Goodreads Giveaways....not the best for this author

I ran my first Goodreads giveaway five years ago. Initially, I was thrilled with the response. Of the two books I listed, I received over 600 requests on one of the titles, and nearly 500 on the other. When the winners were chosen, I sat down the following day to write notes to each of the 10 winners, pack up their books, and head down to the post office.  And then I waited.

Not too long after my books had been sent out, I got a 4 star rating and review of Murder, Jaz, & Tel Aviv. I was off to a good start. As the weeks, and then months rolled by, I began to realize that maybe I wasn't going to get any more feedback from the winners of my giveaways. 

True, it is clearly stated in the Giveaway guidelines that one cannot request reviews. Other authors have written that one should give their books away and not expect to get a review. On that, I have to disagree.

I have run giveaways as a way to promote my books. I do not expect readers to give me 5 star ratings or glorious reviews. But I did expect that people who requested my books had an actual interest in reading them. That does not seem to be the case. 

It wasn't until September of this year that I decided to once again run a few Giveaways. This time, I only offered two books at a time. I ran one for Broadsided in Bali, in September. One for Bad Accounts, in October. And one for The Many Wonders of Costa Contente, in November. To date, I have received no ratings or reviews.

There seem to be lots of folks who enter giveaways on a daily basis. I am sure many of those really do want to read the books. But when I check on the readers that have won copies of mine, there are very few reviews - or even none. 

I am happy to give a copy of any of my books to anyone who wants to read them. I am more than a little disappointed in people who enter a giveaway only to add a book to their library that they do not intend to read. Possibly these people have actually read one of my books. I understand that some people do not like to write reviews, but clicking on a star rating takes very little effort. 

Even if I wanted to chance it again, Goodreads is soon to change their Giveaway policy and it will now cost authors to do so. I, for one, can not afford it. 

I am not giving up on my belief that I can make a living as an author, no matter the odds against me. But it is quite disheartening to believe that there are people out there eager to read your books, only to find out that it was more likely their desire to win something.

NaNoWriMo & The Office of Light and Letters

NaNoWriMo  HQ

The National Writing Month is in full swing, so what better time to visit their corporate headquarters? 

Although I personally have never entered into the NaNoWriMo fray of writing a novel in one month, I know several people who have participated. Friends from Canada, the UK, and Australia, have sung its praises for years. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of yearly participants.

Like many people, I assumed that the whole deal was run out of someone’s breakfast nook. Or at least that’s the impression I got when looking at their website. And I do believe that it did start out of Chris Baty’s apartment back in 1999. Then last year, while looking into NaNoWriMo, I stumbled upon the fact that they had a physical presence a short drive from my present home. I knew I had to go.

The Office of Letters and Light, (NaNoWriMo HQ), is located on that last little smidgen of South Berkeley, CA, before it turns into Oakland. One hundred years ago, their office had been a small store – a tailor’s…. a grocery store…hardware & horse tackle? The glass windowed store front now showcases an old school desk on one side, and a typewriter on the other. The front door opens into a long, narrow shop, bright and gleaming, and quite a contrast to the grey day outdoors.  

I was greeted by Chris Angotti, their Chief Operating Officer, who welcomed me to look around and take pictures. Even though everyone was in the middle of all-out-craziness – this being November, all were pleasant and smiling and happy to answer my questions.

The poster on the wall for The Night of Writing Dangerously, caught my eye. It’s a fabulous night of dining and drinking and writing at the beautiful Julia Morgan Ballroom in San Francisco. When I mentioned that it sounded like a blast, but that I would not get one word written at a party, another staffer said I should just come to enjoy the atmosphere. It does sound rather enticing.

A block from HQ in 1946 (Bay Area News Group.)

For those who participate, I have nothing but admiration. For those who actually achieve 50,000 words in one month…I am astounded. On their website it states that  "Our experiences since 1999 show that 50,000 words is a challenging but achievable goal, even for people with full-times jobs and children." 

Oh dear....where have I gone wrong? In the past year I have written at least 50,000 words, but that is a combination of three different books that I started. Nonetheless, the efforts of the tens of thousands who are currently banging away at their typewriters, is quite inspirational. Maybe I'll hammer out another few chapters over the weekend.

.

The Many Wonders of Costa Contente - GIVEAWAY

Goodreads Giveaway for The Many Wonders of Costa Contente

10 Nov - 20 Nov

Latin American Fiction - Magical Realism

 
 

    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

       
   

   

     

          The Many Wonders of Costa Contente
     

     

          by Kate McVaugh
     

     

         
            Giveaway ends November 20, 2017.
         

         
            See the giveaway details
            at Goodreads.
         

