Count
03-31-2006, 11:18 AM
Beas, who I’ve never met, encouraged me, above, to post a memory of BC in 96-97 as I am new to the board and have never been to Sosua......Am not sure how to start a new thread so.....
Boca Chica had been on my mind for some time when I first went there in 1996. It was way back in 1985 when I first heard about it from a travel agent in Boston (I was a Canuck living in Boston for a couple of years). I was traveling single and she tried to convince me, almost begged me, to go. I wasn’t sure. Then the trip got delayed and I found a girl friend and we both went to the Virgin Islands. Boring!
The next time I thought about it was the mid 90s after the girlfriend and I had split. I knew a bit about the DR by then having taken her to the Club Med in Punta Cana. In 1996 I finally went to Boca Chica – but I made a crucial rookie mistake. I went to this weird single all-inclusive, if you get me, resort, not on the beach, up the road somewhere, in Boca Chica run by a guy named Alex or Alexis or something. While I enjoyed myself, I could immediately see the possibilities if I was truly on my own.
In July 97, I finally went to Boca Chica on my own. For 3 weeks. In a way, I should stop this report right here because no words I could summon could do justice to my memories. To say I had a good time or a great time does not come anywhere close to what happened, what I remember, or how I felt the whole time.
I started by booking four nights at Zapatas and figured if I liked it I would stay and if not I’d move. I chose it because I had joined TSM (no longer a member) and it seemed to be the best reccomendation as I wanted to be on the beach. On my first night I scored three different chicas in succession, which I had never done before in my life. The first found at a bar/restaurant/hotel up the road, Don’s I think (he was a French Canadian who was sent home by LE, I think). A second on Duarte street and a third in some club. But the best part is that that night I met a great bunch of guys. There was an expat named Pat, now departed I think, but best of all a bar owner named Ronnie G. I met them so easily. I was at a table watching the passing scene and Ronnie leaned over from the next table and asked, “Are you American?” ....”No, Canadian.” .....”Well, come join us anyway.” I spent every afternoon then on from about 2:00 to about 6:00 at Ronnie’s bar on the beach in the shade of the palms, feeling the breeze, eating the chicken he cooked on Sundays, downing Cuba Libre’s and Presidente’s (God, I miss it.) one after the other, and jawing with the multitude of guys who would suddenly drop in from all over North America, our laps filled with chicas who were patiently waiting for us to make up our minds. Is there anything better than that? And with Zapatas only about three properties down the beach....it was all so easy. I recall that some asked for as much as a 1,000 but the expats said you were nuts if you charged more than 2-300. I never paid more than 5-600 but don’t forget that the exchange rate wasn’t as good then. Something like 13:1 if I recall.
I got to know Ronnie well who was a fountain of information as he’d been there about a dozen years. In other words, he arrived in DR to stay at about the same time I was urged to travel there by that Boston travel agent and I wondered if we had had the same travel agent. I often wonder what would have happened if I had made that trip in ’85. I traveled with him to SD a few times in his beat up old car as he had some errands for his bar, etc. He had a birthday when I was there and we had a big party. I thought hard about buying his bar because he wanted to sell and retire but real life was beginning to intervene for me, such as a surprising child back in Canada from the departed girl friend, and in the end I didn’t. The best thing about the whole experience is the people you meet and become buddies with.
As for the chicas, I chose most of them because there was something about them that turned a certain crank. Some turned out to be mistakes but most weren’t but it didn’t matter anyway because the supply was endless. As for specific episodes; here’s a few:
1. Daisy was a real nice girl, a sleek spinner, who I was with a few times and once she took me to her cinder block house/apartment out by the highway. A combination one room and tiny kitchen with a shower in the corner. She took a shower while I watched and then we did it on her bed. I was amazed by the whole experience, and still am.
2. There was a girl named Carmel or something like that, a bit pudgier than I like, but there was a mutual chemistry or compatibility. I took her on my first night and on several more. On my last night in Boca, she gave me a copied tape of the DR music of the day even though I did not take her that night. She just came up to me on the street and told me she made it for me, handed it to me, and left. My Spanish is minimal but it’s amazing what can be understood regardless. I still have that tape and play it from time to time...probably tonight...as I think I will forsake my beloved martinis for rum tonight.
3. There was a girl named Marisol, who stole $$$ from me, but her bbbjtcim was so good, so amazing, and I was so transfixed by her, that I asked her back two more times, and each night she stole from me and I had no clue how she did it. God, she was good.
4. There was a Haitian girl who I wanted but never got to be with as she was constantly with a group of Italians, except on my last night, when the Italians finally left. Unfortunately, I was mezmirized by Marisol, above, who I had made a date with the night before. I thought about standing her up, but I am honourable; even to the point of being honourable to someone who steals from me!! ....Or, wait, perhaps, all I could think of was her magical bbbjtcim....yeah....fuck honour...that’s more like it. And so the Haitian girl remains a never explored potential. I could communicate with her well because I know some French.
