Playa Rincon and Las Galeras

The palms and Caribbean water lured us from our bed sheets at Villa Serena and out onto the veranda to take in the scene. The morning breeze ruffled the palms, not quite loud enough to obscure the loud mechanical click of the door locking behind us. Thankfully, because our veranda was quite public, Shelly and I had grabbed a chemise and shorts respectively - accented with cameras - so we were not entirely embarrassed. We laughed for a bit, but realizing no one was on the grounds to appreciate our folly, Brent decided it best to save himself. So he jumped the railing and made his way barefoot and topless across the sheet metal roof before leaping to the ground. Finding the staff in the lobby, he apologized for his casual attire and with chagrin requested a spare key to save his trapped bride.


Wow, We're Staying Here?


Plantation House


Locked Out


Breakfast View


Pick Your Piscina


Brochure Worthy

Though a fairy tale beginning, that wasn't the reason for our visit to Las Galeras. We had come for Playa Rincon, one of the best beaches in the world. We made arrangements for a small open dingy to swing by the beach in front of the hotel after breakfast. The ride there was fast, but not reckless, in the mildly choppy sea. The beach was everything we had imagined, plus a few local capitalists having braved miles of deeply rutted roads to vend their wares on opposite ends of the beach.


Contemplative


Alone


Steps


Frothy with Nuts

The south end of Playa Rincon, where we landed, held two permanent buildings as well as vending tables and chairs for rent. Then for nearly two miles there was nothing but coconut palms, a soft sandy beach and aquamarine water interspersed with reef. We walked the beach slowly arriving at the far end to Rio Frio - a self-describing cold river. We enjoyed a refreshing dip, curiously accented by what appeared to be a tropical Chris McCandless who waded the river wordlessly beside us caring over his should hobo-style a stick with a large blanket bulging with coconuts. He was the sole westerner at this end but not the sole person. The Dominicans were friendlier. We swam together and then made our way to one of several temporary restaurants composed of concrete blocks and tarps supported by sticks.  The vendors worked in concert to make a sale and three separate individuals profited from our Presidente, Pina Coladas and coconut milk bread.

We consumed our carbs on the beach while watching a man scale a palm tree to harvest coconuts. The day passed lazily. Halfway down the beach we stretched out in the shade of a palm to read. It felt like a Corona commercial. Only later did we learn that Bacardi films advertisements at Playa Rincon.


Rio Frio con Garbage


The Infamous Shorts


This Isn't Photoshopped, Honest


Sandscript


Just Flipped


Real?


Well Red


Time to Leave Paradise

In the late afternoon with storm clouds threatening, we made our way back to the hotel by boat. Changing quickly, we borrowed bikes and set off for town. It was delightful fun to be on two wheels again and we flirted our way through Las Galeras - Shelly rocking Caribbean cycle chic in a calf length skirt. Our intent was to purchase suntan lotion but we came up with nothing at the local stores, though it made for a good tour of town. Our quest eventually directed us to the one resort and into a downpour - arriving drenched to be sequestered by security personal.  Naturally Shelly befriended them and we had a good time hanging out under the terrace as the rain fell.  After twenty minutes, we decided suntan lotion was now superfluous.  The rain had slowed and we made our way back into town and the pizzeria. We were welcomed with a handshake and hug, Jurassic Park on the tv and good pizza for the money.


Arrozeria


Movement


Hee Hee


Caribbean Cycle Chic

After dinner, music from the park beckoned us. Instead of biking home, we found ourselves amidst a Sunday night party in the park with bachata blaring, a boules game underway and a delightful sand road weaving between the palms beside the ocean. We pedaled through the scene as the sun set, arriving as dusk fell at a promontory Brent dubbed "Argyle Point" where the waves met the shore in a crosshatched pattern.