     

   

   

    Enter Giveaway

From the back cover:

"There’s a small town on the South American coast where the sweet sea air mixes with fragrant tropical blossoms. It’s a place where the neighbors are kind, the parrots are helpful, and wonders abound in everyday life.

It’s in this town of Costa Contente that you’ll find Dona Gloria and her husband Berto, proprietors of the Casa de Everything & Anything. It’s in their home that you’ll meet Solange, the young traveler they’ve welcomed into their lives. Just across the way is the Taverna Amore and its owner Gilberto. And Dona Immaculada is not far away, ready with a potion or bit of insight to soothe a broken heart or ease a sore back.

When the drought lasts longer than anyone expected, the citizens of Costa Contente rally together to save their parched town. When the ghost of Don Mateo becomes restless after outsiders attempt to decimate his family’s land, a meeting is called at the tavern. Working together, the townspeople always come up with a plan to overcome any obstacle, large or small. Careful thought, hard work, and just that little bit of the magical assure that Costa Contente will continue to thrive for its people and the land on which it rests"

Bad Accounts Giveaway : 4 Oct - 21 Oct

I am running a Giveaway of Goodreads for Bad Accounts.

Top-notch accountant Pia might have suspected her bosses of cooking the books, but when you’re fifty-two and jobs are scarce it’s easy to look the other way. That is until she finds out her employers might be involved in the drug trade, and jumps in put a stop to it all.
From Monterey, California all the way to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, aging gangsters, bungling rent-a-cops, and an out-of-his-element hitman, get in on the action.

I had so many entrants for my last giveaway for Broadsided in Bali, that I am offering 2 free copies of that book to anyone who would like to read it in exchange for a review. I can be contacted through the form on this page, or through Goodreads messaging.

 
 

    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

       
   

   

     

          Bad Accounts
     

     

          by Kate McVaugh
     

     

         
            Giveaway ends October 21, 2017.
         

         
            See the giveaway details
            at Goodreads.
         

     

   

   

    Enter Giveaway

Quiet Before the Storm

Tonight, at 7pm, Ben Shapiro will speak at Zellerbach Hall on the UC Berkeley campus. I would have liked to have been in Sproul Plaza to document the Antifa thugs that I am sure will be there. However, I don’t want to be out there at night so I went down to see what was happening this afternoon.

Where Free Speech Started: Sproul Hall

They have already blocked traffic to Bancroft Avenue, which runs by Zellerbach Hall, and the crowd barriers are already up. At 3:30, they will start to restrict entrance into the heart of the Free Speech Area, Sproul Hall Plaza.

For now, there are a few people out with the requisite tables and flyers protesting the right of anyone with a conservative viewpoint to speak, and referring to them with vile labels. I had no intention of getting into a discussion with any of these folks, but my inner flower-child took over.

Crowd Blockers

One non-student, surrounded by Cal students, was getting quite worked up about an Yiannopolous poster announcing his coming speech. He had ripped it off a wall, insisting that it was offensive. The students he was addressing were adamant that Yiannopolous had the right to speak. Granted, “Yiannololous is cumming” is rather crude, but not compared to what was scrawled in chalk on lower Sproul Plaza in front of Zellerbach. At this point, I could no longer keep my mouth shut. I said to him, “Sir, what is offensive to me is the Fuck the Police that is written on the ground.”  And then I walked away.

Next, I stopped by the big table and big posters set up on the Northside entrance to Sproul Plaza. I certainly did not want to get in any sort of conversation with them. But then I walked around the other side and started to listen in to a conversation that an older man and woman, most likely UC profs, were having with the Resistance table-minders.

They kept asking the resistance folks to clarify what exactly was a fascist and why they thought all conservatives were fascists. One young man started to spout something nonsensical that was so convoluted I can’t recall anything other than it was not a definition of the word. They only thing that did come across is that the likes of Ben Shapiro, Steve Bannon, and Anne Coulter did not have the right to speak at CAL.

Bancroft Ave 

Once more, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I said that I had grown up in Berkeley, that I had protested in the 60’s, and that back then we respected the right to have differing views. I said I was sad seeing what had happened to my city, that tolerance for differing views was no longer acceptable.

The woman explained that she followed Shapiro, and that he was not all the ugly names the resistance people called him. To which she got the response, “You’re wrong so I’m not even going to talk to you.”  To which I added, “She is not wrong, she just has a different opinion.”  The guy walked away.

Zellerbach Hall 

I turned to the man and woman – both had accents so I assume they had grown up in another country. I said, “These kids have no idea what it is to live in a country where you do not have rights. They do not realize how lucky they are and do not understand the freedom of speech.”

I said a few other things to the resistence-ers regarding the error in labeling people with different opinions as white supremacists, and left after one of them was getting into why Antifa had a right to bash heads. …They all really have drunk the Kool-Aid.

