Stupid Dingo: 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