Leaning for Ray


Uniquely Curvaceous


Cycleglow

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Samaná

We weren't sure of the plan for the day - we hoped to make Samaná by nightfall, but truthfully our research was lacking. We reviewed the possibilities discovering the direct bus had left at 7:30AM. It was nearly ten. We began piecing together other options. The chef who grew up in Samaná remembered a small bus stopping at 2:30 in Cabarete. One of the owners found a bus from Sosúa that left at 2:00. He called and confirmed the bus with the tour company. The chef disappeared and having confirmed the bus, we threw our lot in with the owner.  We made reservations on the phone at a place with good reviews in Las Galeras at the end of the Samaná Peninsula and set off for a guagau to Sosúa.

We overpacked unseemingly. Three overflowing bags and the taxi drivers couldn't help but pounce. Shelly talked one driver down to 10 USD. We'd paid six for the guagua from Sosúa to Cabarete two days previous so in our rush to catch the bus it seemed reasonable so I persuaded Shelly to hop in.

Twenty minutes later we were at Caribe Tours Sosúa. There was no bus. Not today. Not ever. The only bus was the morning bluebird. Lost and without options we made our way to the eastbound side of the street to find our way bey guagau. If we were lucky we'd make Samaná by nightfall. Las Galeras looked unlikely.


Waiting

The taxi drivers smelled blood and vied for our attention, but the lowest Shelly could bargain to Samaná was nearly one hundred USD. Too much. We settled down on a wall beside the road. One helpful taxi driver insisted we wait for what he called an express gaugau that offered direct service to Samaná over the local options that would require stopping at every intersection and changing vans several times. He swore it would stop by at 1:30 or 2:00. So we waited. This time the Dominican promises were true and he leapt to his feet around two, pointing and shouting at the guagua as it arrived.

The express gaugua was crowded when we boarded and the condition worsened as we traveled east. The stops were few, but humorously the first stop was indeed in Cabarete at 2:30 right outside of Hotel Alegria as the chef had predicted. More people piled on at future stops, such that after a half hour I moved to the back seat with Shelly so we were four abreast. Soon every seat had at least three. At Rio San Juan the driver picked up two more and insisted on moving our bags to the roof, fastened only by a single cord with a slip knot at each end. Shelly and I at this point had exchanged "seats" - really parts of a seat as sitting with your hips square was not possible. If not in Rome, one would complain. In fact, the Romans did start complaining. In Nagua two more passengers boarded. One row now held six people, four adults and two children - one child nearly ten. In all I think there were twenty-one souls aboard this van. Sacks of fruit and luggage covered the roof. The speed rarely dropped below 50 mph despite potholes, traffic and the occasional animal in the roadway. And this was good because in the ninety plus degree heat and humidity when the van was forced to stop, the occupants inside became quickly soaked with sweat, some of it their own.

My seat was mostly a metal bar at the far end of the rear seat. I found I was most comfortable by accepting the bar's condition between my cheeks. For big bumps I was able to wedge my right fingers into a small hole in the upper corner of the van's metal (an old light perhaps, there was exposed wiring in the hole) and rock up on my toes so that the collisions with my tailbone were minimized. Meanwhile we had left the "paved" roads, (which I quotate because the potholes and washed out sections were nearly as common as pavement) and were now careening down dirt washboard. At one point we put twenty one passengers into a drift around a blind corner, not that slowing for blind corners is a guagua trait, but on dirt where stopping is not an option this behavior is more concerning. Of course I enjoyed all these scenes in reverse as I expected at any moment our bags would break free of the single cord and go hurtling off the back. Guaguas and Latin American driving really does drive home how we westerners under-utilize our vehicles.

The drive was long and brutal. Many foo-foo tourists wouldn't have stomached the heat, cramped quarters and especially the bar up the ass. We arrived in Samaná over four hours later to a scene resembling a movie set on a Congolese boat dock. The adjoining flea market overlapped the outdoor bus station. Amidst this commotion were boys running around with aluminum baseball bats over their heads with a determined gait - alarming my suspicion. Thankfully, the arrival of a tall boy holding a gold metal aloft satisfied the now cheering throng. He was one of the Dominican stars from the Little League World Series and the boys vied for his attention, eager to get their bats autographed.