While walking through the area, I made sure to thank every police officer I saw for protecting the people and the city. They were truly appreciative of my words, especially when there were anti-police sentiments chalked into the ground where they stood.

There will be trouble tonight. I only hope it is nothing too serious.

Broadsided in Bali Giveaway

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Broadsided in Bali

by Kate McVaugh

Giveaway ends October 08, 2017.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

BROADSIDED in BALI has a New Cover

I plan to write a more lengthy                                                                   post about how I produced a 

a new book cover using Word. For now, I will just attach said cover.

Look for my upcoming book giveaway on Goodreads.

Total Eclipse 2017....Cancelled by the Fog

It is Total Eclipse Day all across the USA. I’m about 12 hours south of the Path of Totality, but 75% blockage seemed reasonable enough for me. Except there was always the threat of fog. And the fog ruined the day.

No matter what the weather folks had been saying for the past week, I knew their predictions for a clear day would be wrong. Here in the San Francisco area, right along the bay, we haven’t seen the sun for most of August. Or if there is any sunlight, it’s after 2:00PM. And the past several days have been socked in and cold with no hint of our solar friend. When the fog went out last night, I thought there might be a slight chance of fair skies. But by 6:00AM this morning, it was nothing but grey.

Lunar Eclipse 2011

Maybe there would be a chance for odd shadows, as I had accidently caught during the last eclipse in May of 2012. It was much less coverage than today’s, but I sat out on the deck hoping to catch something odd and taking pictures of the sun. (Yes, without looking at it.) At one point, I noticed these strange shadows on the wall inside the house. I took a few shots and forgot about it. Only later did I realize that I had caught the reflection of the eclipse off the bird’s water dish. Had I realized it at the time, that is where I would have aimed my lens.

Shadows, Solar Eclipse 2012

And then there was the lunar eclipse in December of 2011. It was colder than ever when I went outside to try and capture images. I quickly realized I had no idea what settings to use on my camera, so sat down at the laptop to search. I then realized one really did need a tripod. But I was able to set the camera on a ledge and get a few decent shots before I got frostbite.

Honestly, this is not the area in which to live if you are interested in things celestial. I wasn’t terribly upset that I could not experience today’s eclipse. Or at least nothing like the Disaster that was Halley’s Comet in 1986. Intrigued about Mr. Halley’s namesake since I first heard of it in elementary school, I counted the years until it would appear. At the time, it was so far in the future it was hard to believe I would ever get the chance to witness its race across the sky. And when that day finally came, I happened to be back in the Bay Area. I jumped in the car and headed up the hill along with a whole lot of other enthusiasts, only to participate in our collective groan when we realized the fog would not be lifting.

Mama Squirrel at the height of the eclipse

If I ever want to really experience a total solar eclipse, there are others to be had around the world. Not so with my mythical comet which is set to reappear in 2061. I don’t plan to wait around for that one.

Meanwhile, I will continue to stay bundled in sweaters and gloves in the middle of the summer the foggy San Francisco Bay Area, waiting for the sun, sans eclipse, to appear. 

Success at the Fair

One day I really will get a decent picture of Kate the Author

My first outing at a book fair went quite well. I got there in one piece, was able to set up all by myself, and sold a few books. The weather was great, I enjoyed myself, but I did miss walking around and seeing all that was on offer.

The Avenue of Author's was home to a whole block of independent authors; all really great people. I was able to make a quick run done the lane and introduce myself to my fellow clansmen. I only really got to know the people right around me.

Next to me was Kristine Balog , author of Caravaggio; of Oil and Blood. I had looked briefly at her website before the event but didn't read any details about her book. I could probably pick out a Caravaggio painting from a lineup, but that is about the extent of my knowledge of the artist. It wasn't until I started listening in on Kristine's conversations with fair-goers that I became completely enthralled with her story. Connections to the Pope, The Knights of Malta, intrigue and history. It turns out the author is not only an artist herself, but a professor of art history who has been round the world researching the topic. I can't wait to sit down and start on her book!

I also met Sherri Leigh James , author of Girl with a Past -- quite apropos for our setting since her mystery takes place in Berkeley, CA. (Set in the present with ties to Berkeley's hippie heydays of the 60's.) Another book I need to read.

And although I did not run into that elusive Hollywood agent that was going to buy the rights to one of my books, I still have not lost hope. I may just hit the streets again with my own mini-book festival. I had to register for a 90 temporary sellers permit with the state, so why not use it to my advantage?

It always feels great to meet fellow authors who spend their free time pounding out stories for the love of it and in the hopes that they might also be discovered.

I just know that someone on the Avenue of Author's will make the big time!

