Samana to Cap Cana

The Samana Peninsula has one of the world's most beautiful beaches according to Conde nast. I would hate to be the one making that sort of call, you will inevitably make more enemies than friends.

Eva at one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, Playa Rincon, Samana DR.

The roads are really nice, and wind through the mountains, and small villages, and at perfect intervals, "Bam!", a spectacular view of mountain, valley, and ocean, all rolled together like a Twinkie. We planned our day-drives to be loops, returning to the marina at the end of each day. The area called Terrenas was very touristy although naturally beautiful. If you like getting a little-for-a-lot, this is your kinda place.

The beach at Las Terrenas.

Las Terrenas.

What happens when you have more money than sense? A boat building!

You can tell that you have city kids by how impressed they are when they see a cow. The closer the cows are to the fence, the more excited the kids got. A burro just takes it over the top!

The kids were amazed by the cows.

We were looking to have lunch at a town called "Las Galeras". Being the slow season, we didn't have a lot of options. Hadrian is the biggest challenge to feed. He hates all that is different, won't try it without multiple death threats from me. I don't always have the fight in me. A pizza restaurant set off all the bells whistles, so we pulled up. These guys were really from Italy, no second generation here. They didn't speak English or Spanish which made me wonder what would bring a person out to this remote area, so distanced from their paisanos. They must have killed someone in Italy? Just to thicken the plot, it was their first day open, no menus yet, but hey, you don't really need a menu for a pepperoni pizza. Well think again, what this guy knew as pepperoni was really red peppers. Even then it was no "New York" style pizza. The ingredients were sparse to say the least, we're talking famine. There was a randomly-placed smidgen of cheese, like it was caviar. Poor Hadrian couldn't make the correlation between the piece of "flat bread" that laid before him, and the picture of a pepperoni pizza embossed in his memory banks, so I ate the pita, it was fuel.

The "Resort and Marina Puerto Bahia" is the lap of luxury. Like many other places around the Caribbean, the economy really hit it hard. They are just holding on, waiting for better times to come, a common theme out here. There is something to be said about deep pockets, wish I had one.

Eva had a spa day.

I had a bar day.

This is a 2nd story infinity edge pool. The view blends right into the ocean.

One of the quirky perks that they offer is a one-way ride into town, getting back is your problem. Out here, you take what you can get, so off we were into town. We decided to have dinner at a Chinese restaurant figuring there has to be a common denominator. I must say that it was closer to what we are used to than the Italians were. We enjoyed walking the town until the sun went down, and began to contemplate how we would be getting home. The public transportation mode of choice were these small motorcycles with a trailer hitched to the back. They could seat 4. By the time we were ready to engage the motoconcho's they all seem to have gone home. We walked along briskly in search of one, and caught the last one still running. The marina, at about 3 miles away, is about the limit for these vehicles, and the guy was hesitant, but it would be a nice close on a hard day's work. I offered him 300 pesos, and he brightened right up. We all got in, and he started his little 100cc 2-stroke motor. The little bumble bee came to life with the roar of a model airplane. Now this is very hilly terrain, that motor had to pull the whole contraption up, and down the hills, not easy. The little motor screamed at full throttle as smoke from the oil laden fuel streamed from the exhaust-pipe. We had to move our heads around looking for a patch of clean air to inhale. Half of our jockey's game plan was based on momentum. If he could get it all going fast enough on the down hill side, well then he could make it up the other side. As I studied the physics of all that was going on, I was drawing on very probable unfavorable conclusions to this "wild toad ride". If we were to have to stop on an uphill, the ride would be over. The little motor would not have the power to get us moving uphill, but scarier yet was that I determined that while on the downhill run our driver would not have the ability to stop because the trailer had no brakes. Once on the downhill, he would be 100% committed...unless he jumped off, but where would that leave us? Well, it was time to pray, again. When we safely got back to the marina, they didn't allow the motoconcho in past the gate. The marina sent a car out to get us. They didn't want the motoconcho's on the property because they were too dangerous.

I have reworked the lip between the front hatch and the deck. It is now weather tight, even under pressure. We have a really nice weather window ahead of us. The run from Samana to Marina Cap Cana is about 90 miles. The only catch is that the wind will be on the nose if at all. It will take us about 24 hours to motor this leg of the trip. 

