GRACIAS DOMINICAN REPUBLIC...DAY 7

DAY 7 

Part I
Cascading, the World's Greatest Sport 


Before I came to the Dominican I read about something called Cascading. It involves climbing up a series of waterfalls, sometimes using rope sometimes just your bare hands, and then jumping or sliding your way back down them. I think this sounds like one of the most awesome things I've ever heard of and about an hour from where we are staying is a place called 27 Falls that is supposed to be one of the best places in the world for Cascading. Luckily Kimberly is on the same page as me and we have our hotel help us book a guide to take us to the falls.

We wake up early filled with excitement and dress in bathing suits, board shorts, and water shoes.
A guy in a beat up old car picks us up right at 9 and we are on the way.
We both assume we are going straight to the falls but he tells us we have to go to downtown Sosua first to pick up some other people. I feel annoyed at this as I hate any sort of group tours and I thought it was just going to be Kimberly and I. I refuse to let anything spoil my excitement though. Cascading sounds like something I was born to do, and today is the day I fulfill my destiny.
We pull into a dirty parking lot and the driver tells us we will have to wait for a little while until a truck comes. Eventually an open air flatbed truck pulls up. There are two long wooden slabs bolted in along both sides of the truck bed, and some flimsy looking metal poles stick up at random intervals. It is unclear if they are supposed to serve as roll bars or simply as something to hold onto so we don't fall right out of the truck.
"Ok!" Our driver cheerfully shuttles us up into the back of the truck, waves encouragingly at us, hops in his car and zooms off before we can ask any questions.
Kimberly and I gingerly sit down on the rough wood and I take a look at our fellow passengers.
There is a Jamaican couple right across from us, both of them are hugely obese and wearing brightly colored muumuus. This confuses me since Cascading seems like a fairly difficult, vigorous sport and I can't imagine how these two even climbed into the truck let alone how they are going to be climbing up waterfalls. I try not to be judgmental though and keep looking down the row. There is another couple, younger and slightly more sporty looking that gives me some hope we are on the right bus. A husky local guy grins widely at us in welcome and introduces himself as Oscar, our guide for the day.
Right when I am about to confirm that the plan for the day is indeed Cascading, the truck takes off with a lurch and the wind rushes so loudly in our ears not a word can be said.
We stop at a resort on the way out of town to pick up the rest of the passengers for the day. Kimberly and I watch in silent fascination as 4 large, loud, African American girls from New York pile into the truck. They are all dressed to the nines with full makeup, jewelry, dresses, and high heels.
"Uh. Excuse me?" I blurt out loudly to Oscar. "Is this the right truck to go cascading? To twenty seven falls?"
"Of course!" He assures me at the exact same time as five other people on the bus ask 'what is cascading?'
I am about to stand up and demand to know what is going on but the truck is off again, flying over a speed bump that knocks me right back on to the hard wood bench. I have to grab tightly to the rusty metal bar to keep from falling out, and as much as I want to interrogate Oscar I know there is no use. He won't be able to hear a word I say.
I sit in increasing panic as the minutes roll by and we fly down a dirt highway. Today is our last chance to go cascading, and if we are on the wrong tour (as it seems more and more clear that we are) we need to get off it as soon as possible.
About 45 minutes later the truck finally slows down as we go through a poor residential neighborhood.
Children race after the truck and Oscar refuses to meet my eye or acknowledge me as he throws candy to them. The rest of the bus passengers snap photos and clap their hands in delight at Oscar's generosity.
We pull to a stop on the side of the dusty road and everyone piles out of the truck. Oscar runs off into a nearby wooden building and doesn't come back out for about 10 minutes. When he does he is holding a huge, vibrantly colored rooster in his hands. Trailing behind him is a withered old man, also tightly clutching a large rooster to his chest.
Oscar tells us a long, elaborate story about the history and importance of cock fighting in the Dominican Republic and then dramatically throws his rooster into the middle of where we are all standing and yells "Get back!"
The other man throws his rooster in also and the two roosters lazily circle each other and then start pecking causally at the ground.
One of the girls from New York starts screaming about the cruelty of the cock fight and Oscar assures her that these roosters have 'socks' covering their talons so it will be impossible for them to hurt each other. Him and the old man try to throw the roosters at each other a few more times, hoping to elicit some sort of response out of them. When it becomes obvious that the roosters are not going to react, Oscar and the old man take them back into the building.
I feel on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"What are we doing here?" I moan. "Why are we in the middle of nowhere, watching a fake cock fight? Why aren't we cascading?"
The Jamaican man asks me what is this 'cascading' thing I keep talking about.
"What are you on this tour for?" I demand of him and his wife.
"We are here for the wood whittling." He says.
"What?" I ask, completely astonished. "Did you say wood whittling? Like as in people whittling wood?"
"Yes. We are supposed to watch the locals perfecting their trade of wood whittling."
