wait for nothing to happen and while you wait enjoy how the white man slowly yields to the way of the sloth and stops sweating the small things.
I'm not sure who was more amusing to watch; the punctual German having an anxiety attack with the front desk staff about the tardiness of a tour bus taking him to see the sharks and sting rays or the American's sense of entitlement being ignored at ever turn. A truer study on man's lack of appreciation and his inability to enjoy life's simple pleasures would be harder to find. All this in front of a poor nation who would give anything to be able to afford a trip to the cold shores of Germany or even a ticket to see the sting rays in their own back yard, though I'm sure they don't see the beauty of their own back yard through the daily grind of poverty; reality TV at it's most revealing. But I am in danger of over-thinking the situation and now that I'm here I'm going to act like a sun tourist - crime not to. Besides the locals want you to be stupid with money and greedy about everything else - they don't turn a profit from people being frugal or thoughtful.
I had my moments too, from having to wait 2 days for a TV remote control (a converter for the americanos) to my room not making it onto the cleaning staff's rota 2 days out of 7. It's a small thing but when you are lying in bed watching HBO at one in the morning, between sandy sheets that should have been changed, unable to switch off literally...well it's a pain.
I'll say one thing for the Brits and Swedes - as long as the beer flows they can endure any service affront. I timed it once. It took 1 hour and 43 minutes for the blancmange-like European to enquire about the whereabouts of a cheese and tomato sandwich ordered poolside. It arrived just as the sun began to dip behind the palms trees. It would have taken 2 minutes to go to the bar and get it himself...like I say; these resorts rely on the white man's need to sloth around and be served.
It didn't go unnoticed that the best looking staff were reserved for the entertainment team. Well preserved grandmothers flushed with the tingle of flattery; fat old men revelled in attention they previously only self-administered. I avoided the scene entirely preferring to furtively watch from afar with the ever present margarita in hand. I was on a mission to get a tan and outside of that, the rest was fluff (remember I was there with my 2 year old so not much choice in the matter).
So the sun shone, minutes felt like hours and the tan deepened. The food more often than not brought tears to my eyes and a pork cutlet actually made my gums bleed but to complain would have elicited well... nothing. So the week trickled by with the most energy being spent on avoiding the world's most obnoxious American family (from Boston) with two kids sent from Hell itself to torment and destroy the lightness of being wherever they went.
This family who could clear the baby pool area on sight or if you were lucky on sound; their arrival heralded by loud boastful demands and a sudden sense of doom in the air followed by the mass stampede of other families to another part of the pool; babies torn from the water as if to save them from an approaching Great White; birds flapping from trees, lizards belly flopping into the deep end. If you were unfortunate enough to have been powdering your nose and now faced the reality of having to stay put for a while, it wasn't long before the feeling of sloth and entitlement left you and you made a polite exit for the sanctuary of one or other of the restaurants that under any other circumstances you'd never bother to walk to.
I'm not sure who was more amusing to watch; the punctual German having an anxiety attack with the front desk staff about the tardiness of a tour bus taking him to see the sharks and sting rays or the American's sense of entitlement being ignored at ever turn. A truer study on man's lack of appreciation and his inability to enjoy life's simple pleasures would be harder to find. All this in front of a poor nation who would give anything to be able to afford a trip to the cold shores of Germany or even a ticket to see the sting rays in their own back yard, though I'm sure they don't see the beauty of their own back yard through the daily grind of poverty; reality TV at it's most revealing. But I am in danger of over-thinking the situation and now that I'm here I'm going to act like a sun tourist - crime not to. Besides the locals want you to be stupid with money and greedy about everything else - they don't turn a profit from people being frugal or thoughtful.
I had my moments too, from having to wait 2 days for a TV remote control (a converter for the americanos) to my room not making it onto the cleaning staff's rota 2 days out of 7. It's a small thing but when you are lying in bed watching HBO at one in the morning, between sandy sheets that should have been changed, unable to switch off literally...well it's a pain.
I'll say one thing for the Brits and Swedes - as long as the beer flows they can endure any service affront. I timed it once. It took 1 hour and 43 minutes for the blancmange-like European to enquire about the whereabouts of a cheese and tomato sandwich ordered poolside. It arrived just as the sun began to dip behind the palms trees. It would have taken 2 minutes to go to the bar and get it himself...like I say; these resorts rely on the white man's need to sloth around and be served.
It didn't go unnoticed that the best looking staff were reserved for the entertainment team. Well preserved grandmothers flushed with the tingle of flattery; fat old men revelled in attention they previously only self-administered. I avoided the scene entirely preferring to furtively watch from afar with the ever present margarita in hand. I was on a mission to get a tan and outside of that, the rest was fluff (remember I was there with my 2 year old so not much choice in the matter).
So the sun shone, minutes felt like hours and the tan deepened. The food more often than not brought tears to my eyes and a pork cutlet actually made my gums bleed but to complain would have elicited well... nothing. So the week trickled by with the most energy being spent on avoiding the world's most obnoxious American family (from Boston) with two kids sent from Hell itself to torment and destroy the lightness of being wherever they went.
This family who could clear the baby pool area on sight or if you were lucky on sound; their arrival heralded by loud boastful demands and a sudden sense of doom in the air followed by the mass stampede of other families to another part of the pool; babies torn from the water as if to save them from an approaching Great White; birds flapping from trees, lizards belly flopping into the deep end. If you were unfortunate enough to have been powdering your nose and now faced the reality of having to stay put for a while, it wasn't long before the feeling of sloth and entitlement left you and you made a polite exit for the sanctuary of one or other of the restaurants that under any other circumstances you'd never bother to walk to.
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