Bay Area Book Fest

It's almost here! The Bay Area Book Festival in Berkeley, CA kicks off Saturday, June 3rd and runs through Sunday, June 4th.
   They say the weather will be good, but as of now I have my doubts. The fog has been in every morning and it is cold! So if you like that type of weather it will be perfect. If not, wait until around noon or 2pm and the sun should be in evidence. Then again, the weather in Berkeley is always a crap shoot so don't rely on my forecast or that of the pros.
Whatever the clime, it should be loads of fun!

Please drop by and say hello. I'll be stationed across from Provo Park, (aka: MLK-Civic Center Park), on Center St, above MLK Jr.Way.

Bay Area Book Festival

Book Festival 2015

The Bay Area Book Festival will be held on June 3 & 4 in downtown Berkeley, CA.

And this year, I will have my very own table and umbrella. (But only on Sunday, June 4th.)

I hope to run into the writer friends I met over the past two years, as well as all sorts of new people.

It really is a fun weekend. If for no other reason, it is a true delight to walk the streets of downtown Berkeley that are closed to traffic.

Please drop by and say hello!

In Appreciation of March Madness - free ebook

It's that time of the year again; the NCAA Basketball Tournament, better known as March Madness. 

Anyone who watches the Madness has no time for pursuits such as picking up a book to read. But it will all be over in a few short weeks and then where will you be? Going through withdrawal for several more weeks.  

Although Jaz, Tall Men, & Mayhem has nothing to do with college basketball, it does involve the game. It may not replace the Sweet Sixteen, The Elite Eight, The Final Four, and certainly not The Dance, but it is quite entertaining.

Jaz, Tall Men, & Mayhem     (click on title to go to Amazon)
is available for free ebook download March 19 - 22.

Now, I have to get back to the 3 games I am flipping between.

BALI - Free Download

Broadsided in Bali   will be available for free Kindle download, one day only - Feb 25. 

I can't think of a better way to get rid of those cold winter blues, (if you live in the Northern hemisphere, that is), than a trip to Bali with Raquel and Magdalen. Click here for Amazon

Enjoy!

Broadsided in Bali

Broadsided in Bali  has just launched. It is available in paperback on Amazon. 
The Kindle edition will be out before the end of the year and I will be running a giveaway soon.

From the back of the book:

The Island of Bali – it’s everything Raquel and Magdalen could ever dream of in a holiday destination. What could be better than the quaint town of Ubud with its beautiful weather, exquisite artwork, and local charm? Necessities like cutting back on makeup – which tends to melt in the tropics, and ditching heels for trekking sandals, are all part of the journey. After all, having nearly reached retirement age the women can adapt to almost any situation. Forgoing black eyeliner and donning unattractive shoes are minor sacrifices. They don’t even mind that the yoga retreat they booked is strictly vegetarian. At least at the Lotus Yoga Resort & Spa, they aren’t required to participate in Sun Salutations at the crack of dawn; an hour which would be much better spent sipping coffee at a sidewalk café.

But after a full day at the resort, the owner still hasn’t appeared and no one seems to know what has happened. Money problems? Clandestine liaison gone afoul? As much as the friends would like to ignore the situation and get on with shopping and sightseeing, it soon becomes evident that more is awry than simply an absentee proprietress. Like what’s up with the other employees and their odd behavior? Could one of them have done away with the owner? And then there’s that fine-looking scientist who is definitely hiding something. Otherwise, why would he constantly be sneaking in and out of the resort and avoiding conversations?

Magdalen and Raquel set out to investigate the puzzling events at the resort and are soon aided by other concerned guests, including a couple of aging hippies. Together, they hope to find out what has become of the owner without offending the locals or breaking any laws. The last thing any of them wants is to be tagged as a rude tourist. Or worse, land in a foreign jail.

If the ladies could just get everything straightened out, they might have enough time to work on their tans as well as stock up on local artwork before heading back to Los Angeles.

The PC in the DR

I am quite proud of my two years of national service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Brazil. But since that time I haven’t had much contact with the organization or my fellow volunteers. We all lost track of each other shortly after finishing our assignments. Possibly, if the internet had been around back in the late 70’s, more of us would have stayed in touch. I know there are Returned Peace Corps groups all over the US, but that never interested me. I may have even worked in countries where Volunteers had assignments, but not once did I ever think about checking to find out.

For some reason, before I left on this trip, I thought I might see what the PC had going down in the Dominican Republic. I wasn’t thinking about that at all when, during my first week in Santo Domingo, I walked into a small museum that I passed on a small street, intrigued by the sign: 100^th  Anniversary of the Loss of the USS Memphis.  

