Ever since my first trip to the Dominican Republic almost
ten years ago, I have been meaning to go back and visit the rest of the island
that I missed on my first visit.
I almost got to visit
it during my round the world tour in 2008 but of course things went a little
off course once I reached Mexico and loved it all so much that I wanted to stay
much longer than originally planned.
So with my old boss
offering my back a few months of serious work, and not having taken a proper
overseas holiday in over two years I decided that enough was enough and so I
agreed to the work and resolved to save up all my pennies and booked a two week
stay over in various cities throughout the island.
With it being both
the capital city and major international airport hub for the island, my first
official destination was Santo Domingo, but as luck would have it the flights
that I booked required a change of planes and layover in Charlotte and Miami,
Florida USA.
Having never actually
been to Miami, but having seen lots about it on various TV shows, I was keen to
add a half day trip to my original plan on the outward journey but as it turned
out this was actually a waste of time and it would have been much better to
have simply brought with me a sleeping bag and found a quiet corner of the
airport in which to rest up over night.
But before I even got
to leave the UK I had to check in and go through security at London Heathrow, a
feat that should have posed my no real problem except that my airline has
subbed out my seat to a different carrier and I had forgot that even if you are
just passing through the U.S.A. you still need a
recent electronic visa waiver, which of course I hadn’t realised I needed and
thus didn’t have.
Thankfully though,
experience had taught me to always arrive at an airport several hours early,
and to travel as light as possible, and so it was but a few minutes effort to
use my mobile phone’s internet facility to find the right place to pay online
for a US visa waiver and then I was allowed to board the flight, made even
easier by the fact that the flight was delayed by over an hour.
The flight over was
nothing special, with me spending the bulk of the time either sleep or watching
repeats of marvel super hero movies, and it was only when I arrived in
Charlotte that things began to take a turn for the worst as although all my
paperwork was in order the immigration guard at my passport check point clearly
didn’t like my face, and so he insisted he marked my form with a huge red cross
which meant that I had to go through a complete secondary safety screening
process – again even though I clearly had an onward flight that was already
minutes from boarding due to the delay of our inbound flight.
Being the only person
singled out by the vindictive security guard, and being unable to pass through
the priority fastlane on the outbound security check meant that once I made it
to my gate with my hand luggage they had already closed the flight for boarding.
Thankfully I must
have looked very pathetic indeed, as the check in lady called direct to the
captain and had a flight attendant open up again just for me, but one of the
downsides with arriving this late meant that all the overhead luggage space had
already been taken and so I needed to have my hand luggage placed deep in the
bowels of the plane, despite having had to earlier dump a load of cosmetic
bottles because I was over the carry on limit.
Touchdown in Miami
was a bit smoother, and with it being nearly 6pm meant that I felt sure I had a
few hours of night to kill and so shared a taxi shuttle to downtown Miami in
order to get to my overnight hotel.
Underwhelmed is the
word I would choose to describe my stay in Miami.
Desire being in
Downtown Miami, the hotel was a complete dump and massively overpriced
regardless of the fact that it was a budget hotel.
I have been in better
looking broom closets, and nothing seemed to work whether it was the air
conditioning, the television, the WiFi or the elevator.
All the interior
windows had metal mesh imbedded in them and with the gloomy layout and décor I
could not over the fact that it felt like it was a converted police station
that instead of being renovated just had all the wanted posters taken down.
As part of my
research for Miami I had spotted that the beach wasn’t too far away from my
downtown hotel but also that there seemed to be quite a lot going on around the
airport.
What I failed to spot
was that the airports metro train station was not part of the main building but
connected to the visitor’s car park and car hire centre which was about 10
minutes away from the actual airport and surrounded by nothing except motor
ways.
With it being already
dark at 6pm, too dark to visit and enjoy the beach for its own sake, I felt
that I could either go for a walk to see what mischief I could get into or take
a taxi to the beach front and take in a meal, a show or a movie.
Sadly for me I chose
option a, to go for a walk, and I soon discovered that going for a walk in
Miami was a lot harder than it sounded.
After wandering
around for half an hour getting more and more lost, and not seeing anything
that really grabbed my attention as being a place I wanted to go into, I found
myself at a metro stop and so I thought I may as well take a metro back to the
airport to at least practice my route for the morning.
Big mistake.
