la romaine’s sweat and chaos, and why i’m still here

i didn’t plan to write this post. i just woke up in a hotel room with a fan that sounds like a dying spaceship and a view of the ocean that’s basically a sleeping bag full of waves. if you check the weather app right now, it’s 31 degrees, feels like 30, humidity so thick it could probably make a cheeseburger cry. i didn’t pack sunscreen today. big mistake.

last night, i heard a local at the market yelling about how the beach is cursed because the same driftwood shows up every few days. don’t believe him. i saw a monster octopus last week and it was holding a frisbee. maybe that’s why the heat feels supernatural. i just checked and it’s...there right now, like the air is literally humming. hope you like that kind of thing.

the neighbors? let’s call them the crowd. if you get bored, dominican cities are just a short drive away. not that i’ll leave this heat. i heard that if you listen closely at night, the ocean whispers secrets. maybe that’s why some people say it’s haunted. someone at a bar told me that the waves here carry whispers of old sailors. i’m not sure if that’s true. i’m too busy sweating to fact-check.

i passed by this tiny food truck today and the owner was trying to sell me a mango soup with a spoon made of palm leaf. i don’t know if it’s genius or cursed. i heard that the chef once cooked with his bare hands for three days straight and ended up with a sunburn that looked like a tribal tattoo. don’t ask me why.

here’s a map of where i’m currently regretting trusting that traffic app:

the blue dot is me, probably lost. if you click it, it’ll probably take you somewhere equally random.

i took three photos. one of a cactus that looks like it’s judging me, one of a kid selling bracelets on the sidewalk, and one of a mural that features a giant chicken wearing sunglasses. here they are, unavoidably stretched:

i asked a coffee vendor why he only serves one type of bean. he said it’s because the other beans are too ‘pretentious.’ i don’t trust him. i heard that the last time he changed his beans, his wife quit. don’t ask me what that means. probably something about cinnamon.

a review i overheard claims that the seafood place near the beach is run by a ghost chef. the proprietor denied it. said he once cooked for a tourist who disappeared after eating the octopus stew. i think it’s a metaphor. probably. if you Google 'la romaine ghost stories,' you’ll find 473 versions of this tale. i stopped counting at three.

i’m still here. kind of like how the heat stays. no plans to leave. if you find me tomorrow, i’ll probably be drinking a smoothie that costs $5 and tastes like regret. check out the 'la romantica food tours' page for tips on surviving this zone. maybe don’t visit at midday. i think that’s a local tradition.

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