While I was looking at the pictures and reading the narrative about the ship that was sunk by waves from a hurricane right there in Santo Domingo, I noticed a man, with a load of fancy camera equipment, documenting the exhibition. We got to talking and he told me that he was the one who had set it up through the US State Department. It was also the final day before they took everything down.

I’m not sure how it came up, but I mentioned my PC time in Brazil. He replied that he had been PC Honduras, two years before me. And even more astonishingly, he told me that one of his best friends was in PC Brazil when I had been there. When I got back to the hotel, I looked up his friend’s name and sure enough, he was in the group that arrived six months after me. And although I knew lots of people from that training group, I can’t say I really remember him. We probably did meet one crazy Carnaval week up in Salvador, but a whole lot of cachaça and rum may have slightly blurred my memory of those four days. 

What are the odds that I would just happen to be at a small exhibition far from home, on its last day, at just the right hour, to run into a former PCV who was best friends with another PCV who served in Brazil at the same time as I did? Clearly it was a sign that I should drop by the Peace Corps office in Santo Domingo, just to see how things were these days.

A few days later, the taxi dropped me off at the PC office and I walked up expecting to simply go in and chat with anyone who was around. I got no further than the glass enclosed guard post with three State Department armed guards sitting inside. I leaned back, looked around, and tried to see if maybe I was not where I thought I should be. The guards were not making any effort to let me through.

I quickly realized that they were local hires so began to speak in Spanish. My first question was if I had made a mistake and that maybe this was actually the embassy and not the PC office. When they assured me I was in the right place, I explained that I was ex-PC and wanted to see their set-up and maybe talk to the director. I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said inside the glass office, but they called someone down. Maybe it was the director. It was not. Someone else was called and at this point I was beginning to think I would never be allowed in. This was worse than any embassy security I’d ever been through.

Birthday Celebration: Snow Cones in the Zona Colonial

Finally, about ten minutes later, a man – obviously a PC volunteer or staff member, came down and let me in. I had my bag searched, my passport taken, and I can’t remember if there was a metal detector or not. When I was finally cleared to go in, I must have looked as shocked as I felt. The nice Peace Corps guy smiled. Apparently, ex-PCV’s of my era have similar reactions.

It was just a teensy bit different back in the day, I told him. Generally, when any of us would make it all the way to one of the offices, which might have meant a 24 hour bus ride without air conditioning, we walked in the front door – usually open because of the heat, lit a cigarette and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator.

My host then took me inside the sprawling former house-now-office. I saw a few volunteers and heard them talking of others who might be by. It was not like that in Brazil. You never just “dropped in” to an office; it took major planning. Mostly, it’s because there is quite a difference between the size of the Dominican Republic and Brazil. My first year was in Salvador, Brazil, and we had a small, two person run office in town. My second year, it was a 7 hour night-bus trip to get there. The closest other volunteers, were a day-or-two bus ride away. Basically, I spent the entire second year without running into many other volunteers at all. Obviously, I never once talked to any of them on the phone.

There are a lot of differences today from what it was. Volunteers can actually call each other 24 hours a day, they can Skype home, and they’ll never have to rely on Time magazine – with pages blacked out by state censors, for their weekly news updates.

I think all of us who served back in the pre-tech era would agree that we were the lucky ones. Being totally immersed in a country and its culture is no longer possible in the age of iPhones. I couldn’t do that now, but that’s because I know instant communication is possible. Just look how frustrated I have been over the past month because I haven’t been able to get an internet connection for most of my time here. The thought of having to wait three weeks to three months to get a letter with the latest news from home, and then knowing the return letter might take just as long, (as it did back then), makes me break out in a cold sweat.

Although times have changed, the Peace Corps Volunteers haven’t. They are still fighting the good fight. They still believe that what they do can make a difference in the world, even if that difference is for only one kid in one small town. But I have to believe it is never just one person who benefits from our volunteers. Generally, it’s an entire little community. I, for one, believe that I gained more than I ever gave. I’m fairly sure that the Volunteer’s of 2016 will also appreciate just how much they have taken away from their two years of service. 

 

More power to the Peace Corps. It is America’s best export.

Moving on Down the Road

Juan Dolio

After about a week in Boca Chica, it was time to move a bit farther down the coast. That had been part of the original plan. Roughly, I had figured a week or two in the capitol, two weeks in Boca Chica, and maybe two weeks in Juan Dolio. All three cities are in close proximity; I had no plans of traipsing around the country by myself with 25 kilos of luggage.

I believe I mentioned earlier that I had spent too much time in Santo Domingo. Should have cut that in half.  From there, it was on to the next stop. The first day or two was OK in Boca Chica, but it turned out to be something totally unexpected. I have decided to not write about it in detail until I get back to California…something about processing it all and looking at it from a distance. Although I doubt that will temper my feelings. I am not about to change my position on sex-tourism. Check back in about three weeks for further details.

