Dominican Republic Part Three

Hotel Kaoba was a cool little place with a swimming pool, which Anders made frequent use of. I dipped in a couple of times, but did not do the exercise I would usually do with a pool at my disposal. Shit I am tired typing this. Will probably be brief (some people will rejoice). I seemed to be followed by dogs all round Cabarete because I would stop to stroke them. Bit like in San Cristobal only they did not follow me for my entire treck across town. I don´d even know what I´ve written in my book. I know I wanted to comment on the development along the roads in the North, the fact that Spanish appears to be a terciary language behind French and English. Also there were some tin and iron shacks erected as evidence of the former poverty, before the tourists came and homogenised everything, injecting a serious amount of cash into the local economy. Cabarete is another one of those one road towns we had stayed in, but was developed entirely for watersports, because the bay has perfect conditions for windsurfing and kitesurfing. Filip wanted to try the latter, but its prohibitively expensive on the budgets we were operating with.

In the morning the guys and I lost each other and spent a day just wandering aimlessly and reading. I bought some toothpaste, saw the town and read some of my book by the rocks. They chilled on the beach and we recovered some of the energy we had expended over the previous few days. Sadly the mini golf course in town was completely torn up and unplayable. Was looking forward to round two. Eventually we all met up in the evening and polished up a bottle of rum on the porch. The guys were studying at Florida University and their football team were playing in the national final that night against Oklahoma. We went to the Irish pub to watch the game, took in some banter with a Texas guy and watched the game. Filip had to go home early as a medical condition had flared up and Anders and I stayed for the end. it was a nip tuck game which the Florida Gators won 24-14 with the key winning touchdown coming with 3 minutes of play left. We went clubbing for a bit and then retired back to the hotel. The clubs play some really good dance music on the coast and I think Jonny would particularly enjoy the atmosphere in Cabarete. A beach town with a good vibe, although the food is nowhere near as good as Las Terrenas.

We grabbed a good breakfast in the morning and decided to go windsurfing. This was hilarious. Filip was still a little unwell but was the only one with any experience. He had previously surfed for 10 minutes. So Anders and I go to rent a board. Neither of us have a clue what we are doing. The guy asks us what experience we have. Anders says he has windsurfed a few times. this fallacy becomes clear when we clearly can´t articulate what our equipment preference is, when we did not identify the fin, but Anders keeps compounding it by answering a question on whether we have taken waves, with the answer of a few times back in Sweden. The guy knows we are talking shit (indeed he offers us lessons after watching how crap we were during the day), but gives us the board anyway. I persuaded Anders that we really should get insurance to cover the damage. We took the windsurf out and sucked at first. The first half hour session each (we shared a board) and we were both able to stand and raise the sail but not really go anywhere. The second session we were both actually windsurfing a bit. Enough to say I´ve done it. Anders managed 3-4 minutes for his best, mine was around 90 seconds. Filip recovered enough to have a go and only fell off 3 times in about 20 minutes. He was clearly miles better than us, but as a sailor he better understood the wind than us. The third afternoon session was where the wind picked up. It was far too strong for us and neither me nor Anders could surf at all in it. Even Filip struggled a bit. To make matters worse (I was hitting the water a lot) some local kids stormed my windsurf like pirates and I could not get them off. I firmly believed they would break it and I would have to explain how I was raided by little kids, but one of the kids called his friends off. I later found out Anders had been invaded by the same child pirates. It had been a good experience and I was a little sunburnt from it. Hey at least I would be less pasty now. Bout time the length of my trip I have been travelling.