Arriving at the
airport car park I completely missed the tiny sign telling me that the airport
was another short overhead train shuttle away and so felt sure that if I would
have to find it on foot.
After almost two
hours of walking in circles playing frogger with the Miami traffic and seeing
nothing except dingy motels and the occasional sex shop I ended up back where I
started, more confused than ever, but also with tired feet in need of a rest.
I took a metro back
to near where my hotel was and proceeded to get lost a third time in one night
before staggering back into my hotel room, very tired, aching and regretting
that my picket sized hotel room had only a shower but no bath tub.
Waking up with a
headache and hating every minute I was staying in Miami meant that I had zero
desire to go and try out the beach early next morning, but instead I ignored
the hotels dismal breakfast offering and just walked to the metro station and
took myself off to the airport.
By the time I had
boarded my flight for the Dominican Republic I could have been mistaken for
thinking that I was already there, as the place was more broken down and dismal
than I would every have imagined and everyone I met spoke Spanish as their
first language.
The flight from Miami
to Santo Domingo was a short one and I during the journey I temporarily
befriended the passenger who sat next to me on the flight, a lovely larger than
life American who had Dominican routes and was going to see where her family
came from for her first time.
It was a bit weird
for me to give advice about the Dominican Republic to someone who hailed from
there originally, but it was also nice and gave me a chance to practice a bit
of my tour guide spiel.
Sadly she was not
paying enough attention to me, and so when we got to the security desk and I
flashed my internet pre-bought tourist visa card she didn’t have one and had to
go back to an earlier booth and purchase one for $10 before rejoining the queue.
Our meeting ended a
fraction earlier than anticipated when her friend who was going to be doing the
driving for her arrived with two other friends, thus taking up all four spaces
in the hire car, and thus I said farewell to my single service friend and took
the first of many overpriced taxi fares and made my way to my hotel in the
Colonial Zone.
The location of my
hotel was ideal for reaching the nearby shops, but for some reason many of the
roads around the Colonial zone are one way and so it felt like my driver was
driving round in ever decreasing circles before we finally made it to the hotel.
Indeed the only
reason why I feel that this was not a ploy to extort extra money from me was
that fact that it was a standard fixed fare for anywhere in the zone and so
with all this extra driving he was burning his fuel but not my cash.
My hotel was cheap
and quaint, and fairly well decorated but regrettably it was one of a handful
of internal rooms that had no windows and the air conditioning unit was not
working, only an overhead fan swirling stale warm air around the room.
The heat of this
climate and this enclosed room was far too much for me, and I spent most of the
first night taking cold showers and then lying on my bed naked with the fan
blowing cold air over me.
Of course this was a
mistake, and after the already dodgy air conditioning unit back in the Miami
hotel, mixed with airplane air conditioning, so by the end of thefirst night I
was feeling a little shaky and when I woke up the next morning I had already
developed a chest infection that would stay with me for several months.
As part of my
planning for my trip here I had done my fair share of research, and managed to
pick out a few semi decent hotels throughout the country with which I planned
on staying at each for a few days as I travelAs part of my planning for my trip
here I had done my fair share of research, and managed to pick out a few semi
decent hotels throughout the country with which I planned on staying at each
for a few days as I travelled around.
I also still had
contact with a couple of my old penpals who lived or were born here, but you
can never have too many friends or friendly faces in a strange country and so a
few weeks before I flew out I made a few new contacts up and down the country
in the hope that I would never need to be alone for too long if I didn’t want
to be.
As it turned out I
actually overdid this a touch and so there were a couple of people who I had
made tentative plans to meet but as my holiday unfolded I had to regrettably
skip out of meeting altogether.
I will not relate
every little detail of the next two weeks, it would be far too long and boring,
but I will try and touch on a couple of the highlights of each city which I can
probably do in a couple of pages.
In the Colonial Zone
of Santo Domingo I met up with a friend on my first morning there and we spent
a lovely half day walking around a couple of large shopping malls, complete
with taking a handful of Gua Gua.
A Gua Gua is what the
locals call a bus but is actually more like an old battered and beaten up old
taxi, where the driver instead of taking on one passenger from point A to point
B will drive in circuit or directional flow of traffic.
The reason why the
locals term them more like buses than standard taxi’s is that a Gua Gua will
also make numerous stops, both collecting or depositing numerous passengers at
will and will often have as many as six full adult passengers squeezed together
like sardines at one time.
