Tranquilo to Reglas – the Price of Progress

Our Odyssey begins by the side of the road on the north coast of the Dominican Republic, a peaceful stretch of the universe where grandmothers walk down the side of the road, mopeds scream by, an occasional burro saunters through a cow field, and cars and trucks vie for preeminence on the tightrope of the yellow line in the middle of the highway.

We arrived slowly, limping on our undersized spare tire composed mostly of rust and showing even more age than ourselves. The music at the gomero was already loud, and the gentlemen shouted a greeting. It wasn’t clear who worked there and who was visiting a friend. It’s entirely possible they were all doing both. We pointed at the spare tire. They smiled and started setting out plastic chairs.

By the time the next song came on, the jeep was jacked up, and we started dancing to the music. Our hosts laughed, smiled, turned up the music. Some clapped along; some started filming the gringos dancing while others tended to our car. When I stooped to help move a hose out of the way, one young man detached himself from the crowd to give us a fist bump and teach us a new word…

Tranquilo

Just as it sounds, Tranquilo conveys the essence of the Dominican Republic and the beautiful people who live there.

Reglas

I’m not sure if we realized how much we had loved and settled into Tranquilo until we left—until we arrived in the world of Reglas—rules and regulations. Sometimes it takes leaving a place to realize what you had there.

Colombia is strikingly beautiful. The people are notably polite and helpful. The roads are straight and well ordered. But it is not Tranquilo. It is not governed by the essence of friendly relaxation; it is ruled by Reglas. Antithetical to the old world way of depending on one’s word to make agreements, Colombia is built on fine print and red tape. And the result is palpable stress in human interactions.

Take our rental car experiences in each country as a case study:

Rental Cars – the Colombian Way

In Bogota, we made the inane choice to wait until the end of Semana Santa to book our rental car. Any Colombian in his right mind was full of fried plantain chips, arepas, and spiked fruit tea by 5 PM on a Saturday night. So it’s not surprising that all of our phone calls and internet searches for an open office turned up empty—somehow, when we made our plans, we didn’t realize they required us to rent a car on Easter Sunday.

Yet, when we cried a desperate plea to the Senora at the front desk, she produced a phone number within minutes.

ABC Rental Company. We were so grateful for their attendance to our needs! They began by asking what we needed. Then they requested photos of our passports and IDs after laying out prices and terms. They sent pictures of the two available cars and apologized for any inconveniences to our schedule. They promised to be in the office at noon the following day for us to pick up a vehicle.

On Easter Sunday, the agent opened her door just for us. Bless her! And then began the most protracted car rental process since the invention of the internal combustion engine. She asked for our passports again, filled out paperwork in triplicate for an hour while we silently watched news reports of fires, robberies, deaths. Bueno, almost there. But not.

Another hour of digits scrawled on papers and transferred to the computer. An explanation of why our car can’t travel within the city during certain hours. A thorough inspection of any and all scratches on the paint, as well as an indication of all the car’s buttons and safety features. Then some more discussion of where it is and isn’t safe to drive in Colombia and an admonition to not stop by the side of the road for any reason. Some more about the security deposit and another look at our passports. An explanation that we needed to clean the car before returning it and a reminder about the operating hours.

In the end, we got the car. Our hostess was kind, and we are grateful. But the whole experience felt like it was conducted from inside a box. Constrained. And uncomfortable.

Three days after returning the car, I’m still getting emails asking to approve invoices for amounts already paid.

Rental Cars – Dominican Style

In the DR, we sifted through a handful of cars during our time there. I texted a friend, and a car arrived the next day. Her husband dropped the keys in my hand while I sat by the pool. He said it takes propane, not gas, gave me a fist bump, and walked away. We hadn’t settled on a price yet. I didn’t sign anything. No ID. No payment. No credit card. Just the keys to a car.

I went to check it out. It was dope—dark tinted windows, lowered withing inches of the pavement, and with random stuff hanging from the mirror. If I were twenty years younger and weren’t in a country with cow-swallowing potholes, I would have loved it. We enjoyed it for a while, but over a couple of weeks, it bottomed out one too many times, and I had to let it go.

I texted my friend again. Another guy came by, swapped out the keys—for a jeep this time—and stayed for a coffee.

This one made weird noises when we tried to go over forty. But that’s okay, you shouldn’t go very fast on these roads anyway.

It broke down by the side of the road only once (and got one flat tire, shrug). But once it started to stutter all the time, we texted our friend a third time. This time the owner swapped it out for his personal car, a silver sedan with basketball-orange interior. No suspension, and the windows were primarily one-way-down, but it got us where we wanted to go.

Somewhere along the line, we paid some money. Still no IDs. No paperwork. Then, as we got ready to fly out of the Dominican Republic, we texted the owner and asked if maybe we could leave the car at the airport—two and a half hours away. He warmly inquired how our family was, if we were well, and said sure, his brother would meet us at the curb. And he did. With a smile and a fist bump. We were late, as we so often are. We apologized, as we so often do.

He just smiled and said, “Tranquilo.”

We received one more text from the owner before our flight left. It wasn’t a receipt or confirmation of payment. It wasn’t a damage report or comment on the gas level. It was a wish that our family be well and healthy, and that we have a wonderful trip.

Tranquilo.

The Price of Progress

So here is my question: Do orderly roads require two-hour car rentals? Does economic prosperity necessitate stiff politeness? Does red tape grow best when watered with potable tap water?

And lastly, do rules make a culture, or does a culture make rules?