Claude Levi-Strauss wrote his famous book back in the 1930s when the West was still in the thrall of a Rousseau-Gauguin romanticism about the exotic world of the tropics. Writing about its tristesse was, I suppose, meant to be something of a corrective; writing about his sexual relations with the indigenous women of the Mato Grosso was the clincher.
If I wanted to be an ugly American of the purest sort, I might remark that driving through Puerto Plata the term "banana republic" springs to mind. Worse would be to say it's the South Bronx without the 6 train. But that would be an injustice.
True, the public section of the beach here at Cofresi' is dirty and uncared for. The beach fronting the all-inclusives is immaculate and groomed.
The towns are a wild mix of run-down and pristine, usually in close proximity, unlike the strict social segregation of most American towns. A bit more like New York in that respect -- think today's Lower East Side or Bowery.
If there's anything sad, it may be the inescapable effluvia of international commerce, most notable in signs and on the lips of the people. "Shopping center." "Karaoke." "Cappuccino." "Non-stop." "Mac o PC?. And so on, the usual.
On the other hand, you know at once when you land in the DR that you're in the real tropics, not the fake ones you get in Florida. That lushness, the abundance of those flaming-red trees, the hundreds of types of palms that grow spontaneously all the way up the mountains. The year-round heat, the always-mild sea (actually hot against the skin at times), adjustment to a slower rhythm of life that is essnetial for your physical well-being.
I think, too, of the moralistic writings of old colonial administrators and explorers from England and New England. They wrote about tropical living and "the jungle" as if it were unmitigated hell, revolting and killer. I would guess your perspective changes when you take off yout waistcoat and dress down a bit in shorts and flipflops. The tropiques are no more tristes than London or Boston, they're just warmer with better rum drinks.
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Welcome to the fourth or fifth world.
Greets from the Carlton Arms: we trade places.
Hugo may today finally introduce me to Donna or her wine-guy ex, still co-owning Il Buco?
Are the maple-like trees with the fine yellow flower blowing around East River Park Plantains? Smelled a little like Pterocarpus in PR, or Las Rmablas...
Posted by: David J | July 03, 2009 at 08:50 AM