Juan Dolio was the next place to go. I had researched it a little before leaving and had found this awesome looking hippie hotel, with very affordable rates. I did try to call before I took the twenty minute taxi ride down there, but couldn’t get through. So I arrived at the front entrance and walked in, assuming there would be a room for the night.

Possibly Juan's Front Gate

Since arriving, I have found out that the really busy tourist season begins at the end of November, and until then there is no problem finding accommodation. A few weeks from now, and I’d be competing with all the Italians and Canadians, and French, and maybe some Americans, that spend three to six months a year down here. Especially the Italians.

Everywhere I went in Boca Chica and in Juan Dolio, I ran across business after business – restaurants, coffee shops, and hotels, owned and operated by Italians. It was when I stopped by the only travel agent in town, (Italian – here for 35 years), that I found out how it had all started. Apparently, back in the days of Trujillo, Italian engineers and other professionals were brought in to work on whatever it was they worked on. And then some just stayed, and others came to visit, and I guess the weather here beats Rome in the winter.

But back to the Hippie Hotel. As soon as I walked it I was instantly transported to Berkeley, California, circa 1968. Indian bedspreads on raised seating areas, Indian-themed paintings and Ohms on the walls, hanging baubles – the only thing missing was incense. It felt instantly comfortable. And it didn’t look like there were many guests.

I was shown to a great little room that had even had a tiny kitchen across one wall. Yes, it was a bit the worse for wear, and could have used a good scrubbing and a new paint job, but what can I say? I was back in my late teens and ready to pull out the tarot cards.

Early Morning Viejo J. Dolio

Dumping my bags, and heaving a big sigh of relief noting that there were no hookers in the ground level hippie common room, I took off for a walk around the town.

Not quite reaching the category of town, it was even smaller than Boca Chica. It’s not like one could spend days on end wandering around a new section of the place. Basically, it’s just one road and you can walk the entire tourist area in less than fifteen minutes. After that, there really isn’t anything.

Every day I was there, I passed in front of leftover traces of Spanish construction. Those walls that most likely surrounded a residence are still standing. I never did find out who, exactly, Juan Dolio was, and will research that later if I ever can get an internet connection for more than a few minutes.

(Yes, my connectivity problems continue. It seems that it actually may be my laptop. I have downloaded new driver software and done a million other things, and my computer says everything is just fine. Except that available Wi-Fi connections rarely show up.)

The beach at Juan Dolio is very pleasant at 7AM. Finally, I was able to walk on the sand and look for seashells, while listening to the small waves crash. At that time in the morning it’s serene and quiet with only the clean-up crews picking up all the garbage that had been left from the day before. I think a few garbage cans along the beach might help.

Like with everyplace I seem to go here, I always think, great, I will hang out here until it’s time to return. But then a few days in I start to see how that is not how it’s going to be. Juan Dolio wasn’t nearly as bad as Boca Chica, but it was enough bad to bother me. And I really did like the hippie hotel, but it had some things going on that I couldn’t ignore.

However, the guys who run it were fantastic. It’s a rather large, rambling, sort-of falling apart place, and there is no way that it shouldn’t have a larger staff to take care of things. Basically, it’s only two men who do everything, and a third who does the all-night shift.

The Italian woman, who has owned the place for thirty some-odd years, wasn’t in the country when I arrived. She has several charity organizations that she runs in India. Something to do with girls’ education. It was one of the reasons I had wanted to come to the hotel. She sounded like quite an interesting lady. It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out she spends five months a year in India, and only comes back for the tourist season in Juan Dolio. So she leaves her tiny staff to run everything. I didn’t really mind taking out my own garbage, or going downstairs to get more toilet paper, or not having my room cleaned the entire week I was there. But I did find it concerning that someone would turn their entire business over to others and not provide adequate help, not to mention very little compensation. I no longer have any desire to meet the owner.

As I sat there one day, I realized it was time again to either get a flight back and cut my trip short, or find another place. Punta Cana, a place I would never consider going, was only a three hour bus ride. That was something I did not want o undertake, but I figured I might have to; especially when I found out I couldn’t change my return ticket. But first, I needed to get to a bank to get more money.

There is nothing in Juan Dolio – no post office, no bank, no real supermarket, no local market. As everyone told me, you have to go to San Pedro. But there was a bank in Nuevo (new) Juan Dolio. From the beach in Viejo (old) Juan Dolio, I could see the expanse of tall structures farther along the shoreline. So I hopped on a gua-gua, (mini-bus), and headed on down there.