I have no idea of the
actual fare structure of a Gua Gua, though it was always in the pennies rather
than pounds price bracket, but the way to attract one is to either wait to be
propositioned by a driver standing idly by the side of the road or just as
frequently wait for a passing driver to spot you and click his fingers his into
the air out the side of the window.
The malls, being the
focus of money and finance, were often the best looking building for miles
around and I could only puzzle at how any of the locals could afford to shop
there, seeing as the local salary was so low and the prices here so high.
But spend the little
money they earn they do and especially in the food court which had all the
usual fast food franchises.
My friend picked out
for us a rather dingy looking barbeque rib joint, dingy because the rear of the
place had no lighting on, but thankfully we could order and eat our meals in
the main halls seating area and they served up the biggest portion of meat I
have ever seen on one plate.
It was truly
gargantuan and a single plateful could easily serve two, or a family of four if
they don’t like their kids all that much.
As it was I fought
bravely and scoffed as much of the super delicious grub as I could, but in the
end it was just too much even for my appetite, and so along with a tip the rest
got left.
After our meal and a
trip to a couple of shops looking for shoes we took another Gua Gua back to my
hotel where my friend and I said our fond farewells and hoped that perhaps if
time allowed we would meet up again before she left for home.
As this was still
barely early evening, and I was certainly in no need of sleep for many hours
yet I contacted another friend and asked if they wanted to meet up tonight, and
was very pleased that they said yes.
This friend was
actually the cousin of one of my old friends from the Dominican Republic, and
as luck would have it once I confirmed that I was free tonight she managed to
get her cousin to meet up with me as well so it was going to be a full house.
My friends place was
at the edge of the city, but with it being an evening trip and a night time
return trip I decided against attempting to take a Gua Gua and instead used the
friendly private taxi driver whose business cards could be found both at
reception and in my room.
The benefit of a
private taxi would be that for a modest charge he would drop you off where you
wanted to go and either after a certain amount of hours or at a given time he
would arrive once more to take you back to the hotel.
It was a nice touch
of mini luxury, and I did not mind the slight extra cost as I knew I would not
be sharing it with anyone else and furthermore that with my friendly driver
eagerly anticipating a double fare it was very unlikely that I would end up
stranded anywhere at the end of the night and not be able to get back to my
hotel.
My friends place was
an unexpected treat in the middle of an otherwise rough looking area, and her
style of interior decorating and furniture was top notch.
I felt that I had
suddenly been transported into a boudoir hotel instead of just visiting a
friends place, and when she cooked us all a huge fish with potatoes and
vegetables I was in hogs heaven.
To end the night my
friends were not done and seemed incredibly keen to go to a nearby bar and a
have a few drinks.
The bar ended up
being a place not all that far away, but apparently walking the streets is not
a safe thing to do, but much like in Mexico, handing your keys off to a guy who
was standing as both a car park security and parking maid was considered
perfectly normal.
A part of me wonders
if car thieves in Latin America are treated with the same contempt and death
sentence punishments when caught that horse rustler’s face during the heady
days of the great Wild West.
The drinks were
affordable, the place was hopping with locals of both sexes and apart from the
music being loud enough to wake the dead it seemed a great place to relax and
unwind.
The local latin
ladies were all out in force shaking their booty for all they are worth, and
judging from the way that the local guys were being drinks and getting phone numbers
left and right, it appeared that this was more like a nightclub than a bar.
We stayed for a
couple of drinks but the volume was a bit too loud for our liking and so unless
we all agreed on getting shit faced as quickly as possible there was no chance
I was going to risk being the only white guy attempting to dance in a latin
bar, and so we collected the car and drove back to my friends place.
Once back in the land
of the hearing enabled we said our goodbyes, and then just as predicted my
friendly taxi driver was already patiently waiting outside to take me back to
my hotel where my bed and yet another cold shower was calling me, a thrice
daily occurrence in this heat.
The next day was much
more subdued and simple, as I wanted to have a day to myself to chill out and
wander the local neighbourhood looking for food, souvenirs and perfect holiday
photo opportunities.
What I found was that
my hotel was in a rather subdued area of the Colonial Zone, far away from any
tour shops but there was a couple of restaurants and a surprising number of
beauty salons that doubled up as massage parlours, but what they really are are
nefarious tourist traps where the owners do everything they can to fleece
anybody silly enough to allow themselves to be stopped by the street hawkers
they plant all along the shopping high street.