I found this at the deli counter, little smoked Peruvian fart, literally translated.

"Eastward ho!" or "Why can't we get it right"

The water along the northern coast of the Dominican Republic is always rough. It goes from being 10,000 feet deep to 50 feet deep in less than a mile. The currents from the North Atlantic Ocean funnel through the area chaotically and it is inevitably, "what lays ahead". We have procrastinated departing Ocean World like champions. We have quibbled, and squirmed shamelessly. We are losing all credibility as sailors. Time never rests, and hurricane season approaches, so we need to get going. We don't want be sailing for days on end, so we're going to try to hop our way along, stopping to rest as much as possible. Our first jump will be from Ocean World Marina to Samana, 140 miles. This is the story of that leg, on our way through the eastern Caribbean.

Every passage starts with a hearty "Bobs red mill" legume stew. We can eat for 3 days on a single batch.

I watched the weather reports like a hawk, and not just one source. Oh no, I used three different sources. But, there was one particular source that had really good news. It was just what I wanted to hear. Wind blowing at 2 knots, gusting to 3. You can't even fly a kite in that much wind. We could motor all the way in nice calm seas. The other two reports didn't favor us a well, so we leaned towards the better weather report. In retrospect, it's kinda like going with the doctor that tells you "nothing's wrong", you know, the under-qualified one.

Getting out of Ocean World was a roller-coaster ride. The waves were huge and the wind howled. Mirador climbed up the waves, I could see nothing but sky. Once at the top, the bow would dive, I could see nothing but water, and she would plow into the next wave. The sea would wash over the deck as the bow of the ship emerged on the other side of the wave. This motion would stop all forward progress. The GPS would read "speed 0.0". Then we would get going again, and repeat this whole cycle over and over. This went on for about a mile, about two hours until we were in deeper water. Sea water was just cascading onto our mattresses through the front hatch.

Our plotted course would take us through 4 bays, and capes. The seas inside the bays were manageable. However, getting up and around each of the capes was torture. The tips of the capes were completely exposed to the open ocean, the currents, the wind, and it's waves. The weather was supposed to be calmer through the night, so we're doing this in the dead of night. Three am does not hold the appeal it once had, say when I was a clubbing teenager. A set routine is not a virtue for a sailor, it's a vise. Marie and I take turns at the wheel. I try to take as much of the burden off of her as I can. I'll take the wheel for 6 to 8 hours, and then have her drive for 4 hours. It is so unpleasant on rough nights that even this takes a big toll on her moral. She is at times mortified. I always have concerns, but I trust my ship, and fear doesn't rattle me as much, at least not at that level (could be lack of intelligence). The kids are really good sports about these passages. They take seasickness pills that must contain Quaalude, just judging from behavior. They lay around the nooks and crannies of the cockpit, all curled up like roly-polies. Poor Hadrian  was soaked out of sleep by a rogue wave. I thought for sure that he was going to give me hell, but he just looked up and surveyed his situation. He slowly gathered his things and made his way down the companionway hatch as I just sat there biting my lip. I was torn between laughing and feeling sorry for him, too bad it wasn't my brother Richie.

The nice calm anchorage at Rio San Juan.
After 12 hours of relentless motion, we decided to anchor at Rio San Juan, and rest a little before barreling on. I took Mirador into this beautiful cove with green hills all around us. It was about 7 in the morning. A few locals were fishing. Instead of using anchors they drop bags of rocks, and tie make-shift buoys (milk jugs) on, in about 200 feet of water. This is a big hazard for boats motoring by. At night these milk jugs are not visible, and they can foul your propeller in a New York minute. The buoys are scattered all over these bays, we got lucky. I laid the anchor in about 12 feet of water, 100 feet from the mouth of the river, and then went promptly to sleep. We arose at 4 pm for part 2 of our passage. Wind, and current completely determine our fate. At its worst our speed is 1 mile per hour, you can pinch a cow to death at that rate. At its best we clip along at almost 6 miles per hour. Not knowing the luck of the draw, we had plan "B" in our back pocket. We would lay-over at Escondido for the night if we were too slow, if not we could slip right in to Puerto Bahia Marina just before dusk.

Arriving at Escondido at noon.