This was my first bus ride here and I loved it. People jammed in, sweating, bundles of goods down the middle of the aisle, and happy and friendly drivers and fare collectors. A real taste of this country. A few minutes later, I got dropped off on the road into the New J.Dolio, and walked to the bank.

Bird Nests-entrance from below

After that, I walked farther down the street until I came to a larger supermarket than what was in Old J. Dolio. I got a few things and then asked the sales people if they knew of an economical hotel in the area. The pointed the way and I was off.

Walking down the wide street that runs parallel to the beach I nearly stopped in my tracks. (except that would have been stupid in the oppressive heat and humidity.) I gazed out on a street with massive condos on the right, restaurants on the left, with a meridian strip of palm trees and plants. No trace of 500 year old structures here. What was so freaky was that it looked exactly like parts of Phu Mi Hung, the section of Ho Chi Minh City where I had lived for three years.

The Birds

Once I got to the hotel, I was shown quite a luxurious room, with a huge balcony. I negotiated the price down to about $3 more a night than I was paying at the hippie palace. When I returned to the 60’s hotel, I hated telling the guys that I would be leaving the next day, but they understood.

I’m in the new place now, it’s fine, but I wish I would stop using the mind-set of I only have a week and a half until I can leave. What has happened to me? What has happened to this journey? Since I have no other option, I remind myself that I am more than warm and that I better soak it all up, because who knows when I’ll get back to a tropical climate again?

When the Giants Come to Town...

 One of my reasons for travelling to the Dominican Republic was to visit the San Francisco Giants Felipe Alou Academia de Beisbol in Boca Chica. I had no real idea what to expect, or even if I could get past the front gate. Before leaving California, I had tried to contact the Giants’ office in SF and searched for an email address for the academy to see if I could set up something beforehand. That got me nowhere so I knew it would be a storm-the-gates affair.

Every Major League Baseball team has a training facility in the Dominican Republic, most of which are in the area of Boca Chica. From all over Latin America, teenagers, as young as 16 ½ sign with major league teams in the hopes that they will turn out to be the next big superstar. The youngsters live full-time at the academies where they are provided with everything needed to assure their talents are realized: housing, food, training, medical, and English classes.

And of all the academies to try and visit, tops on my list were the hometown favorites. Although I had a ride out to the Giants Academy, it would be up to me to sell myself at the front gate. It turned out that it wasn’t hard at all. Maybe it’s because I look harmless enough, or maybe it’s because I start talking and smiling and don’t give the guard a chance to get a word in edgewise: I’m an American from San Francisco and also a teacher and would like to know if it’s possible to visit the grounds and then possibly talk to someone in your education office about the possibility of working for you. Then again, who really knows what that sounded like in my Espanol?

Luckily for me, the guard got on his walkie-talkie and soon a guy dressed in Giants gear drove over in his golf cart. I then went on to repeat my sales pitch name dropping the Alou brothers and Juan Marichal and how they had been childhood heroes.

One of the fields/Complex in background

That guy turned out to be their equipment manager, Victor Henríquez. I don’t know if it just happened to be him in vicinity when the call went out about the gringa loca at the gate, (my words), but the stars had aligned in my favor. Victor, who has been with the Giants for something like 17 years, was the nicest man you could ever want to meet. He told me to hop in the golf cart and we were off.

I had known that the Giants had opened their new facility this past August, but that was about all I knew.  I was beyond impressed; the place is gorgeous! I’m ready to rent a room there.

Los Hermanos Alou

Victor started the tour by taking me into a main office and introducing me to some man, (whose position I was not quite clear on).I once more dove into my talk about teaching English and asked about any openings. The office guy said I could talk to the education lady a little later on. Meanwhile, I had an academy to see.

While we walked around the facility, I told Victor how I had grown up watching all the greats of Giants baseball. Just in case I had forgotten anything, around every corner there were reminders of my childhood; posters of the Alou’s, Juan Marichal, Orlando Cepeda, Tito Fuentes. I know their names better than many of the US presidents. The new players also had places on the wall; Buster, and Mad Bum, Cueto, and Casilla, lined the dining hall. (that had orange and black chairs….heck, even some of the socket covers were orange.)

Victor next took me into the massive room where the players can relax at the end of a long day. Two giant TV’s took up one wall, comfortable couches and chairs lined up in front of them. On one side were a few Foosball machines and probably a few other items that didn’t register; I was in the slightest bit of shock over the grandeur and beauty of the place. All of this was in a room where the windows, which took up nearly the entire wall, looked out onto the three ball fields.

View from TV room

Continuing the tour, I was shown two large, open and airy classrooms. I briefly imagined myself teaching English in one of them. Their education program includes English and tech and I think there was something like math and science thrown in. (Maybe I should have taken notes.)  