I stare at him incredulously. What kind of a freak show would book a tour to watch people whittling wood? Literally one of the most boring things on earth you could watch.
I turn to the hispanic girl and her boyfriend frantically and ask them why they are here.
"For the coffee and chocolate factory tour." She says with a big smile.
Panic rises in me, nearly choking me.
I grip one of the New York girls arms and ask her the same question.
"I don't know." She shrugs. "Our resort just booked it for us. I think its to go shopping or something."
I sprint up the hill to find Oscar, my mind and heart racing. What is wrong with these people?? Wood whittling? Coffee making? Shopping?????
"Oscar!!!!" I scream.
He intercepts me and guides me to the truck while the old man shows the rest of the group, including Kimberly, into another building where the wood whittling spectacle will apparently take place.
"We are on the wrong tour! The wrong tour! I have to get back to town and get on the right bus."
"Senorita." He says soothingly. "Here, have some rum." He pulls out a bottle of delicious local rum and  a little paper cup, fills it to the brim and hands it to me.
"No!" I snap. "I don't want your rum! I want to know how I am going to get to the falls!" I actually really do want the rum. Once you get a taste for the sweet Dominican rum it is nearly impossible to resist.
"We are going there. I promise." He says, urging the cup to my mouth.
I can't take it anymore and take the shot of delicious rum. He immediately refills it.
"Tell me what is going on." I ask him as I throw back the second shot of rum.
Oscar explains to me that the company he works for books multiple tours in one to save money. They promise each person the tour of their dreams and then pile us all in the same truck and knock out all the activities they can. Every time he sees my anger start to rise he forces another shot down my throat, so by the time he tells me we will only get to cascade half of the falls because we still have to visit a coffee plantation, taste some chocolate, and go to some kind of flea market I actually feel ok with it.
Every one climbs back into the truck, Oscar keeps Kimberly and I doused with a steady stream of rum, and despite myself I have fun. The coffee and chocolate are the best I've ever had and we meet an adorable old woman named Mama Dora who I want to adopt as my Grandma and take her home with me. We drive further and further into the mountains until we come to a campsite of sorts and three local woman make us lunch with wild chicken, local herbs and onions, and spicy, incredible rice. It is so delicious I almost forget about cascading. Almost.
It is well into the afternoon by the time we arrive at the falls, and the rest of our party is annoyed and confused about what we are doing. The Jamaicans refuse to leave the truck at all, but the rest of the group hikes with Kimberly and I to the base of the falls.
Our new guides are two tiny, spry Dominican boys, no older than 17. One is named CheeChee and the other is just Roger, which somehow seems even more ridiculous. Their names are written in big bold print across the back of their shirts, in case we forget.
The hike to the falls is about a mile, and it is stiflingly hot and humid. We are drenched in sweat within minutes. Bugs of all sizes swarm around us, buzzing in our ears, trying to fly in our eyes and mouths and ears. Wild cows moo loudly from every direction. In the far distance you can hear the crashing and rumbling of the 27 waterfalls.
When one of the cows suddenly jumps out in front of us on the trail CheeChee screams like a girl and throws Kimberly in front of him. I take no comfort in the fact that our guide will apparently use us as a human shield at the slightest hint of danger. As soon as he inches past the cow with Kimberly blocking him he takes off at a dead sprint. We all watch him disappear as Roger apologizes. None of us understand, its a cow for gods sake. Are the cows in Dominican some crazy breed? When we finally catch up with him his only explanation is that cows are big.
"I'm not getting killed by a cow!" He tells us firmly, as if this makes all the sense in the world.
"I don't think CheeChee cares one bit if you are murdered by a cow though" I smirk at Kimberly.
When we get to the first fall and see how high the drop is that we will eventually have to jump down, the hispanic girl's boyfriend balks. No way, he says, you guys are freaking crazy. She, however is absolutely elated at the unexpected surprise and is eager to get going.
Kimberly and I grin at each other in excitement. Finally it is happening!
The four girls from New York decide to come along, despite the fact that none of them can swim and they don't have bathing suits. They gamely buckle on life vests and start climbing the first rickety ladder.
We spend the next 3 hours swimming through amazingly deep, dark winding canyons, climbing up slippery waterfalls with the help of the surprisingly strong CheeChee and Roger. The girls from New York scream the entire way, their shouts echoing off the walls, half terror, half exhilaration.
It is everything I hoped it would be, the way back down one of the funnest things I've ever done. We cliff dive the bigger waterfalls and slide down the other ones.
By the time we get back to the truck we are bonded as a group, all of us having shared this incredible experience. I even forgive little CheeChee for trying to kill my friend.
Our truck bounces back down the dangerously bumpy road, and I keep a firm grip on the rusted metal bars, as Kimberly's head sways back and forth until she finally head plants fast asleep onto the giant Jamaican mans shoulder. He looks at me in alarm. I shrug and tell him not to let her fall out. As he nervously holds her tight I feel the breeze rush through my still wet hair and watch the beautiful pink sun set over the hills in perfect, absolute contentment.