As I was unaware of
all this as I was approached, and being a sucker for trying out massages in new
cities that I have never been to, I allowed myself to be persuaded into trying
as simple hour long massage with one of the girls standing idly by.
The price agreed
beforehand sounded reasonable and as I had it written down, plus only had with
me enough money for that plus a tiny gratuity tip, I felt relaxed enough to go
with the flow and let her start the massage.
The con comes about
halfway through the massage, and although I had never experienced anything like
this before, the second it began I could tell right away and so began preparing
myself for the inevitable confrontation long before the owner realised I was
onto his game.
The actual con was
that half way through the hour my masseuse escorted me back into the main part
of the salon, where miraculously a team of about 8 pretty young females
appeared out of nowhere and pounced on me the second after I sat down in the
waiting chair provided for me.
In moment they team
began to give me a full body beauty treatment, with a manicure, a pedicure, a
colour dying my roots, a haircut and a shave, all without hesitation but more
importantly all without my request, permission or approval.
Then at the end of
the hour the owner invited me into his back office and presented me with a bill
for all the services I have been subjected to.
Now some might try to
argue that as I didn’t loudly protest or physically prevent them from giving me
a full treatment that I was probably on shaky ground to try and refuse payment
for any extra services received, but this argument falls flat when I add that
during my treatment I had had plenty of time to look around and spot a full list
of services clearly on display in the salons window, and the bill I was being
presented for totalled more than double everything on the list, a list which
included both a half hour and a full hours massage.
So realising that I
was being charged massively way over the odds I felt no desire to play fair
with this particular con artist.
I took out the little
money I had that would cover the price of the massage, thrust a now empty
wallet right in his face, threw the cash on the floor and then as I barged past
him I declared in a loud voice that he could call the police for all I cared
but I was not going to pay him another pesos, let alone the 600 dollars his
bill converted to.
Of course he tried to
bluster, to haggle and to call out to me, but I was both out of immediately
available cash and righteously angry by then and I presume he has applied this
con enough times to realise that in this case he was never going to convince me
to go to a cashpoint and withdraw extra money just to hand it over to him, so he
had little choice but let me go.
As it turned out this
was the right thing to do, as a few days later I found out during my online
review of the hotel that many of the guests who had stayed there thought that
the immediate area around it was very rough and more than one was angered by
getting collared into paying hundreds of dollars for similarly unrequested
treatments.
Rather than be too
sympathetic, my view was that I was angry that anyone, tourist or otherwise,
would fall for such an obvious trick, as the more the con men get away with it
the more likely they are to try it again in the future.
However other than
this, a trip to a nearby Dominos Pizza and recording myself dancing in the
rain, it was a pretty quiet day and I just concentrated on researching my next
destination and trying to escape the enclosed heat of my room by hiding out in
the outdoor smokers garden area as much as possible.
My next day was the
start of a few days in the city of Puerta Plata, a fairly sizeable city for the
island on its North coast and popular for its water activities and the fact
that it is very close to its own international airport.
The journey from
south to north Dominincan Republic can be made by many routes, the most
expensive being a private hotel taxi which will set you back a cool 350
dollars, and the most inexpensive by far is the very comfortable intercity
coaches that leave every 30 minutes at around 5 dollars.
Indeed it cost almost
as much for a five minute standard taxi journey to take me from my hotel in the
centre of the colonial zone to the coach depot at the edge of the zone than it
did for the 4 hour ride to reach Puerta Plata.
Without any friends
in Puerta Plata to meet, the next few days were always planned as just a chance
to rest, relax and enjoy the sun, sand and sea that we don’t really have in the
UK.
Thus it was that I
had booked into a hotel was barely three minutes away from Costambar Beach, and
with its own private pool, tour desk and American style restaurant I knew that
for the next few days I could do as little or as much as I liked and really
just go with the flow.
Of the various tours
I partook in, I enjoyed the snorkelling and the catamaran cruise the most,
followed by the half day horse riding and zip lining, then the guided
teleferico trip up a nearby mountain less due to the view being totally
obscured by clouds and the very deliberately mis-advertised 12 waterfalls the
least.
I had never been zip
lining before, but I found that once I tested out and could trust the gear and
the wires I could enjoy it more than I thought, despite being slightly afraid
of heights.
