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How about this for a Saturday..... I was up at 6.20, a lie in because it was the weekend. 

After a coffee and breakfast I was out the door and a quick walk down to Gerry’s house to pick up his truck so I could move all my tools and materials out of my old workshop and into my new.

We have shortages of many things here now, rice, bread, coffee, sugar and car batteries, to name just a few.  Gerry’s truck was missing a battery so it was a case of borrowing the battery out of the Cadillac parked next door. This was not the first time this had been done.  Battery swiftly changed over and the truck started first time. Cool. 

I ran up to my other friend's apartment, the one who offered to help me move, and knocked on his door. No answer. I called him. He was badly hung-over and suggested I should move on Sunday. Fuck that! I’ll go on my own I thought. 

I had already moved the biggest tools over to the loading ramp so it was a simple, but still strenuous task to load them into the truck. It took two trips to get all the big, heavy stuff moved then, remembering Gerry’s warning, I decided I should go and put gas in the truck and, just as I was leaving El Yaque, the truck died. Shit.

The truck rolled to a stop in the middle of the village plaza; it was midday and I had been driving with the windows up and the air conditioning on full blast. As soon as the engine died the air-con switched off, along with all the other electrics, including the electric windows and I immediately began to sweat. It was at this moment that I discovered that all the door handles on the inside were broken and, since I couldn’t open the windows, I was basically trapped inside the rapidly heating up truck.

Staying calm I looked about for someone who could help but at this time of day the streets were empty. With sweat pouring off by head and body I clambered about in the truck looking for some way I could get out. Finding nothing I sat back in the driver’s seat and waited, hoping someone would pass by soon.

Fortunately about ten minutes later I saw my friend Jairo walking down the street and as he came level with the truck I hammered on the window and shouted as loud as I could to get his attention. The sound proofing on these Grand Blazers must have been pretty good as he almost walked right past me but at the last moment he glanced in my direction the hurried over the road to open the door with a quizzical look on his face.

As I jumped down from the truck, in a shower of my own sweat I explained to him about the door handles and thanked him for his help. 

Opening the hood I removed the battery, weighing about 50lbs, then walked the roughly three quarter mile back to Gerry's house to put it back in the Cadillac and go get gas. This accomplished I returned to the truck, put the gas in and tried the ignition. No joy. I tried a couple more times but not wanting to kill the only battery I had I decided to call it a day and head back to Gerry's house. 

I told him that his truck was parked on the road down in the village and I should be able to get it towed with the help of another friend a bit later on. I called the other friend to ask the favour but he was having his own shit day and said no. Fuck. I was soaked with sweat, tired and I was a bit fed up with the unnecessarily difficult day I was having. Thinking that I should tackle something achievable to salvage some success from the day I decided to go buy some fruit in the local town. 

I should have taken the hint from the day's events and just gone home but you know me, I never do the easy thing. Off I went to El Espinal (the spine) a town just a few miles away and to my favourite fruit stall. I bought fresh Pineapple, Lime, Passion Fruit, Banana and Plantain. I got back in the car, turned the ignition and..... nothing. 

The car I was driving was in a serious accident a couple of years before and certain bits were still really bent so it was a major game to open the hood. Fortunately the chap who was working on the fruit stall is a solid human and he helped me wriggle the battery connections until the old Caddy sprang to life. Off I rolled. 

By this time it was about 3.30. 

Anybody who has lived on Margarita knows that around this time on a Saturday afternoon almost everyone on the road, with the exception of the odd pedestrian, is completely wasted. I mean it's terrifying man! There is no such thing as the Highway Code here. I don't think there is a single driving school in this country. I will leave the rest to your imagination. 

I took the turn off the airport road and on to the Yaque road with trepidation, which was well founded as it turned out. The 4 miles which followed were adrenaline filled. You know I like adrenaline but I have had enough of the adrenaline brought on by the prospect of vehicular manslaughter by a drunk behind the wheel of a poorly maintained car. On the straight I had to brake sharply a couple of times as oncoming cars weaved onto my side of the road only to weave back at the last possible moment. It was nerve-racking so I took the wiggly bits at about 30 and breathed a deep breath of relief as I made it through without catastrophe. On the approach to the village, I saw the road block. 

