The Dominican Republic

Day 1

Getting up at 3am when your life has been filled with going to bed no earlier than 4am for many of your short and youthful years is interesting to say the least.
Chatting with my wife until about 1am, I finally fell asleep to the rustling, screeching and biting sounds of our wrestling cats.

What felt like three seconds later, my alarm was blaring and I was angrily swatting away the condor sized mosquito in my short lived Jumanji jungle dream.

After what was a long, but at least bleary and swervy drive to the airport, I rushed in and made it to the TSA line under the recommended two hours early timeframe to find I was the only one in line.

I breezed right through.

None of that taking your shoes/belt/pants/underwear off for me. It was all “Come on through, can we get you a beverage? Would you like a magazine to read while you’re here? How about a nice warm cookie? Is there room in your morning for a hug?”

Total and utter forking bullshirt.

Obviously I was still asleep.

As I woke up again, being forcibly strip searched by what looked like a kindly old granny with a detention fetish, I was sharply rapped on the forehead with a crochet covered baton, told I had a little pee pee and shamefully dismissed with a tiny, liver spotted hand to go put my clothes back on.

At least there was no coffee to be had in the detaining/boarding area. It was far too early at KCI for that sort of nonsense.

So, with my head lolling back and forth as I tried desperately to sit upright and remain awake, I waited for my flight.

As we were called to board, I realized that months ago when I booked this flight I had opted for first class as a present to myself for my 50th birthday and man, was I right.

I was treated like royalty.

As soon as I sat down, Kelly LaBrock (or at least her look alike) asked me if I wanted anything to drink and I opted for coffee since although it was the first day of my vacation, it was still 5:45 in the morning and I didn’t want Kelly thinking I was a raging alky.

Three coffees, a bag of mixed nuts and a sly, sleepily wiping of the slobber off of the side of my chin later, we landed in Miami.

My buddy of 24 years and fellow 50 year old birthday boy Todd was waiting there to head to the DR with me.

We shook hands, gave a warm hug and headed to the nearest Irish pub for Irish coffee, Irish bangers, Irish whiskey, and Irish drinking songs.

Once the singing began we were promptly escorted to the plane and asked delicately but firmly to “never come back” followed by a mumbled “what the $&#% is wrong with you two…?”

The flight was delightful and filled with real glasses and gen-u-ine Woodford reserve along with warm snacks, back rubs, offers of precious stones and a hula show.

Being unaware that hula was a tradition in the DR I was duly impressed.

As it turns out, it’s not.

One of the passengers had just been to Kona and was showing off his new grass skirt and coconut “Bro” (Had me totally fooled)

Upon arrival at Santiago I made
It through immigration (Stopping to put my clothes back on. What is it with these guys?!?!), picked up my luggage and walked outside to the wall of heat.

I immediately regretted putting my clothes back on.

My friend John was there to greet us and we loaded up his 1927 Mitsubishi Montero and headed over the mountains to his new place.

Now, some of the roads in the DR are fairly similar to the offroads in the DR so you need to keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road.

After just a few minutes of this John said “Could you two get in the back and take your hands off the wheel? I’m trying to drive here, the wheel’s only so big and you’re crowding me.”

About halfway to the new homestead we stopped for beers at the local gas station/bar.

Much like Cuba, In the Dominican Republic if you have a broom closet that opens to the street or a tin shack with a removable front wall, you can also have a bar.

There was the gas station bar, the barber bar, the mechanics bar, the laundromat bar, the church bar, the police station bar, the local DMV bar and the bar bar (this was a bar with another bar in it. Very avant-garde. I believe construction was underway on another bar just outside.)

Back on the road we continued our sightseeing tour of the mountainous area leading to Luperón and the view was spectacular. Asking what all of the giant boulders were on the side of the road I was informed that when it rained, apparently it also rained Volkswagen sized boulders and the water washed them right onto the road.

Seriously, there was heavy equipment right there standing by to move them off the road.

I plan on keeping a close eye on the sky while at Johns house.

Finally arriving at la hacienda we unpacked the bags and promptly toured the grounds. John is obviously and rightfully proud of his new place.

It is spectacular.

An amazing house, a guest house, a six foot stone and stucco wall the surrounds the property, fruit trees of all kinds (wax apples, almonds, limes, bananas, papaya, avocados, cashews etc.) and of course John is working on it every day to see his vision of the property to fruition. He talks about the land like a proud papa.

Drinks in hand. We walked back to the veranda with its panoramic view of the ocean and settled in for the night.

It had been a big day.