I have now tried
snorkelling a number of times, and each time I am getting better and more
relaxed in the water, plus I now know how to keep myself from dehydrating and
drying my mouth out during a swim which makes a small but noticeable difference.
I am personally
coming round to the idea that teleferico rides are highly overrated as they
almost always end up so high up a mountain that regardless of how clear and
perfect the weather may be at ground level, by the time you climb to those
kinds of altitudes you seem virtually guaranteed to hit clouds and thus are
able to see little more than a few feet in front of your face.
Now this in itself is
nothing all that surprising, but I will include here a little more about it
purely because of the people I met and how it ended.
It started with my
the organised tour being nothing more than my hotel calling up a local taxi
driver to take me on a return journey to the base of the teleferico station.
Then I was met by an
English speaking tour guide who collared me the moment I was out of the taxi
and because he reliably informed me that the teleferico company do not have
their own tour operators I felt almost obliged to be in his party.
A party of one it
turned out, as the two Russian ladies who he was standing beside him had
actually turned him down moments before I arrived.
So anyway, we go up
the teleferico and take turns in photographing each other and then at the top
the two ladies go one way and the tour guide leads me another.
As previously hinted,
the cloud cover at the top of the mountain was such that all panoramic views
had been obscured halfway up and at the top we could barely see each other let
alone the vast surrounding countryside.
After saying very
pointless things like, and down there is your hotel, my guide switched tact and
started pointing at all the local plants and informing me all about them.
It would have been
much more impressive if my mother did not have most of them already in her own
back garden, and in the end I was telling him as much about the UK as he was
about the Caribbean.
Towards the end of
our walk through the mist I spotted the two Russian ladies again and we shared
a coffee and a chat in the restaurant at the top, put there solely for hungry
tourists who had not thought to bring a packed lunch with them, which might
have explained the higher than average prices.
After waving goodbye
to the ladies I walked back to the top of the teleferico with my guide in tow
and with a bunch of super-sized American tourists we shared the cable car lift
back down to the base.
At the bottom my
guide hinted at wanting a tip, and feeling that it was all a waste of time I
tried to palm him off by saying that I didn’t have any cash with me, to which
he replied not to worry I can give it to the driver to give to him.
I thought this
sounded half reasonable, when I noticed that he hopped on his little scooter
and was contemplating following us in order to get his tip, and knowing that I
wasn’t going to be giving him a huge tip I thought it would be unfair to let
him ride all the way back to my hotel for as little as 5 dollars.
For note the entire
teleferico ride only cost 3 dollars, and I was only giving him anything at all
our of pity, when I would have much preferred to have just spent the entire
time with the two Russian ladies and to hell with a professional guide.
So before we drove
away I routed through my wallet and ignoring the 10, 20, 50 and 100 pesos note
I plucked my last 200 note from my wallet and handed it over to him, however
instead of being grateful for the charity I was offering him considering his
tour had been a washout he just stood there looking at it and said, “this isn’t
a very big tip!”.
Why on earth he felt
that he deserved a big tip was beyond me, but as I was already in the taxi I
just left the note hang in the air until he realised I was not about to go back
into my wallet for anything bigger and then he finally took it.
Considering the
average daily wage of something from the Dominican Republic was less than 3
dollars I felt quite miffed that my generosity was snubbed like that, and I
made sure that when I got back to the hotel I politely informed the manager
that the ride was not only a waste of time but to warn other guests not to
bother with the guided tour.
Also as complete
chance would dictate, a few days later when I was heading back down south from
Puerta Plata I found that I was sitting next to the two Russian ladies that I
had met on the mountain, and as it is a very long coach journey we were firm
friends by the time we all arrived at the other end.
We have added each
other on facebook and have promised to keep in touch with each other from time
to time.
But my all time least
favourite trip was the waterfalls experience.
Viewing the natural
waterfalls were the obvious exception to an otherwise good time, and it was
completely due to their inability to provide sufficient information to the
hotels and tour companies that advertise and sell the trip to tourists.
The trip was
described as being a walk through the forest to see 12 natural waterfalls, and
myself being a lover of both a great waterfalls and great photo opportunities I
jumped at the chance to see them, but although there were 12 waterfalls and you
could take photos, this was no leisurely walk through the forest but an extreme
natural waterfall slide experience where at the beginning you are requested to
slip on a life jacket and waterproof crocs and then follow a guide to the first
of several plunges.
