Island Time

This post gives up all pretense of the blog title (unless you call it between the continents of America and Europe); however, it does take place on an island - Manhattan.

A family wedding was the catalyst for the trip and De Anne (ever the explorer) used our free time to put us on a forced trek through the canyons of this island. I now know my way around NYC, above and below ground, but lack the foresight to see when this data will be of use again.

Prerequisite pictures of Times Square:

The view from Lisa and DeLinda's room on the 38th floor of the Four Seasons hotel:

In Central Park:

Deja vu

We are in Homestead Florida for a few days and had a picnic lunch yesterday at Bayfront Park. It was a beautiful place to look out over Biscayne Bay; however, since it was on the continent I did not report it.

Today we went down to the Keys. Since it is my blog I get to decide what is "between continents". We had another picnic lunch overlooking Tarpon Basin on Key Largo. Chatted with a couple cruisers and listened to a couple 50ish single gentlemen cruisers arguing under a tree. It was a deja vu moment. Followers of the old blog may remember we spent a week in Tarpon Basin waiting for the wind to drop below 20 knots.

Tarpon Basin today:

Adiós República Dominicana

Neighbors Hubert and Maria offered to take us to the Sosua bus stop for the first leg of our trip home. That plan was modified when Hubert and Bruce decided to take us on a cross country road trip using the scenic route and deliver us to the airport.

A couple stops on the way.
On the north coast bluffs:

Our friends Hubert and Bruce:

Highway rest stop:


We are now back in the USA and already missing the Dominican Republic and our new friends.

Just a couple weeks until our next trip into the asphalt jungle of New York City.

Party time

It has been a 3 day whirlwind of fun. Friday night Bruce and Kelly had us over for a marvelous greek bar-b-que dinner.

Saturday we spent the afternoon at the beach watching the kite boarders. The experts are fun for the air time and stunts and the beginners are fun for the big splashes and crashes. Our favorite beach bar threw a Halloween party Saturday night. Mike and Marisol plus a young Swedish couple renting the other apartment and several of the neighbors showed up. It was karaoke night and several singers were very good, but one was so bad it was funny. I did not participate because I didn't want to make the bad one sound only next to the worst.

Sunday morning we strolled down the beach with Bruce and Kelly. Bruce and I were behind De Anne and Kelly. At one point our conversation mutually stopped so all attention could be focused on a somewhat common, but always riveting sight. Kelly turned around, smiled, and caught us looking at the nubile, young lady busy making sure her tan was even all over. Without further distraction we arrived at their favorite beach pub for Sunday brunch. Afterwards we did a little shopping and Bruce treated us to a real taxi ride. Everyone had their own seat and no chickens at all aboard!
Saturday kiters:
Waves slamming the reef:
Not too crowded for a Saturday:
Christine, our Swedish neighbor, as a pirate:
Sunday brunch view:
Self-explanatory:
Kelly and Bruce's house:

In the neighborhood

Yesterday the gate guard waved to us to follow him into the woods near the front gate. Normally De Anne and I might hesitate to follow a stranger into a third-world jungle; however, Luis has always had a friendly wave and greeting for us in our walks. After a few yards we saw a young colt with a piece of clothesline around its lower jaw and secured to a tree. It was well groomed and healthy looking.


Inside the neighborhood there is another option for those not wanting to go to the expense of topping the compound walls with razor wire. Beer bottles are another option and show how even here recycling is done.

Our neighbor Bruce showed me his stash of bottles he will be using to top his wall. He has chosen the Presidente bottles, going for the green motif. He still has a few cases to drink to have enough, but he is working on filling his supply.

Where the boys are

Way back when I was gainful employed and a dutiful taxpaying citizen wandering the streets of downtown Indianapolis most of my throughts centered on "How am I ever going to get out of here?"; but occasionally I would raise my eyes and notice the lack of men my age. I would think "Where are they?" and more importantly, "Is there a secret place for men in their 50's I didn't hear about?"

There are plenty of women in their 50's in America. I see them everywhere. When not at work, they are walking small dogs. Usually fluffy and white (the dog, not the woman), and maybe a jaunty, pink bow - even if it's a male. The pink bow on the dog is a signal to any man - this woman WILL control you given the chance. Sorry, I digress. But, first a personal note - My lovely wife of 30 years likes big, tough dogs, without bows.

Now having left the cloistered environment of Indianapolis, Indiana I have discovered the whereabouts of those missing men. Some are living on decrepited boats in Florida. Others are in Panama, and a pile of them are in the Dominican Republic. "Why?" you ask. Well, the tropical setting (older men don't like the cold), a cheaper cost-of-living to stretch that pension or 401k, and well.... ahem, short-term, nonconversational companionship. Not everything that's a crime in America is a crime elsewhere.

Calm moment, and not

The park overlooking the ocean in Sosua.
(click any picture to enlarge)


The ride back. Notice the yellow lines have little meaning in this game of chicken.


Since we have been here we have heard 3 motorcycle accidents. The lush foliage prevents us from witnessing the carnage directly; but the sound of a motorcycle skidding sideways on pavement followed by much screaming and yelling is unmistakeable. The young American couple staying in the second apartment came home a few days ago with a bad case of road rash after an accident with another scooter turning in front of them.