We got to Escondido by noon the next day, that meant we had plenty of time to attempt the run to Puerto Bahia, and so we were off. The capes are always rough, Cabo Cabron was no exception. I hugged the coastline in the hopes that it would buffer the wild seas.

With plenty of daylight left, we decided to keep going. This is Cabo Cabron.
Finally we round Cabo Samana, and can raise our sails.

The mountainous landscape of the Dominican Republic is life changing beautiful. The lush vivid tropical fauna perched on this dynamic terrain with the brightest blue ocean as a backdrop makes me reflect on the years that I had spent inside an office cubical, and I thank the Almighty for planting in me an insatiable wanderlust. My fear of dying is nothing compared to my fear missing out on the splendors in this life, and so we travel.
As we rounded the Samana Peninsula the winds came around to our stern, no longer on our nose. Too tired to raise the main, we opened the Genoa instead. Mirador quickly stepped up to 6 knots. She was born to sail. We were now 12 miles from the marina, and it was 4 in the afternoon. We decided to call ahead, less the dock master close shop, and leave us out for the night. After a few attempts our satellite phone came through, and secured our place on the docks. As we entered, the dock hands were too slow to point out the slip that they wanted me in, and I overshot my mark. I had to turn the boat around and reset my approach. When something like this happens, everyone that is available comes out to watch, and admire your docking skills. Even my neighbors cat came out to give me all of his attention. Nobody can out-stare a cat. On the second try I got her in like a glove, and everyone went back to what they were doing, disappointed. The marina at Puerto Bahia was really well protected, and Mirador sat calmly in her slip.
Inside the boat was in shambles. All of our beds were wet with sea water. Marie and I took a few minutes to reflect on the last 36 hours. It is one thing to go for a 6 hour sail on Biscayne Bay, it is a whole different matter to do an offshore passage across the DR's hostile north coast. We unequivocally concluded that we do not like the passages, but we do love the destinations.

Get on board for Pete's sake

First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who has visited my blog. I would especially like to thank those who have taken the time to give me a few words of encouragement on our adventure, and on my writing. Few things give me more satisfaction than someone telling me that they have enjoyed reading the blog. I cannot deny that the praise is addictive and I plan to continue posting, and even perhaps try to get published in a sailing magazine. Our blog has received a fair amount of traffic. In fact, I think that we may be able to attract sponsors to help support our cruising lifestyle. It doesn't take much. I have only approached one such company, and we had a great response from them. Marie and I have compiled a list companies who's products could enhance our cruising life.

What's that? How can you help?

Well, I'm glad you asked. I was just going to get to that.

While our blog is getting a fair amount of traffic, we are a bit soft in the "followers" department. We need to get our numbers up, so... "Get on board for Pete's sake"!

The little red tomato that could

As my plane landed in Puerto Plata I readied myself for the ensuing task. I knew I would have to deal with the price-gouging cab drivers that prey on tourists as they arrive into the DR. I knew that it would be a challenge to say the least. At the airport a small group of unscrupulous cab drivers control the market. They have formed a sort of loose union, and charge over ten times the going rate of a typical cab driver on the street. They can do this because the newly arriving tourists have no idea how much to pay for a cab ride, they are like lost sheep, not knowing where to go, weak, vulnerable. The wolves feast with each landing plane. I walked out of the doors with my luggage in hand, and was quickly approached by one of the cab drivers. I asked him, "how much for a ride to Ocean World?" He said, "fifty dollars". "I have been here for a month now, and I ride a cab regularly from Sosua to Ocean World, which is a bit farther than I'm asking you to take me. The going rate for that ride is 350 pesos or $8.75 US, why do you want $50 US?" So the cab driver walks me over to a laminated poster that is labeled "Tariff list", it has the prices for cab rides from the airport to different destinations throughout the city. I guess that in an effort to comfort the skeptical tourists, they came up with this poster that they prop up on an easel. "That should read 'Sucker List', I told the cab driver." By now I had the attention of about ten of them. One of them had quite a sense of humor, and kept high-five'g me. "And why are we talking dollars? I thought we were in the DR. I realize that I'm trapped at the airport, so I'm willing to pay you double what its worth. I will pay you 800 pesos." "If I take that, I'll lose my place in line," said the cab driver. It was then that I realized that he was better off waiting for his "lamb" than to take my offer. I walked back into the airport, and surveyed a dozen car rental agencies. The guy at the "Payless" agency seemed to be competitive enough, so I rented a car from him, 30 bucks a day, insurance included. I got a brand new tomato red Hyundai i10, much like a motorized skateboard. You should have seen all of the cab drivers staring at me as the rental car agent surveyed the car for scratches before turning it over to me. I was "the-one-that-got-away".