My parents at this point were still incapable of following instructions as to what to do with the old passport and I was imagining returning to Santo Domingo only to be told that the application had not even begun yet. In fact form what I understand a copy of the old one was faxed over with no explanation and would probably just have complicated my situation. It was looking more forlorn for Canada and so we decided to head out for food. The German place was shut so we elected to sit at the waterfront in one of the club/restaurants. Our Dutch waitress was commenting on the cool English accent and we had to watch drinks for an English girl, while she went to fish her two naked lesbian lovers out of the Atlantic Ocean. I even bumped into my Haitian mate from the day before who was desperately trying to sell me drugs. We turfed in for the night and when I got back I realised I no longer had my bank cards. Shit. I only had 100 pesos left on me if that. Fuck. No passport and no money. Stranded and fucked. How was I going to get money. i can't even collect a money order as I have no way to prove who I am. We went frantically searching along the waterfront but the Dutch waitress insisted if things go missing in Cabarete they stay missing. Bugger. I got back and was drifting off when Anders said we should do something. i told him internet cafes were shut till the morning. So absorbed in my own problem was I that I had not even noticed the domestic disturbance to which he referred. We rushed out and an English woman was ranting in an argument with a local guy. At first glance it was clear she was his sugar mummy. Anders comforted her while she wept and cursed, the secutiry guard came along to see what was going on. She had left her room card in the guys room and Anders went to fetch it. This prompted a barrage from the local guy and I half expected to see him start shooting over the balcony. An American guy from New York approcahed us and asked what was up. They were fifteen Yankees on some charity work and sadly were already leaving the next day. Shit luck. Eventful night.

In the morning I got up at dawn, having not really slept at all. I scoured the streets, searching for what I knew in my heart was a vain search. None of the bars had seen anything and I got trapped in a metal shack while it hammered down with rain like the judgment of the almighty. What a shitty situation. No money, no cards, no passport, my only remaining shoes were drenched from the downpour and here I was miserably cowering in a shack. Funny how fortune is so fickle that it can change so dramatically in such a short period of time. From stagnation in Cancun, to elation in Puerto Rico, to absolute despair in the Dominican Republic. Still I could see a Lazarus like resurrection from the situation (Crime and Punishment was having a profound affect), but first I needed to block the cards and get cash. The irony was not lost on me cancelling the cards. Three days later I had phoned to unblock the cards, pissy they had blocked them. Now I was ringing to cancel those very same cards. I had to profess on my mum to send me an aid package with my card and book etc to Santo Domingo to pick up. The Swedish guys had offered to bail me out in my hour of need and save me from starving. They however were leaving on the wednesday and then I was fucked. The only option seemed to be to send the package to Jose in Santo Domingo and I contacted him for his address. He said it was ok to send it and here I was. Being saved by three guys I had not known 14 days earlier from the worst situation I have ever been in in my life. Or at least potentially the worst. No phone, no money, no means to contact people or travel around, no passport and no food in a country in which my linguistic ability was merely functional. It helps to reinforce your belief in the fundamental goodness of people and reinforce your trust in strangers. The other realisation was that that receipt for my passport, which I was clearly told not to lose, was also in the wallet. Crap I may have to pay twice. Or have to explain how I have lost the receipt for the replacement for a lost passport. That twist of fate was quite amusing though. At this point I thought I had also lost my online banking stuff and travel insurance, but that was not the case and I discovered I may even be able to get back 250 quid for the lost passport. When I unblocked the card with nationwide there was a total fuckwit on the other end of the phone. he could not find me on the database at all and then i found out he can´t spell. I would say S-H-A and he would reply S-A-H. Twice the idiot did this. S for sierra, H for hotel, A for alpha (using the police alphabet) and he replied S for sierra, a for alpha. Fucking hell. This guy was retarded. He eventually had to get his boss over so they could find me and cancel the cards. Ah I was not in the mood for him.

Having sorted out the logistics we met a Swiss girl for breakfast and then headed for Puerto Plata. Anders had been told by a Norwegian girl that it was a great place. These Canadians in the gua gua said it was a shithole and it was pissing down with rain. Filip and I were not too hopeful. The rain did ease off however and the city is kind of pretty. the city centre has been restored to colonial style, there is a cute bridge and a fort that skirts one corner of the town past the colourful Haitian district. The port even looked as I imagine African ports to be, with the pollution mixing with natural beauty. The oppressive sky, the smog, the ships, the mountains and the buildings lent the town a very ethereal quality. We got accosted by a Haitian salesmen/pimp and had to shake him off. In the evening we met the Swiss girl and Carlise and her friends from Miami came along. They had to sort something out but we did not see them again. Apparently they ended up in a Hells Angels bar up in Cabarete. The rest of us ate and drank then arranged to head to the Damajagua waterfalls in the morning.