GRACIAS DOMINICAN REPUBLIC...DAY 6

DAY 6

Part I 
I Like My Beaches A Little On The Trashy Side 

Kimberly and I had planned on waking up early to take a yoga class. The place we are staying has a gorgeous yoga studio made entirely out of bamboo, built high in the trees so it overlooks the ocean. It is like something you would only see in a magazine and we are both really excited about it.
Kimberly jumps up at the crack of dawn, full of energy, but either because of the rich dinner we ate the night before or because of the massive amounts of alcohol I drank I don't feel quite the same.
My head is pounding and my stomach is a wreck. I opt to stay in our room and recover at my own speed while Kimberly takes the yoga class.
As I am stepping out of a very long, very hot shower I hear a high pitched voice in my room.
"Hola? It's me, Ralphio!"
I groan under my breath. How the hell did he even get in our room? I vow to kick Kimberly later for not locking the door.
"Can you kindly leave the room Ralphio? I still need to get dressed!" I shout from the bathroom.
"Thats ok!" Ralphio says in his annoying sing song voice. "I will just sit down and wait for you, then we can go to breakfast together!"
Jesus. I restrain myself from running out in my towel and removing him from the room by brutal force.
"I will meet you out there! Ok?"
He takes some convincing but I finally get him out of our room and quickly dead bolt the door.
I wait as long as I can to head to breakfast in the hopes that he will already be gone, but of course the first thing I see is Ralphio frantically waving me over to his table.
I focus on the sound of the waves crashing behind my back, the warm sunshine gently caressing me, and the luscious fresh fruit I am eating, determined to drown out the incessant sound of Ralphio chattering about himself.
Kimberly soon joins us, positively glowing from what she claims was the greatest yoga class of her entire lifetime. I glare at her through breakfast but it has no effect on her blissful state. I don't think she evens notices Ralphio describing every single time he has ever done yoga to us in excruciatingly boring detail.
We manage to lose him long enough after breakfast to call a cab to take us to the main stretch of beach in Sosua. As our cab is driving slowly down the long, pot holed dirt road leading out of the hotel, we hear screaming.
Kimberly and I look out the back window to see Ralphio running as fast as he can after the cab. He is wearing nothing but his silk boxers again with a blue and white striped towel slung over his shoulder and a giant camera bouncing around his neck.
"Wait for me!!!" He shouts.
"Andale! Andale!" I shout at the cab driver. Even with my limited Spanish I feel that this should clearly mean step on it but the cab driver stops instead.
Ralphio breathlessly jumps in the backseat, crawling over Kimberly to seat in the middle of the two of us. He talks happily the entire way to the beach, oblivious to our obvious dismay at having him there.
When we get out of the cab Kimberly tells him her and I need some alone time and we sprint into the crowds of people in the streets.
After running several blocks we stop to take in our surroundings. Sosua is a disarming mix of beautiful serenity and in your face corruption. A main dirt road follows along soft white sand leading to a  glistening cove of turquoise water. Children scream and splash in the water. Tourists snorkel and jet ski in the crystal clear ocean. Yet less than 30 feet away as you walk the shade dappled dirt path, prostitutes and drug dealers beckon to you from inside filthy dark bars. Walk a couple feet and see a happy couple dancing to a live band in the sand. Walk a couple more and have a prostitute with dirty knees reaching out for you.
Face one direction and see the inviting soft sand and cleansing ocean water, turn the other and see a man doing drugs in the most disgusting bathroom you've ever laid eyes upon.
We spend hours soaking in these contrasts. Laying in the sun, drinking beers in thrillingly decrepit bars, dancing under the shady trees, swimming in the perfect water, eating pizza covered with giant freshly caught prawns, politely turning down offers of drugs and hookers. Just another day at the beach.

Part II
All Animals Can Swim, Right? 