Having a car is nice. It's great to be able to move around at will. In the days that followed I helped two of my neighbors at the marina by driving them to the grocery store. I also went to Luperon, and hung-out for an afternoon with the oddest collection of Americans.

The day before Marie and the kids were scheduled to arrive, I drove to the airport in Santiago, about 90 minutes away, and rented a room close-by for the night. Believe it or not their flight was scheduled to arrive at 2 am. I didn't want to drive across the country in the wee hours of the night. I was so happy to see my motley crew.

And then it occurred to me, I have a car, the crew is packed and ready to go, let's explore the country. I asked the front-desk clerk for any points-of-interest to see in the area. She thought a town called Jarabacoa would be a good place to start. Marie found a place that offered horseback rides to some waterfalls on Google. What a great tool the internet is. We got to this dude ranch, and were all given horses. All of the gear on the horses was 10 years past its useful life. None of the stirrups matched, the bridles were all jury rigged. The saddles were kept together with enough duct tape to make MacGyver cringe. The horses themselves were a bit small, and so used to their routine that they seemed to be on rails. They would not respond to any commands, they just went about their usual task, in total apathy. The reins were just something to hold on to. The waterfalls were nice, and the kids went for a swim in the 55 degree water. I don't know how they do it? I swear they came back with a purple hue.

Hadrian and Eva on their horses. No, they're not having a good time, so they say.

I felt that I should have carried the horse back. He didn't weigh much more than I did.

Eva and Hadrian at the waterfall, cold!

Again, with the use of Google Maps on my iphone, we found the small city of Constanza, where, in the 1950's, colonies from Japan, Hungary, and Spain were given land in an effort to learn from their agricultural techniques. Off we were, maybe we'll get some good sushi. No such luck, we didn't find a trace of these colonies, but the town was quite nice. The next day we decided to take a drive through "Valle Nuevo" national park. Google Maps showed highway 41 cutting through the middle of the park, it would be an all day drive. I had envisioned something like the "Blue Ridge Parkway". We were so excited with the adventure ahead that we dismissed fact that the pavement had ended, and only a dirt road remained. "I'm sure it's just a bad stretch, it'll get better." After all it is a road on Google Maps, "Highway 41". They haven't failed us yet, right? At the beginning, the road was muddy and rough, but doable. The farther we got, the rougher the road became. It narrowed to barely one lane, until 4 hours into the drive that it became nothing  but a donkey trail. Now remember, we were crossing a mountain range, the Caribbean Alps they call it. Most of the time we had a precipice on one side, and the mountain wall on the other. We drove through shanty villages with only a couple of feet to spare between the car the buildings. The villagers would stare at us incredulously. They had never seen a regular car taken up into this area. I myself couldn't believe the little red car's progress, it seemed to defy all reason. I think the smaller than usual wheel base actually helped it move from one rock, and onto the next, kinda like a motorcycle. The views from the mountain road (donkey trail) across the valley were breath taking to say the least. We found an Eco-resort on Google Maps. It was in the middle of the park, we decided to give it a try. It started raining, the road began to get soft, and muddy.

There were all manner of animals along the way. Here's a donkey just off the road.

A cute pig, hopefully somebody's pet.

A view on highway 41

What a beautiful countryside.

The road was not so beautiful.

The little red tomato didn't miss a step.

