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| Note shotgun and machete. |
Immediately upon
leaving the airport, poverty and chaos engulfs my ruined taxi.
Burnt-out, mangled cars line the road as frequently as mile markers. Enterprising souls abscond with the mile marker husks, paint them, and continue to service the airport-hotel circuit. I suspect my driver is one of them. Most of the mini-busses in operation appear to have literally “hit the road”. Taxis are invariably Toyota sedans bulging with eight or more passengers. One gets the sense that Toyota shipped its first line of vehicles to the Dominican Republic as a gift when the Japanese started producing cars, and have not done so since.
Burnt-out, mangled cars line the road as frequently as mile markers. Enterprising souls abscond with the mile marker husks, paint them, and continue to service the airport-hotel circuit. I suspect my driver is one of them. Most of the mini-busses in operation appear to have literally “hit the road”. Taxis are invariably Toyota sedans bulging with eight or more passengers. One gets the sense that Toyota shipped its first line of vehicles to the Dominican Republic as a gift when the Japanese started producing cars, and have not done so since.
After an
eternity spent crawling past densely packed, crumbling concrete block homes with
rusted currogated rooftops huddling below palm trees, I arrive at