I just knew they were gonna have me, knew it. Sure enough, as I rolled past the three National Guard accompanied by the one police officer and called out a pleasant *"buenas tardes"* I heard the ominous *“hermano, parate y ponte pal lado.”* (“brother, pull over and stop”) I've been through this many times as a passenger and once or twice after being caught doing something I shouldn't have on the beach, but never as a driver. I stopped and waited. One National Guardsman was accompanied by a cop and arriving at my side they asked me to turn the engine off and step out of the car.

Now there’s something you should know about the cops here. Their primary objective in all situations like the one I found myself in is to extort as much money out of the driver and passengers as possible. This is made easier for them as soon as you step out of the car and it is not uncommon for them to plant drugs in the car which they will then ‘find’ giving them all the leverage they need to extract the aforementioned cash from the unlucky driver. One need not worry too much about actually getting arrested as this would severely reduce the cop’s chances of getting paid but on this particular afternoon I was in no mood for this kind of bullshit.

Staying sat in the car I reached into the glove box and fished out the vehicle’s documentation then handed them to the attending guardsman. He perused the documents for a moment or two during which I decided I wouldn’t point out that he actually had them upside down then he asked me again to get out of the car and to hand over my ID. I told him that I was too tired to get out of the car and my ID was still being processed by immigration so I didn’t have it on me. I knew it was a dangerous game I was playing as these guys do expect to be obeyed but as I said, I was in no mood.

The guardsman was young and I realized that the whole roadblock was a training exercise, this didn’t mean it was any less serious but it did mean that I was dealing with an inexperienced guard so I pushed my advantage by saying *“Officer, I live here in the village, I’m the local carpenter, I’ve had a really long day and I’m pretty sure your boss knows me.”* The last bit was a lie but sometimes you have to bluff a little and fortunately for me this statement prompted him to return my documents and send me on my way.

I took a deep breath and thanked my lucky stars that the encounter had gone my way, it didn’t always. I rolled sedately down the street and rounding the corner at the end of the plaza I saw Miguel sat at his usual table having a beer. I pulled up and asked if he would mind towing Gerry’s truck up to his house once he’d finished his beer. *“Of corsh!”* He said, and I knew he was drunk. 

Taking a seat at the table I enjoyed a couple of ice cold beers and felt that I deserved them. It had been a tough one but with only a short tow to end the day’s activities I felt I could relax. 

About an hour later Miguel decided he was drunk enough to tow the truck so hopped on his motorcycle and tore off down the street to fetch his pick-up. I paid my bill and, leaving the car where it was I walked over to the truck to wait for Miguel.

I knew better than to try to help Miguel as he bustled around tying on what looked to me to be a totally inadequate towing strap. You know the kind of thing that truckers use to tie down their loads; well it was like that only a lot thinner. The Blazer weighs about two tonnes and I had my doubts but as I said, it’s better not to bother Miguel when he’s working.

All was prepared to his satisfaction and he climbed into his pickup as I stepped into the Blazer. Ensuring that the wheels were correctly aligned I waited, and waited. I could see Miguel moving agitatedly in the driver’s seat and would find out later that he dropped his keys and got irritated trying to fish them out from under his seat. This accomplished the engine roared to life and the pick-up shot forward instantly snapping the strap.

The pick-up continued forward and crashed into one of the bollards lining the street. Fortunately the damage was minor but this did nothing to lessen Miguel’s ire. There followed a frenetic ten minutes as he, swearing creatively, re-attached the strap, doubled this time and re-mounted for the second attempt. This time he pulled away slowly and off we rolled. 

Although we were travelling at walking pace I was still a nervous wreck. The streets were lined with parked cars and, being a Saturday the village was full of people. Nevertheless we made it as far as the bottom of the hill on which Gerry’s house sits before the strap parted once again. This time it was completely shredded so I allowed the truck to roll back a little so as to park on the side of the road.
  
I accepted defeat, deciding that I would fight this day no more we both mounted Miguel’s pick-up and calmly rolled back to the bar. 

Life on a Caribbean Island is not all hammocks and sunshades :D