Attracting Locals

In many foreign countries, especially where feminism hasn't taken off, something about American girls inspires the local men to salivate over them, hooting and hollering like crazy. Punta Cana proved no different--Lauren and I both got ourselves what we like to call "bartender boyfriends." Here's a day-by-day play-by-play of our encounters.

Saturday:

We had full bottles of liquor in our room for shots!

The night we flew in, we were exhausted, so we had some shots and went to dinner. On our way back to our room, we bypassed the dance floor, knowing if we tried to cut through, our American-ness (or the fact that we were hotel guests) would encourage the entertainers, who were getting guests to dance, to force us to dance.

Sunday:
We hung out at the pool after our spa time. Lunch was in the large patio by the pool, where one of the table clearers kept winking at me. He never said anything other than asking whether I was done with my plate, but he did wink every time I saw him that week.

After pool time, we hit the bar because...well, we already paid for it. Luis started flirting with me and Victor with Lauren. After a nap and dinner, we went back to the bar, where they made eyes at us the whole night. These were our main "bartender boyfriends."

Monday:
The second day, we went on a "safari." The most important employee on our truck was the bartender, who was in love with me. He kept telling me how pretty I was and tried to hold my hand every time he helped me off the truck. Driving past his favorite bar, he said "there, you drink, you dance, you sex." At the lunch stop, he dreamily told the bartender from another truck, "mira ella--ella es especial (look at her--she's special)." At the last stop, I was sitting on the bus waiting for the rest of the group, and he offered me: "Beer?" No. "Rum?" No. "Coke?" No. "Sprite?" No. "Water?" No. "Me?" Haha, clever, but no. 

Since we went back to the bar that night, we were back to being hit on by Luis and Victor. Also that night, Peluca (not his real name), one of the entertainers, asked Lauren to dance. He was apparently not that great of a dancer, more like a tweener at a junior high dance. He kissed her hand before depositing her back with me.

Tuesday:
We were hanging out by the pool when Peluca spotted us. He offered to sunscreen Lauren, but his technique was a little lacking since he had apparently jammed a finger and was in quite a bit of pain. Lauren, being a nurse, told him he should have it checked out.

We did water aerobics with Bugs Bunny (the entertainers were clearly not using their real names). At the end of class, he had everyone get in a circle and say their name and where they were from. When I said 'Monica,' he said, "oh, Monica Lewinsky, I am your Bill Clinton" and hugged me. Machine (again, with the name) introduced himself to Lauren, but Peluca was quick to jump in and claim her; he proceeded to kiss her cheeks, all European-like, and then give her a peck on the lips. Not cool dude, not cool. He wanted to eat lunch with us, but we fake passed out on our pool loungers.

That night, we met some American guys, Nick and Matt, also staying at the hotel and were hanging out at the bar. We actually attracted quite a crowd that night, including Paula, who was getting blitzed since it was her last night. She was trying to get our group and some of the bartenders to go to the disco, but we had to get up early the next day. So we passed on the disco, even though our bartender boyfriends were gung-ho about it.

Wednesday:
When we went to check in for SCUBA diving, the guy at the dive desk radioed to the boat that he had un hombre y dos chicas bonitas. 

Lauren and I grabbed lunch at the main restaurant. Our water waiter called me 'princesa' the whole time and asked if I would go to the disco with him that night. I told him I'd try, and he insisted, "you won't forget me, will you?" I don't know about forget so much as prefer to sleep. 

We met up with Nick and Matt for the rest of the day. What else was there to do but go to the bar for the evening? Our bartender boyfriends got jealous that night. Luis wouldn't even look at me; he kept shaking his head and looking away. Victor had a sad look on his face all night but did ask Lauren if she would go for a walk on the beach with him, "just for 30 minutes." "I know what 30 minutes on the beach means," Lauren informed him, refusing to go.

Peluca didn't seem to mind, though, since he dragged Lauren to the dance floor again. Victor glared at Peluca as he whisked Lauren away. I told him he should go punch him, and he said he might.

Thursday:
We hung out with Nick and Matt all day and had a completely different experience of not being hit on. Except when I went to exchange towels by myself, and the towel guy teased me that I couldn't exchange towels but had to take the towel cards. So I took the cards then handed the cards back and requested two towels.

At dinner, the water waiter from the day before either didn't recognize me or chose to ignore me. Our bartender boyfriends were still resentful that we had abandoned them.

Friday:
Nick and Matt left Friday, so it was back to the bar by ourselves that night. We had tips for our bartender boyfriends. But first, we had to convince our beaus that the guys were only amigos, not competition. Victor was easy to sway, especially when Juan Carlos, another bartender, tried to convince Victor that Lauren was his and I was Victor's. Victor would have none of that. Luis took a lot more persuading, but I was able to win back his affection by the end of the night.

We are fans of dollar folding, so our tips were folded into origami shapes. Lauren's tip for Victor was a boat, "barquita for you to visit me." Victor informed Lauren that while there are other pretty girls that come to the resort, she's the only one who has stolen his heart; he couldn't stop thinking about her. Mine for Luis was a ring, which he promptly showed off to his boss. He told me I needed to come back next year because he likes looking at me. I told him I like to see other places. "No, you work, save your money, and come back here next year." I'm an accountant, buddy, I know how it works.