The mud was more threatening than the course terrain, but we managed to get to the resort. We were met by the caretaker, and his wife. He asked if we had reservations. I said I didn't, "is there vacancy?". He said, "Yes, but you must make reservations in Santo Domingo. You can't stay here if you haven't." Then I asked, "Is there a restaurant?" He said, "No, we have no food or water. You must bring your own when you stay here." Then his wife interrupted, and said, "You shouldn't delay any longer, as the road will become too rough with the rain. Your car is too low." Having already witnessed the miracle of "the little red tomato that could", I knew only too well what she was trying to say. I tried to get a feel for the remaining road ahead, and it seemed, by the caretakers description, that we were past the worst of it. Along the way, we found a grouping of 4 pyramids that marked the center of the island. There was a lodge with several other buildings, all connected by a deck. The whole complex seemed as though there should have been people, but there was no one. It felt eerie, like in a zombie movie. We all needed to use the restrooms. As we each finished using the restroom, and began to regroup just outside, we notice the caretaker standing around the corner, just watching us. He just stood there and stared at us.  I said "hello", and he gave me a nod, but said nothing, he just kept staring. We all double timed it back to the car, as this guy stared. He kinda didn't seem to be "all there", and that made us all nervous.

These four pyramids mark the center of Hispaniola.

The winding highway 41.

A four-wheel-drive would have been nice.

The road was better, albeit not paved. We arrived at the town of San Jose de Ocoa just before night fall. There were only three hotels to pick from, so the choice was easy. We pick the one with parking on-site for the "little red tomato".
I called our friends Eben and Genevieve, and asked them to join us. We would wait here at Ocoa for them. Oh, and do not take highway 41, whatever you do. I told him that I would visit all of those places that he wanted to visit...without him, so he should join us. After a little hesitation they were on their way to join us. It is great to share new experiences with friends and family, everything is better when we're together.

The kids, all watching movies at night.

A breath taking view towards the Caribbean sea.

A helicopter landed by the fishing boats at Los Patos.

This is a view from our room at Los Patos.

Okay, we're off to see the southwest corner of the DR. The Dominican Republic has the highest and lowest elevations in the Caribbean. Pico Duarte is roughly 10,000 feet above sea level, and Lago Enriquillo is about 100 feet below sea level and they're only about 50 miles apart.
The roads in the area were really good, just as good as any state-side. The drive along the southern coast was very scenic. We would go from high mountain views, overlooking the Caribbean sea, down to small fishing villages right on the beach. A thousand shades of green and blue framed the scenery. The people throughout the DR are always warm and welcoming.

Along the way we came across a wind turbine farm.

This is the famous Bahia del Aguila beach.

Hadrian and his little sand family.

Nothing like an ice cold beer at the beach.

We stopped for dinner at this gorgeous hotel, Casa Bonita.

Eben has had the most time to think about the places to visit as he has been here for a year now. We pretty much just followed his lead. On the Southwesternmost corner of the DR is a fabled beach called Bahia del Aguila. You have to take a boat the last leg of the way. We were left on the beach, and the guide said he would be back in two hours. Lunch on the beach consisted of ham-n-cheese sandwiches that I made from these croissant rolls that I found at the supermarket. They were buttery and flaky, delicious, ah, life in stereo. More so by luck than planning, we actually hired a responsible guide to bring us out here. This all became evident when another guide approached the beach in a dangerously overloaded panga, about 30 souls were on board. Their waterline was so close to being swamped by each passing wave that I was completely sure that it would happen. They looked like escaping refugees. I could see one guy in the center of the vessel frantically bailing water with a child's beach bucket.
We found a brand new hotel in the town of Los Patos that turned out to be the cheapest, yet best hotel of the entire excursion. There was a very industrious guy at Los Patos that washed my car as I stood in front of him, and ask him not to touch my car. He just kept washing. The next morning we were off to see Lago Enriquillo. We were greeted by over a dozen iguanas when we arrived at the park headquarters. Again we rented a boat. We were promised that we would see crocodiles, but not flamingos, they were all at Lago Oviedo to the south of us. I felt a little stupid because we had heard that there were flamingos in Lago Oviedo so I figured there would be some at Enriquillo too, oops. Enriquillos water level has been rising rapidly over the last 4 years. Scientists are puzzled. The lake has doubled in size, and has overtaken some forests that laid close to it's shores. Only the crown of the trees remain out of the water. Our guide was quite proficient at maneuvering though all the tangle of trees. Sure enough our guide was able to find the crocodiles that he had promised us. He even took us over to a crocodile nesting site, and we saw hatchlings at the waters edge. He warned us not to try to grab any because the mother is near by, and would certainly attack if her babies were threatened. As sure as the mountains were cold, lake Enriquillo was hot. A stifling kinda heat that quickly made the short tour quite satisfying. We were ready to leave in short order.

These iguanas were all over the place.