I intended to come back often, but never did, as real life intervened. But now I’m free again to have fun and be me. Hopefully I will meet some of you in Sosua soon....
Boca Chica had been on my mind for some time when I first went there in 1996. It was way back in 1985 when I first heard about it from a travel agent in Boston (I was a Canuck living in Boston for a couple of years). I was traveling single and she tried to convince me, almost begged me, to go. I wasn’t sure. Then the trip got delayed and I found a girl friend and we both went to the Virgin Islands. Boring!
The next time I thought about it was the mid 90s after the girlfriend and I had split. I knew a bit about the DR by then having taken her to the Club Med in Punta Cana. In 1996 I finally went to Boca Chica – but I made a crucial rookie mistake. I went to this weird single all-inclusive, if you get me, resort, not on the beach, up the road somewhere, in Boca Chica run by a guy named Alex or Alexis or something. While I enjoyed myself, I could immediately see the possibilities if I was truly on my own.
In July 97, I finally went to Boca Chica on my own. For 3 weeks. In a way, I should stop this report right here because no words I could summon could do justice to my memories. To say I had a good time or a great time does not come anywhere close to what happened, what I remember, or how I felt the whole time.
I started by booking four nights at Zapatas and figured if I liked it I would stay and if not I’d move. I chose it because I had joined TSM (no longer a member) and it seemed to be the best reccomendation as I wanted to be on the beach. On my first night I scored three different chicas in succession, which I had never done before in my life. The first found at a bar/restaurant/hotel up the road, Don’s I think (he was a French Canadian who was sent home by LE, I think). A second on Duarte street and a third in some club. But the best part is that that night I met a great bunch of guys. There was an expat named Pat, now departed I think, but best of all a bar owner named Ronnie G. I met them so easily. I was at a table watching the passing scene and Ronnie leaned over from the next table and asked, “Are you American?” ....”No, Canadian.” .....”Well, come join us anyway.” I spent every afternoon then on from about 2:00 to about 6:00 at Ronnie’s bar on the beach in the shade of the palms, feeling the breeze, eating the chicken he cooked on Sundays, downing Cuba Libre’s and Presidente’s (God, I miss it.) one after the other, and jawing with the multitude of guys who would suddenly drop in from all over North America, our laps filled with chicas who were patiently waiting for us to make up our minds. Is there anything better than that? And with Zapatas only about three properties down the beach....it was all so easy. I recall that some asked for as much as a 1,000 but the expats said you were nuts if you charged more than 2-300. I never paid more than 5-600 but don’t forget that the exchange rate wasn’t as good then. Something like 13:1 if I recall.
I got to know Ronnie well who was a fountain of information as he’d been there about a dozen years. In other words, he arrived in DR to stay at about the same time I was urged to travel there by that Boston travel agent and I wondered if we had had the same travel agent. I often wonder what would have happened if I had made that trip in ’85. I traveled with him to SD a few times in his beat up old car as he had some errands for his bar, etc. He had a birthday when I was there and we had a big party. I thought hard about buying his bar because he wanted to sell and retire but real life was beginning to intervene for me, such as a surprising child back in Canada from the departed girl friend, and in the end I didn’t. The best thing about the whole experience is the people you meet and become buddies with.
As for the chicas, I chose most of them because there was something about them that turned a certain crank. Some turned out to be mistakes but most weren’t but it didn’t matter anyway because the supply was endless. As for specific episodes; here’s a few:
1. Daisy was a real nice girl, a sleek spinner, who I was with a few times and once she took me to her cinder block house/apartment out by the highway. A combination one room and tiny kitchen with a shower in the corner. She took a shower while I watched and then we did it on her bed. I was amazed by the whole experience, and still am.
2. There was a girl named Carmel or something like that, a bit pudgier than I like, but there was a mutual chemistry or compatibility. I took her on my first night and on several more. On my last night in Boca, she gave me a copied tape of the DR music of the day even though I did not take her that night. She just came up to me on the street and told me she made it for me, handed it to me, and left. My Spanish is minimal but it’s amazing what can be understood regardless. I still have that tape and play it from time to time...probably tonight...as I think I will forsake my beloved martinis for rum tonight.
3. There was a girl named Marisol, who stole $$$ from me, but her bbbjtcim was so good, so amazing, and I was so transfixed by her, that I asked her back two more times, and each night she stole from me and I had no clue how she did it. God, she was good.
4. There was a Haitian girl who I wanted but never got to be with as she was constantly with a group of Italians, except on my last night, when the Italians finally left. Unfortunately, I was mezmirized by Marisol, above, who I had made a date with the night before. I thought about standing her up, but I am honourable; even to the point of being honourable to someone who steals from me!! ....Or, wait, perhaps, all I could think of was her magical bbbjtcim....yeah....fuck honour...that’s more like it. And so the Haitian girl remains a never explored potential. I could communicate with her well because I know some French.
I intended to come back often, but never did, as real life intervened. But now I’m free again to have fun and be me. Hopefully I will meet some of you in Sosua soon....