Samaná Bus Station


Baseball Star Welcomed Home

Our transfer in Samaná was rapid. The last guagua for Las Galeras was leaving immediately, and we were off on the worst roads we had yet experienced. Some of these potholes and small streams were bad enough to slow our driver to a crawl. With our speed reduced the poverty became more direct. Cinder block and rotting wood frame buildings without doors, trash covering the yards and a seeming purposelessness of the residents who sat on their doorsteps watching our passing.


Motorconcho


Hilltop East of Samaná

It was after dark when we entered Las Galeras, a fishing village working through its first gentrification - a combination backpacker/ecoluxury makeover resulting in upstart cafes, cigar shops and a french pasteria homesteading at the main intersection.

Unaccustomed to the town, I must admit some undeserved apprehension as we made our way down the streets overloaded with bags past locals we could not make out in the darkness. The long road led to an almost fairy tale ending, darkened only by the stain of slavery on the plantation house that met my startled eyes. It felt almost Virginian: the long walk down its front expanse to a central foyer until the illusion was upended by a Sound of Music stairway leading down to a tropical garden, pool and the sea, accented by a single small island with a cluster of palms - perfectly framed by the veranda arch. It was opulent, serendipitous to our long ride, and it made one shake the head to clear the fog and reassure oneself that the present was not a dream.

It was too much. Though we appreciated the luxurious embrace, it felt uncomfortable. We had to depart quickly for dinner in town at a small local pizzeria, sharing the satellite television with locals, a tourist or two, and the vivacious owner. We returned later to the garden fronting the sea, finally opening our good airplane karma champagne on the lawn in the company of a sand crab who entertained us with his bravado.


Crab


Sneaking Up


Moonrise


Lunarglow

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Cabarete

Relaxation was the focus today after the hurried travel of the day previous. Come morning we strolled the beach to breakfast at the German bakery Panaderia Dick in downtown Cabarete. The highlight was an apple danish I took with us to the beach. There we found chairs and camped out for the afternoon simply lounging, swimming, reading and journaling.


Kite Boards


Pensive


Whatcha Looking At?


Grin

At some point in the afternoon a beach vendor decided to spend the better part of an hour with us and after much haggling managed a sale - a simple ring that Shelly decided would be her traveling wedding band. We didn't take our rings on vacation, so this would be her trekking, camping, biking, hiking, gardening (you know most of our life) ring.


New Wedding Band


Cooling


Hottie at Alegria


Ocean Front View At Hotel Alegria** Some Trees Apply

It was a simple day, spent almost entirely on the beach watching the kite boarders. We took another long walk in the evening into the more Dominican part of town back off the coast. Our wanderings eventually brought us around to the beach and a surf shop, that converted into a restaurant/bar at night. The vibe, under the large grass roof was good and we forked into some traditional Dominican fare. Mangu, a dish the texture of mashed potatoes, but made with plantains was the culinary hit of the evening. A giant pitcher of mojitos for only a couple bucks made sure the mangu washed down.


Cabarete Beach Bars


Surfshop/Bar



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27 Charcos del Río Damajagua

At first light we stashed our bags with Ariën and Diana, the Casa Valeria owners, and headed off to catch our first guagua. Any attempt to describe the experience will fall short, but I will make the attempt.

Build your own Guagua:

1. Take One Minivan.
2. Bald tires. Add brush guard front, rear and side. Decorate with colorful graphics and curtains if budget allows. Complete with a loud, but not necessarily good stereo.
3. Pack as many seats as you think in your American brain will fit and then add chairs that flip down across all passages for extra seating.
4. Pipe reggaetón as loud as the speakers will allow and then increase volume by two to ten decibels. Hire a friend to chófer, hanging sometimes in, sometimes out of the van's sliding door whistling and yelling at pedestrians to join the parties inside and banging morse code commands on the van's sides to the driver - a far more reliable method than using your words given the decible at which reggaeton must be consumed for successful guagua travel.
5. Top with repititious horn beeping at anyone on two feet and cover part of the windshield with multiple stickers to Jesus and saints for the van's protection.
6. Finally drive as if Jesus is indeed guiding the van's movements:
   • Need to pass and a car is coming the other way? No worries they will get over.
   • Car coming with motorconcho beside it? No worries car will get out of the way and the motorconcho will duck out (a motorconcho is a small dirtbike for hire with up to five passengers, really worth a separate entry to fully appreciate)
   • Cars coming the other way and an oncoming driver also passing with motorconchos on both shoulders? Jesus will protect. Pass the truck before you anyway. Like the loaves and the fishes the road will expand to make room. And somehow it does.