Now, if that was how
it was being advertised at then I would have been very happy, but at the same
time I would have brought along a towel, a change of clothes and left my non
water-proof camera back in my hotel, but as it was I had nothing to change
into, nothing to protect my camera with, had not brought my wallet with me (
having paid for the entire trip in advance ) and did not wish to strip down
almost naked and leave all my stuff with them and go off into the jungle.
So, after many
minutes of convincing them that I did not want to be given a life vest as all I
wanted to do was to walk around the reserve and take photos of all the falls
from a safe distance, I was split up from the rest of the group who went one
way and had my own guide take me round the other way.
Or so I thought.
What actually
happened was we spend fifteen minutes hiking through the jungle to reach
waterfall number twelve and then waited for well over an hour for the rest of
the group to appear.
Not that the park was
all that big, but they were not viewing the water falls but actually riding
down the miniature waterfalls like a waterpark amusement attraction and the
delay was because they were spending ages ensuring that everyone was being
photographed doing so.
Adding insult to injury
after about twenty minutes my guide said he was going to catch up with the
others and find out what the delay was, and that I should just sit tight and
wait for them.
That’s right, for an
hour I was left alone to sit on a toadstool at the edge of a small waterfall in
the middle of a jungle, being eaten alive my mosquitos, while my tour guide
left me to help the rest of the group take photos of each other getting wet.
And the final insult,
that again as we walked back to the small pickup truck that had brought us my
guide, the same one who did nothing more than walk me into the jungle and then
left me there as he was bored, strongly hinted that the salary he was being
paid was not a large one and that he would appreciate any tip that I felt he
deserved.
Well I was far too
polite to give him the tip I felt he fully deserved, so instead I just stormed
back to the truck and sat there fuming while the others began to climb onboard
and drip dry all around me.
The snorkelling trips
were much better, with a full complement of tourists packing out the catamarans
cabin and top deck, and the spots where the crew took us to were breath taking
in both their own beauty and for the fabulous array of fish and coral all
around us.
In typical developing
Caribbean style the advertising was quite off target though as the advertised
paradise island was no more than a 200 foot long sandbar, the expert divers
were more interested in flirting with the female tourists than in our overall
safety, and the food huts on paradise island were tied together with frayed
rope and needed daily hammering to repair and replace lost boards, but as these
were all very minor things to quibble over I put these down to Caribbean
quaintness and just enjoying the sun and the snorkelling.
After almost a week
of relaxing on my own it was time to head back down south, back to Santo
Domingo as during my time in Puerta Plata I had somehow managed to lose touch
with my friend in Santiago de los Caballeros, and according to the internet it
is a small city with not much to look at and all its internet advertised tours
actually took place in either Puerta Plata or Santo Domingo anyway, thus not
worth staying in for its own reason.
Luckily I was able to
call ahead and another friend from Santo Domingo who I had not yet met up with
said that she was free all week and so could meet up a few days earlier if I so
wished.
Well, I had had
enough of adventure activities, demanding tour guides and rustic charm, so a
couple of days in a luxury hotel followed by a couple more in a relaxing all
inclusive beach resort near the airport sounded like pure heaven.
Slightly
disappointing for me was that by the time I arrived back in Santo Domingo my
slightly cough had developed into quite a heavy chest infection, and so one of
the first things that I asked my friend to help me with was to find a chemist
and get some medicine.
For two days me and
my friend stayed in the Marriott courtyard hotel, which may have been a five
star business hotel to them, but to me it was a very over inflated hotel with a
rubbish restaurant, bad view and porters who gave me such dirty looks
throughout my stay that I wasn’t sure if they objected to me being friends with
a local or if they thought I had hired myself a young hooker to take advantage
of for the duration of my stay.
Whatever it was it
didn’t seem to bother my friend at all, but I felt decidedly uncomfortable with
their constant dagger looks.
The next three days
were much better as we left behind the city and made our way out to the beach
resort in the nearby Juan Dolio, and once again the journey was worth a brief
mention.
To start with, as we
were leaving the Marriott we had to check out and ahead of us at reception were
a couple of slim, pretty young American tourists, both coming from rich parents
if their large suitcases were anything to go by, and didn’t speak a word of
Spanish.
But what really made
me laugh was that after spending the night here in a luxury five star hotel
they thought it would be a clever idea to try and save a few bucks by catching
a bus into the centre of town to meet a friend.