Lauren and Victor

Luis and I

Saturday:
We had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to get to the airport for our flight home. The driver who picked us up, was asking if we were married or had kids. When I told him no, he said I needed to marry a Dominican, and I would have lots of kids. When I told him that I love kids but don't want any of my own, he said maybe I shouldn't marry a Dominican!

ETA: Sorry for the previously whorephobic title (and permalink).

How My Sister and I Had a Couples Massage...

...or Foreign Massage Should Come with a Nudity Warning

Our first day at Riu Bambu in Punta Cana, Lauren and I were hoping for some pool time. However, Mother Nature had some rain in mind. We were already by the pool, with our swimsuits on, so we decided to start our vacation out right--at the spa! 

We picked the body scrub, wrap, facial, massage, manicure, and pedicure package for the low price of 5400 Dominican Republic pesos or $138.43. Gotta love a favorable exchange rate!  

The girl behind the counter said they had now available if we wanted. Yes! But we needed to go back to the room to get our credit cards. So we hiked back to our room and came back with our credit cards. And by hike, I mean walk--we were in the last row of bungalows, but it was all flat, paved ground. I actually had to shuffle so as not to slip out of my wet flip flops and break another ankle.

The good and bad thing about an all-inclusive is that you don't have to carry around money. Good because you are not going to get mugged and do not have to pay for food and drinks. Bad because if you want to book any additional excursions, you do need money, but it's in the safe in your room. 

We paid (the girl was confused that we both had the same last name--"somos hermanas") and were led back to the waiting area. Then, we were called into a room...together...and there were 2 massage tables set up, complete with flowers. So yea, sister couple's massage! I'm thinking, 'we'll be covered, so it'll be ok.'

The masseuses started clearing the froofiness off the massage tables, and one of them said, "You take clothes off." Now, we looked at each other like 'Is she serious? They're still in here?' I looked around for a curtain or closet--nope. We shrugged and started taking off our cover ups then paused. One came over, threw her arms over her head, and said, "Everything off!" Lauren was apparently lagging behind because the girl grabbed her swuimsuit bottoms and insisted, "dees too."

We lay on the tables face down...no bum cover...just naked. Then the body scrub started, and I found out why there was no bum cover: it was scrubbed, too. Whispered in my ear, "tin ofa pwis." "What?" "Tun ofa pees." "What?" "Tun ova pwees." Oh 'turn over, please.' I did get a cootchie cover while on my back, more like a bandanna. I later learned Lauren was not so fortunate there. 

While on my back, the girl exfoliated my cleavage and under my boobs and my sides. Not the tots themselves, but definitely between and all around them.

Lauren was told to go to the shower in the back of the room to rinse the scruby off. When it was my turn, I sneaked a peak toward the shower through squinted eyes to blur my vision. Lauren was getting out; she was given a very large towel, bath sheet-sized. So she was completely covered while we had to pass each other. I was not. We just looked away, and I tried to cover the important bits.

When I was done rinsing, I received a hand towel. That's right, a hand towel. I kind of questioned the unequal distribution of towels, but whatever, the whole situation was already a hot mess, and the hand towel did the job. Before I stepped out of the shower, my girl told me to turn around and slathered something slimy on my back and backside.

When I got back to the table, it was covered in a large sheet of plastic, Dexter-style. I wasn't too scared of getting stabbed through the heart, so I laid down on my back, which was particularly difficult because the goop on my back was super slippery. Later, I learned Lauren did not have the luxury of being slathered before getting back on the table. No, she had to lay face-down then flip over while gracefully attempting not to slide off the table. 

Keep in mind that in the US, we'd have been covered, and the masseuse would have lifted the cover, looked away, and replaced the cover once flipped. But I will remind you: we were completely naked. Just imagine her flipping while trying desperately not to turn the massage table into a slip-n-crack-your-skull-open (aka slip-n-slide). 

But I digress. Once the goop was spread over our bodies, the plastic wrap was pulled around, except that I had a foot-wide naked strip down my front. A sarong was laid over that. Also, the overhead fan was on full force, so I was thankful to be wrapped up because the slime was cold as it evaporated.  

On to the facials, which were pretty uneventful. Lauren's girl did say to my girl, "Esta máscara está muy bien buena!" (This mask is very good good). They put cucumbers on our eyes, and we heard the door open and shut. Neither of us could see if they were both out of the room, what with the cucumbers and all. So we didn't say anything. 

A few minutes later, the door opened and shut, and they finished our facials. We showered the goo off, and the towel disparity continued. Then, we were massaged, including the buttocks. The cootchie cover inequality also continued.

Whispered in my ear, "aw feeneesh." Lauren was not given any indication her massage was over, except that it stopped. The door opened and closed. We looked at each other, and Lauren questioned, "I guess we're done?" We had a little giggle but were afraid the masseuses were listening just outside the door so did not collapse into uncontrollable laughter like we did later. So we just put our swimsuits on while averting our eyes.

The manicures and pedicures were also relatively mundane. We were given German fashion magazines to read. Neither of us knows German, but I think it was all they had. I kept chipping the manicure by dinking my fingers into the bowl or the towel on the table. That girl spoke very little English, but she kept making fun of me through random squeaks and pointing. I scraped all the nail polish off my fingers by the time we got back to the room (finger nail polish makes my nails feel heavy and unnatural). 

The moral of this story is that foreign concepts of modesty are much different from the US, so if you're not at peace with your body, you may want to avoid massage out of the country (or at least discuss prior with the front desk/masseuse).