The Swiss girl cancelled on us in the morning, but the others of us took some gua guas via Puerto Plata out to Danajagua. It costs $65 to go with a tour, but by going independently it cost us less than $20 each and that price does not change regardless of numbers. I had also got in contact with Morgane from new years to hang out with back in Santo Domingo as I was plotting what to do when I got back. My mum was not following instructions I gave her, although some of her alternative suggestions proved a better idea. They rented us rubber shoes at the waterfalls and I took a pair so as not to totally destroy my final pair. If I did not get to Canada I would have to get new ones in Santo Domingo. Our guide was a massive guy named Trunco (very well named) and we began the odyssey. These waterfalls are awesome. You effectively climb up through 27 waterfalls of varying difficulty and then on the way back you leap into pools and slide down rock slides. One of the coolest things I have done. Though I almost did not get too far. On the fourth waterfall I could not get up past the pressure jet and lost a shoe as Trunco eventually, at great personal effort, managed to haul me up. If this was only waterfall 4 how would I get to the top. Luckily I had less trouble with the other because I could get better purchases to use my upper body strength. Its definitely physical and the life jacket thing does not help because it makes you wider for water contact. On the way down we were leaping off ledges into these pools and sliding down natural water slides. The highest jump was about 7m. The others all came up with pithy phrases, while with my fear of heights, I uttered ´fuck thats high´and jumped. Wading through the river at the end, we ended up with gravel in our shoes and that chafed. It was an awesome day trip and well worth the time. I can see why Lonely Planet calls it the coolest thing to do in the Dominican Republic. When we got back Anders came down with an illness and Filip would be struck down later on. Filip and I went for a sunset swim in the sea and discussed the possibility of him coming down to Central America and Colombia for some more travelling. Also looked into doing the Tour D'Afrique, possibly when I finish up teaching in Argentina. We grabbed a late dinner from a shonky little place and turfed in. I still had no info on my package.

On our final day in Cabarete I woke up and checked online. My mum was off to the Fedex offices, although it would eventually be coming from UPS. Anders stayed in sick. Filip and I decided to head out to the surfer beach and walked along the rocky seafront, followed by a stray dog. There was even a mad horse that followed us for a while down the beach. All the surfing places appeared to be closed and so we just ate in a restaurant that cocked up our orders. The girl seemed to be struggling a lot with her job, but the setting was nice and relaxed so we eased into it. When we got back I went online to check how the package was doing. No news. Nothing at all. A spasm of fear shot through me like a knife. Crap it was not coming. They could not send it. Bollocks. I went back to the room and waited. I figured I would log on around 9pm and see. Then I got my message. My mum had buggered off to Niagara Falls, not thinking I may want to know whats happening to my only lifeline. It was coming from UPS and they had a tracker on it. I logged on and saw it was still in Canada. Come on, it can make it. I let Jose know it was coming. Marie-France got hold of me before I logged off and we chatted for nearly two hours until the woman at the desk booted me off. That night I did not sleep again and I realised that the moment this stress was eased I was going to be pretty sick from anxiety. I was almost a little faint as if in a dream for large segments of the day.

In the morning I awoke and dashed online. The package was in Miami Florida and still on course. It had passed through Louisville Kentucky in the early hours of the morning. Good it may still make it. We´d lost a room key and I hope Filip did not get charged for it. All the way back to Santo Domingo I was stressing. Would I get my card and package? Was I going to get my passport? Could I get hold of Jose? Would I be able to eat? How long was I stuck here for? Too many questions, too much dependence and helplessness.