A crocodile at lake Enriquillo.

This baby crocodile is only days old.

Oh, on the way back we pulled into a popular swimming hole just off the side of the road. The locals make a big production of it. Food kiosks line the street on one side. On the other, an outdoor lounge with a permanent building serves ice cold beer, or liquor, and provides the ever-present blaring music. They like their music loud round these parts. Eva had everyone impressed with her ability to swim underwater. She can cross most pools without coming up for air.

Eva was showing off at the swimming hole.

Eben doing a little showing off himself.

These are the food kiosks on the side of the road. The food was great!

Our rambling about in southwest DR had come to an end. It was time to start making our way back home. It would take us 2 days of pleasant driving. We made it to the city of Barajona just after dark that first day. We scrambled to find a hotel, and settled on Hotel Guarocuya because it had rooms with two full size beds, the best arrangement with the kids. It was built by the dictator Trujillo back in the 50's. It sits on the beach, right in front of the city, and you could sense that in it's time it was the pride and joy of the area. "In-its-time" are the key words here. Today it receives very little maintenance. If a mop can't fix it, well then it goes unfixed. That being said, they do mop a lot. The doors and windows are barely holding up, all beat, and broken. At least 30 coats of paint give the place a nice slum like feel. The bathrooms are a disaster. The hot water has been replumbed, and it enters through the ceiling, drops down, and makes a 90 degree turn, straight into the pipe, just behind the shower-head. Yes, the pipe is exposed, and there is a simple rustic ball-valve to control it, up by the shower-head. It's the weirdest thing. Short people cannot operate the hot water. Oh, and no hot water at the lavatory. The casino too speaks of another era. Today, the room simply lays barren. All of the equipment is gone. Back in the room, the surface mounted air-conditioner was slow to cool the room down, but by morning we were all cold. We all met down in the dinning room for breakfast. I think we caught them off guard, and they had to run to the market for staples when we asked for breakfast, just judging from the time it took prepare eggs, toast, and coffee. When we walked out outside this very industrious guy had washed our car. This is a recurring theme. All this aside, it was a nice hotel.

Our "once great" hotel.

I can hardly remember the second day of driving back. I remember speed bumps in the road at certain commercial areas. When you slowed down to take the speed bump, about 10 peddlers would storm the car. We made it to the city of Bani, just west of Santo Domingo. There we found four hotels to survey. We ended up at the first one that we looked at. I hate when that happens. The most memorable thing about that day was dinner at a Pizza Hut knock-off that was okay. When we walked out outside this very industrious guy had washed our car.

The crew next to the "little red tomato".

The next morning we were headed north on the country's main highway. Eight lanes, and full speed ahead, not too scenic. We exited highway one near the north coast. The final leg was again quaint and scenic. By this time the eight of us had full bladders, and were desperately looking for modern facilities. We found a beautiful mountain top restaurant who's view rivaled the Grand Canyon. As I exited the restroom, Genevieve had talked to the waiter, and ask him for permission to sit at a table, and make our own sandwiches. I was shocked, "You did what? And he said what? Are you sure you understood him correctly?" She was sure. With eight people, you can't just fade into a corner. We were the main event. I approached the guy myself, and asked "Is it true?". He was okay with it so out came all the picnic paraphernalia, bread, ham, cheese, mayo, mustard, you name it. We had quite the spread. I jokingly asked the others, "Hey, what do you think would happen if I ask for ketchup?" We gave our waiter a good tip, and were on our way. We were only about a half hour from Eben's place, "Sosua by the Sea", an all inclusive resort. We were not ready to end the vacation within a vacation so we rented a room there for just one more night.

Chillin' like a villain in the DR

So here we are, all tied up to the docks at Ocean World marina. My Canadian friends, Eben, and Genevieve, and their two little girls, Arias, 4, and Elia, 2, have been awaiting are arrival for about six months now. Yeah, we are slow. The kids are all happy to see each other, I mean we are happy too, but the kids are more expressive. Slowly, the pain of the rough crossing from Providenciales to the DR fades away as we lay by the pool, soaking in decadence. It won't be long before I will have little recollection of the crossing, and then...I'll do it again. I think it's some kind of defense mechanism gone amiss.

Hadrian, Eva, and Arias at the Ocean World pool.