Of course they had no
idea that a bus was actually a Gua Gua, nor how to find one, but on overhearing
the receptionist inform them to go and stand on the opposite side of the road
and hold their thumb out in the direction they wanted to go, along with their
two large suitcases, I could just tell that it was an incredibly bad idea and
yet again felt that some people were just too ignorant to go travelling by
themselves.
The other part of the
story was that after my friend failed dismally to get her favoured local taxi
driver to take us all the way to Juan Dolio, and not wanting to subject us to
risking a series of Gua Gua rides, we allowed the hotel to recommend a budget
taxi driver to take us.
Well it started off
ok, although it was a longer journey than we expected and as well as having to
pay the standard taxi fare for a journey I was also prompted to pay extra for
the toll booths along the motorway, which although not much was still a bit
cheeky in my book.
Then what was more
unexpected was that half way along the motorway the engine conked out due to
lack of petrol, which also meant no air-conditioning.
With my friend being
super calm beside me in the taxi I couldn’t really flip out but I was more than
a little miffed that a driver the hotel had organised had undertook a journey
he must have known he didn’t have enough petrol for.
With me also passing
out due to the external heat plus all the clothes I had foolishly chosen to
prefer wearing instead of repacking for what I assumed would be a simple taxi
journey, my patience was wearing thin and so when I was also asked to pay a
friendly passing motorcyclist to go to the nearest petrol station and bring us
back some fuel in an old 2 litre cola bottle, I did so in growing desperation
and annoyance.
This annoyance
reached its absolute peak after a further fifteen minutes when, despite
virtually curb crawling the length of the road our hotel was meant to be on and
asking every passer-by we came across, we had failed equally miserably in
finding our given destination.
So before I strangled
both my friend and the driver in sheer frustration I began insisting in ever
increasing tones until they both got the message that I was done being cooked
in a metal car for the day and that I strongly suggest that we should stop at
the next building that even remotely looked like a hotel or resort and attempt
to stay there instead if at all possible.
As it turned out the
very next one we came across was a very nice middle of the range all inclusive
hotel complex that catered for all sorts of guests, had everything you could
hope for in such a resort including several different restaurants, in house
nightclub, casino, several swimming pools and lovely great rooms with their own
private balconies.
Indeed the only two
tiny things that could have been better was to have requested a room further
away from the in house nightclub, as opposed to being directly above it as we
ended up, and that the in house WiFi was free.
However as it was
affordable, and none of the staff so much as battered as eye lid at me checking
in with my friend, thus it was head and shoulders better than any other hotel I
had stayed in for a long time, certainly the best here in the Dominican
Republic.
The next couple of
days were spent doing all the usual things, but mainly eating, drinking, lazing
about in or by the main outdoor swimming pool and one trip to the casino which
turned out to have more staff than clients and thus we barely stayed long
enough to see what was happening, or rather what wasn’t, before we headed back
out again.
With just a couple of
days left before a very early flight out again from Santo Domingo I decided
that it might be wisest and cheaper if we spent our last two nights in the town
of Boca Chica as it was a tourist area that would barely have been any closer
to the airport if it had been situated adjacent to one the runways.
With hindsight it may
have been closer and cheaper, but in every other aspect it was totally the
wrong option and there are very few things in my life that if I could go back
and change I would be 100% positive that I would do so, but even as a bad
learning experience I think that Boca Chica has nothing what so ever to offer
anything to anyone.
Well almost, as I
soon found to my dismay, as the neighbouring room was being rented by two
scruffy looking American stoners who did little else but smoke weed and call
our for local girls to hook them up for a little something something, if you
know what I mean.
For a moment I
thought that it would upset my friend, but when I mentioned it to her she
simply shrugged and said that this was what Boca Chica was infamous for, and
was why she gave me a funny / quizzical look when I first informed her that I
had booked a hotel here in the first place.
With both my
increasingly persistent cough, the rain and Boca Chica having nothing really
worth leaving the hotel for, it was by and large a quiet couple of days and
nights where we did as little as possible until it came to the final night
where we packed up and requested a taxi take us to the airport first thing in
the morning.
The morning of my
flight back to the UK I said goodbye to my friend at the airport, enjoyed the
first proper American style breakfast in the airport lounge while I waited for
my check in and board, and then without much incident of note I touched down in
London once more via Miami and Charlotte almost a full day later.