Luperon
30 April 2012 | Dominican Republic
Luperon is a town of contrasts in every respect. Boasting a man-made hurricane harbour, it is reportedly the staging port of choice for south and north bound cruisers making the Bahamas / Caribbean trek. We heard that even though the anchorage is crowded and dirty, many cruisers choose to stay for months, forming a community that returns year after year. Given this, our expectations were completely different from the reality we found.
The first and most obvious contrast was the sudden, dramatic switch from the wild wind and waves off the northern DR coast into the placid waters of the harbour. No wonder some cruisers heave a sigh of relief and put down roots along with their anchors! There's not a breath of wind for several hours after dawn, and even when the trade winds or squalls hit in late morning and afternoon, the harbour waters remain relatively flat. It's heaven after a rocky night anchored or sailing off the north coast.
There's ample evidence of Luperon's former prosperity, but the town has probably suffered from the recession and subsequent decline in American cruising boats more than any other harbour we've visited in the Caribbean. The dinghy dock is new and strong, its handful of modern cruising inflatables and shiny outboards the polar opposite of the battered but sturdy fishing boats hauled up on the rocks or moored between posts made of tree branches. The concrete pier leading to town is an actual two lane road, long and deserted, and empty of garrulous tour guides or groups of young men checking out the new arrivals.
The town itself was a shock after the loveliness of Samana, which can still rely on a fairly lucrative high season for tourism. In Luperon, there are no roads taking advantage of the harbour view, and the single street into town was littered with garbage. An unprepossessing row of maimed stores and houses attached in a dirty line of sagging shacks propped each other up. Peeling, splintered wood on wobbly frames and rusted tin roofs were standard. So disreputable were many buildings that it was unclear if they were abandoned, or if the residents had simply given up. Laundry was draped in backyards, along the sidewalk, and over barbed wire fences: no clothespins needed there. Downtown Luperon had no loud music, no laughter in the air, no cheery hellos from the locals. We walked the streets in silence, humbled by the evidences of a struggle for subsistence. Why, we wondered, would cruisers come and stay? There were none of the prosperous markets we'd envisioned for provisioning, and only a few restaurants and bars still in business, two of them built by expatriate Americans who are both trying to sell and plan to close within a month. A worn woman of indeterminate age roasted cobs of corn over a giant coffee can on the sidewalk, and in another block a young man grilled chicken over a big metal drum. Shops were dingy, stacked with sacks of rice and beans, crates of eggs, and sad looking produce. A few prosperous looking houses, obviously new, stood side by side with disreputable shacks. The buildings straggled right up against the narrow sidewalks, their porches and sometimes the rooms themselves wide open to the street. Wrought iron grillwork protected doors, windows, carports and porches. An empty lot littered with junk was a block from a lovely park with new pagoda and benches. Motorcycles, trucks, and cars shared the streets with goats, cows, pigs, horses and dozens of stray dogs. Lots filled with banana trees, right downtown, were protected by iron fences. A cement wall was topped with rolls of vicous barbed wire. The Catholic church was beautiful and impeccably maintained. This was the face with which Luperon introduced itself, and even as we wandered the town, we were already looking forward to our departure.
But over the next few days, we began to see another Luperon. There's no Laundromat, but you can take your laundry several places and get it back a day later, fresh and neatly folded for less than you'd spend in a Laundromat elsewhere. Papo cruises the harbour and will deliver your diesel, water, or anything else you need. We ate ashore each day, enjoying wonderful meals at JR's and Steve's. The grouper at Steve's was the best fish we've ever had, moist and succulent, sautéed in lots of butter, olive oil, garlic, onion and peppers; their French fries were the best I've eaten outside of Quebec. It was so delicious we had to eat it again the next day. Sadly, by mid June Steve's Bar and Restaurant will be history, a casualty of the recession and rising crime rates. In the shops we trolled for produce, we began to see that the faces we'd thought were sullen were only tired and slightly defeated, but still quick to return a smile. I wish that I knew more Spanish, because I would have loved to be able to talk to the people we met, and to let them know how much we appreciate the opportunity to travel in their beautiful country. I would have loved to be able to spend something in every one of the shops we passed.
In Luperon, I fell in love with a charming little blond. She followed us for no apparent reason, even though we never fussed over her, petted her, or even talked to her, except for Ralph yelling, "Vamoose!" a couple of times. But she followed us all the way back to the dock, trying to tempt us to play with her. I didn't respond, knowing it wasn't fair to encourage her when I couldn't keep her.... even though she would have made a marvellous boat dog. She had the most lovely temperament, and when we headed for the dinghy dock, she jumped in the water and swam over dinghy lines, trying to clamber into Vorck. When we shoved off and started the motor, she followed us way out into the harbour until her head was just a dot, still trying to follow. I was terrified she'd drown, but Ralph said he saw her turn back and go in behind the boats. I looked for her every day after that, but never saw her. She was one the only dog we saw with a collar, and was obviously healthy and well fed. I hope she found her way back to someone who loves her, even though I couldn't help thinking she was meant to be mine. For many reasons, I'll be reluctant to leave Luperon.
That's the Dominican Republic, filled with people who steal a little bit of your heart. The Luperon photo album tells the story better than I can.