Kimberly and I had been told with good reason not to stay in Sosua after nightfall so we head back to our hotel well before sunset. I felt a tinge of guilt about leaving Ralphio behind but we had no way of finding him, and I figured he would be okay. Sure enough he is right there to enthusiastically greet us when we pull up.
We bypass him quickly and head straight to the beach by our hotel. We had arranged previously to go horse back riding along the beach. Kimberly has never been riding on the beach and is hoping it will be just like what she has seen in the movies. She asks me repeatedly if I think the horses will really run along the water.
"Yes I think so. They usually don't mind getting their hooves a little wet." I tell her knowledgeably.
Standing by the water with three shiny little horses is a young teenage boy who shyly introduces himself as Carlos. He tells me my horse is named Don Quixote and I am pleased to see that all the horses are healthy and well treated and Carlos is incredibly respectful of them. I had heard horror stories about how badly the horses could be treated on the island and tried hard to find a responsible stable.
Carlos takes us off at a gallop through a grove of almond trees. Kimberly is terrified because she isn't that used to being on a horse, I am terrified because of the almond trees. Turns out almonds grow on trees (who knew?) in these surprisingly large hairy pods. I still don't understand how you get an almond out of that thing and keep thinking something must be getting lost in the translation. All I know is they are very hard and fall with alarming velocity. I have been nearly killed numerous times at our hotel and now it is like we are riding through a minefield. The giant almond pods smash down around us, one hits my saddle horn so hard it makes a dent, another brushes past my leg and violently explodes around my horses hooves. I am convinced one is going to land right on my head and knock me unconscious, which is not an ideal situation when you are on the back of a galloping horse. Eventually, though, I begin to realize that by some miracle nothing was actually hitting me. In fact, it was almost like an invisible force field was around me that the deadly almonds could not penetrate. I sat up a little straighter on my horse and an almond whizzed by my head, but did not make contact.
I felt like Wonder Woman.
I spurred Don Quixote on past Kimberly and Carlos, screaming incoherently about being untouchable, and burst out of the almond grove onto the sandy beach. Kimberly's horse followed close behind, as horses will do, and Carlos shouts after us to slow down.
Don Quixote is as giddy as I am about our newfound invincibility and charges straight into the ocean. Not running alongside the water as I envisioned but smack into the water as if he is determined to swim out to the middle of the sea. Kimberly's horse follows with her screaming wildly after me.
"Dayna!!! What's happening? What are they doing?"
Don Quixote takes the crashing waves to his face like a champ and he is now neck deep and continuing to swim out to deeper waters. I've never been on a swimming horse before and I hold on for all I'm worth, completely submerged from my chest down.
"What are they doing? Where are they going?" Kimberly asks me breathlessly.
"I honestly have no idea." I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Carlos is hysterical on the shore yelling at us to come back. Kimberlys terror, and our horses determination to swim away to nowhere, its too much and I cannot stop laughing.
Laughter is contagious and Kimberly is soon laughing too, and I swear I hear Don Quixote chuckle. He finally stops swimming and there we are floating on two horses as they doggie paddle in the middle of the Caribbean and the giant glowing sun sinks slowly behind us. Our poor guide Carlos paces back and forth on the distant shore begging for us to come back in.
"Come on old boy." I soak in the glorious moment and then turn my horse's reins back toward shore.
Carlos is flooded with relief as our horses gently shake off the salt water and tamely start walking along the sand. He mutters under his breath about us being crazy ass white girls and keeps a very close eye on us the rest of the ride.
We pass a disturbing amount of men with guns, both guards with machine guns and locals waving around handguns for no apparent reason. We trot by raised huts on the beach that look completely unlivable but have children and dogs playing happily in front of them and cooking smoke drifting from inside. We stop and chat with some local guys trying to catch a giant fish in a homemade net. They have been patiently trying to bring the fish to shore for hours and just when they almost have it it escapes. They pull handguns from their pockets and desperately try to shoot it which scares the shit out of me, but the fish darts off into the sea. The men scream with anger and frustration and I try to look nonchalant about guns being causally carried and shot. I remind myself that I am Wonder Woman.
By the time we get back to the hotel Carlos seems to have forgiven us and I give both him and Don Quixote wistful hugs goodbye. I'm going to miss them.
Kimberly and I quickly change and head to Cabarete, another nearby beach town, for dinner and drinks.
After a huge dinner of rice and fresh seafood we choose a beautiful bar right on the sand and sink into huge red bean bag chairs inside a gorgeous open air orange silk tent. We stick our toes in the still warm sand, listen to the soothing sound of the nearby sea, and drink delicious mojito after mojito as we laugh about the events of our crazy day. Swimming on a horse in the open ocean, check. Turning down more than one hooker in a day, check. Being impenetrable to deadly falling objects AND finally cool in the face of danger, check and check.