And so we arrived at twenty-seven charcos (waterfalls) two guagua rides later. The second was somewhat less frantic and better yet air conditioned, but still included five gallon jugs of motor oil on board.

Veinte Siete Charcos del Río Damajagua (Twenty-Seven Waterfalls of the Damajagua River) is the site of twenty seven waterfalls you can with a guide scramble up through and around before jumping, sliding and swimming your way back down through chutes, falls, cliffs and pools all in a tropical rainforest.


Cannonball at the 27th


Cowabunga


Sure I'll Take Good Care of Her Dad


Happy Girl


Under the 16th?


Paradise


Shel's Log Impression


Big Kid Slide


The day could easily have been beyond this world incredible, and is was awesome.  It was unfortunate that Buco, our guide took much of the punch out of the experience. Taciturn, we had to work to break Buco out of his shell and even Shelly with her Spanish never really succeeded, save two short conversations about tipping well. He claimed to have had this job for twelve years, but while other guides were animated and all smiles in our brief encounters, Buco morosely trudged on as little more than a compass and timer hurrying upstream and rushing through the descent. As we halted one moment to enjoy the beauty he frantically waved us along quipping, "Hurry I am hungry." Hungry he might be, but in the DR being a guide for tourists is a very, very good gig. I doubled our tip out of pity not because he deserved any favors. The whole march he directed killed much of the enjoyment of what should have been a spectacular experience and that was a pity.

Many parts were memorable. You don't forget leaping fifteen meters into a canyon pool not ten feet wide. Judging by the other enthusiastic guides we met on our descent our experience was atypical and unfortunate.

Free from Buco, we worked to get our groove back on the return guaguas which went smoothly together, hitching a ride on the roadside and transferring in busy Puerto Plata. Returning to our bags at Casa Valeria in Sosúa we received some assistance from Ariën and Diana and booked lodging in Cabarete at Hotel Alegria for the next two nights. Another guagua ride took us nearly to the door, us and our three bags all piled into the back seat with us, one of which I balanced on my shoulder. The trip was our most aggressive ride yet with some passes defying physics and clearly completed by faith alone.

Hotel Alegria was very nice. No Casa Valeria, but there was a room available on the third floor with an ocean view (through the trees). The American owners are nice ex-hippies and the Dominican staff friendly.

We unpacked and restocked on water, soda and rum at the corner store. The sun's shadows were getting long as we heading out for a long four plus mile jaunt on the beach highlighted by hundreds of kite boards - each kite unique. Our walk was highlighted by the startling interruption of twenty horses driven down the surf past us.


Glass


Sun Shine


Loved


Equine Saturation


Liquid


As night fell we made our way back to the main beachfront bars in Cabarete, illuminated by torches and lights of every design. The moon challenged by the display rose to the occasion: first an orange mirage peaking above the clouds and finally a bright white pelota casting shadows of the palms on the sand.

We settled on Onno, a beachfront cafe whose large stuffed cushions surrounding wooden crates for tables enthralled Shelly and she lounged with her drink lasciviously. Were it not for her skort, her modesty may have been questioned in such recline. As it was my attention to conversational details was certainly impeded.


Chill


Onno


Glow


Condensation


We ended the night back at the hotel, on the rooftop in the breeze. We shared some dark rum and diet pepsi and planned the next day's adventures on the iPod before retiring for night.


Usar Protección


Done




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