I’ll stop here to say that whoever the architect was, he got it spot on. The entire complex is spectacular. Tons of windows and natural lighting in every square inch of the facility. Cool concrete and light-toned stone floors, high ceilings with visible pipes – part industrial design but retaining an air and flow of that is not at all the cold atmosphere that is sometimes associated with this style of design.

The players sleep in dorm rooms, but these are nothing like the ones known to many a college student. Large, light, airy, with bunk beds. And those beds are double beds. It’s something I would never have thought of; big ball players needing a slightly larger bed than the smaller of us. Possibly, with all those young ones in the room, it might have felt a little tighter, but not by much. They also had desks and chairs.

Chow Hall

The weight and exercise room, with its high ceilings and state of the art equipment, sits on the ground level just steps from the playing fields.  Attached to that are therapy rooms. Just down the way are the offices with floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the playing fields on one side, and into the hallway/reception area on the other. Fish-tankish design that felt comfortable rather than freakish.

The locker room was next. Victor opened the door and invited me in. I hesitated. This, after all, is where the guys change. He assured me that they were all playing so I went in, pulled out my camera, walked to the second row of lockers – and that’s where I saw a guy changing. Luckily for him, he had on shorts, but I high-tailed it out of there.

Victor Henriquez, Equipment Manager

Throughout my tour, Victor told me about his time with the Giants arriving when he was only 19. It was easy to see how he had worked his way up to equipment manager. We went into his office, the equipment room. There, lining the walls, were real live Giants uniforms. I touched them. I have always wondered what the fabric content was. It might be polyester, but it felt darn decent. I am aware that a whole lot of money goes into the research of professional sportswear, but since I had never felt a polyester that I would ever let touch my skin, it was always hard to imagine how anyone could play in the stuff. I guess if you are a professional athlete, they use superior polyesters.

Maybe I stopped jumping up and down and whooping it up towards the end of our tour. Maybe not. The closest I have ever been to anything Giants were a couple of games out at Candlestick. I’ve never even been to AT&T. But I have listened to games on the radio and watched them on TV since I was itty-bitty. To actually walk through and touch part of the hallowed grounds that are team Giants, made my day – if not my entire trip down here.

All the while I kept thinking about my dad. He gave me my love of baseball. I clearly remember him talking about the Latin players and how good they were, and the truly exceptional fact that three brothers had played on the same team, and that team was our Giants.

I also remembered that I was the little girl who desperately wanted to play baseball. Girls had no chance to do so back then. I still have one of the most valued gifts that my dad ever gave me – my own mitt. I found it not too long ago and felt a little sad when I noticed that it had never really seen much action. But then I remembered how my dad knew how much I had wanted one. And when he came home one day and handed it to me, I was over the moon. (I also still have my Willie Mays Louisville Slugger that I got at bat day out at The Stick.)

                                                              —–   

I would be remiss here if I did not talk about the Yankee’s Academy and how I might just have turned into a little bit of a fan. Before anyone out there considers this sacrilege for a Bay Area girl, listen to the tale.

It seems there are baseball players around every corner here, especially in Boca Chica. It’s hard to know if they are yet affiliated with one of the MLB teams, are at a pre-MLB academy, or just play locally. 

Future Stars

The other day I was in line at the supermarket and two players came up behind me with only a large bottle of water. I told them they could go ahead of me. One thing led to another and I found out that they were both from Venezuela and were at the Yankee’s academy. I told them how I wanted to teach English with one of the teams here.  And then we talked about Venezuelan players like Pablo Sandoval, one of my all time favorite players to watch. I asked if they thought it would be possible to visit their camp and they assured me that I would be welcomed.

This had been two days before I went to see the Giants, but the same tactics worked here. This time, it was a little earlier in the morning, so I waited at the front gate for the receptionist to arrive. She took me around a few places and then handed me off to the English department head, Melissa.

I couldn’t have been more warmly welcomed. Melissa was thrilled that a credentialed, experienced teacher was looking for work, and that I seemed to have arrived at the perfect time. She showed me around the wing of the building with its four classrooms, computer room, and materials library. She showed me the curriculum that had been newly developed and I was quite impressed.

Yankees Central, Boca Chica

Prior to arriving in Boca Chica, I had no idea if any of the teams actually had a proper education program in place, and if they did, had no idea what it might be. I soon found out that most, if not all the teams have something in place and that they are all working to improve their programs. When kids leave school at 16 to hunt the dream of a pro career, all else can easily be cast to the wayside. It has only been more recently that the MLB has realized that these kids need, and deserve, a bit more to fall back on should they not be in that tiny percentage that makes it into the big leagues.

Baseball and proper education; what could be better?