It's great to have the products of a modern world available, and in reach at reasonable prices. The supermarket in Puerto Plata is like a Walmart state-side. It's time to restock the pantry. The produce section is full of exotic tropical fruits that I have never seen. There is even a rum section, a huge rum section, and the prices are about half that of the U.S.
Eben has some pull at one of the all-inclusive resorts in the town of Sosua. He got us a room for the four of us, just $80 a night. We stayed 2 days and 1 night. I had "little lies" (Cuba Libre) all day long. The kids had banana and strawberry smoothies at about the same pace that I was drinking rum at. I think Marie was drinking "Pina Coladas", but it's all kinda blurry. We had breakfast, lunch and dinner, twice each for 80 bucks total. The room had a separate bedroom and a great view of the ocean. You gotta love the DR.

Lunch at the Sosua resort.

Nice hotel room.

We even had a separate bedroom.

The pool area was really a treat.

I got a baby!

Eva and Arias enjoying cake.

In the days that followed, we all traveled the country side. Eben drives just as crazy as everyone else, and therefore figures it's all somehow safer this way. The truth is that to drive in the DR one must forget all that you have been taught about driving a car. Think organic, in the DR you drive a car much like you would make your way across a crowded room, organic like. You wouldn't just plow a straight line across the room, no, that would be rude. You weave smoothly in the direction you wish to go, in and out, ignore any stripes that may confuse you, and make you a hazard to the established traffic pattern.
We visited a quiet small town called Luperon where American cruisers like to hangout. The bay at Luperon is said to be the best hurricane hole the all of the Caribbean. It is protected on all four sides and surrounded by mountains. The DR's highest mountain is about 10,000 feet above sea level. The island itself is called the hurricane buster because the high mountain range disorganizes any hurricane that tries to go through it.

The Dominican countryside is just gorgeous.

Marie and the kids have to go back to the states for their school testing, medical and dental check-ups. I hope, and pray they do well on all counts because it takes a lot of courage and faith to take the kids on this adventure. We do however live in a society that's way quick to judge, but too lazy to educate themselves, and even though it is more dangerous to strap a child into a car (the leading cause of death among young people, they call it unintentional injuries to protect the "car culture", followed by suicides) they are quick to accuse cruising families of putting children at risk. The way I see it is "I may have dodged the two most common causes of death among young people". We have a large community back home that encourages us and gives us strength, it's the people that know nothing about boats that are the most critical, the ones that see their own children a cumulative 3 hours or less each day (again, suicide is number two). You think I may be too sensitive on this subject? Then again Mark Twain once said "There are lies, dam lies, and then there are statistics." Who knows?
Okay, let me turn the tone of this post around before I let you go.

Look at all the kites at Cabarete.

Have you ever had this fruit?

If you think our stay in Sosua was cheap, get this, I asked for "day pass" at the same all-inclusive resort, and they charged me 6 bucks. All I can eat and drink, all day, 6 bucks. Three beers and I break even. So, here we are it's late in the evening, we'd been drinking all day, and Eben asks me "Do I have to drive you home?", in a nervous voice. Having used my money so wisely earlier in the day, I said "No, I'll just take a cab." I don't want to ware-out my welcome, and all. So we drive out to the main street, and find a cab. I settle with the driver, 350 pesos, or $8.75. Cab drivers in the DR don't just settle for one passenger, oh no, they fill up the cab. Knowing this, I jump in the front passengers side, and figure "I'm safe from being squeezed in the back seat with others of perhaps questionable hygiene". Think again, after the back seat of this 1992 Toyota Corolla that's put together like a little kids very first model, fills up with four adults, the driver asks me to carry this young senorita standing by me in a bikini. This felt really awkward, so as this girl climbs on my lap, I put both my hands on the window sill, to brace myself, and to demonstrate my good intentions. We had gone about two blocks when I felt some distinct tapping on my zipper. Like, three taps at a time, over and over like someone waiting for an answer at a door. Oh sh_t, was my first thought. If I say something she might just turn the whole event around, and say that it was I that made the lewd advances. Who would you believe? There might just be a lynching tonight. I decided that discretion might just be the better way to go, so I just sat there, and ignored the tapping, no one home baby. By the time we reached her stop I felt I owed her something, so I said "thank you". She didn't look back.