Dominican Republic Chapter 2

Day 1 – 2 The World’s Most Beautiful Beach and the Beginning of the Egg

“Andy?!”

Considering how big the Dominican Republic is (slightly smaller than the Czech Republic) and how many people I’ve managed to meet here in the hour since arriving at the airport (one), it might have been startling to be addressed by name on the street. The driver of the car, however, knew my name. Either it was a well-paid hit man with an amateurish attitude or someone from the accommodation who went looking for us.

My money was on the latter. And even if it was option number 1, seeing that we no longer had to search in confusion for our target was the clincher. We started pushing all our bags into the car so vehemently that a small child fell out of the other end of the car… It didn’t say anything, it just ran away. Was it an act worthy of reflection? Maybe…

We wish nothing more than to be left alone to breathe. The never-ending journey in our heroic rescuer’s car ends after about 20 seconds. The child who fell out earlier is already opening the gate to the ho(s)tel complex.

Accommodation is absolutely sufficient for 2 nights:

Followed by an evening visit to the beach bar. 1 vegetable salad and 3 Coronas, as a first bomb attack of territorially alien ingredients and bacteria on our bourgeois spoiled stomachs, will be enough.

“The man in the ladies’ room has a rifle…”

Petya says petulantly after returning from a place where women never go alone. What can I say? In the Dominican Republic, you are 25 times more likely to be murdered than in the Czech Republic. Would you leave your rifle at home when you go to a beach bar at night?

We’re five hours younger. The time difference must have taken its toll. Maybe because we don’t need as much sleep? But you’ll see the effects of more significant time travel a little later. The moment is precisely specified, theoretically proven and practically verified. It is the exact moment when you have been in bed for 2-3 hours and you wonder why you can’t fall asleep.

Note: It should be added here that knowing that you are 25 times more likely to not wake up anymore can slightly influence the precisely specified 2-3 hour period. So much so that it becomes unfortunately absolutely hard to specify.

Morning scrunched up faces buried in a prepared breakfast. Amazing breakfast! Coffee, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit. Aaah, I can’t even remember the last time someone made me scrambled eggs for breakfast (unless you count 26 Aug 2016 – Prague at 9:12, but I guess I’d better forget that…). I never have scrambled eggs for breakfast, I could eat that every morning!

An unnumbered rule from the amateur traveller’s guide that has proven itself over time outside the travel sphere: Never say “Never”.

We sniff our butts for a while with a surprised elderly couple of Southeastern nationality. We don’t smell them. Probably due to their previous ignorance about sharing the same apartment (different room, but same kitchen/living room with sofa). The more fragile part of the southeastern couple had their asses guarding the sofa. She strictly refrained from using any of her communication skills towards me. Smiles and all conversations she was not reluctant to save for Petya. I don’t blame her.

We’re going to the beach. UNESCO has named Bávaro Beach one of the 10 most beautiful beaches in the world. The existence of something that is officially confirmed as the most beautiful in the world is simply necessary. We’ve all had that need coded into us since the moment these three eventualities intersected in your life: childhood, a queen and a mirror…

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Those dots, I guess that’s your expectation if I confirm the “most beautiful” beach of Bávaro. Can you believe the UNESC report about this beach being the most beautiful in the world? Various statistics say that 80% (some say 50%, see a totally confusing Wikipedia article) of Czechs don’t believe in God. Faith is supposedly in life, but important! Do you believe the news on TV? Well, in that case, you can safely believe the UNESC 😉

We’re going to bed early tonight to make sure our 5-hour rejuvenation hasn’t worn off. Damn it!

Wake up, scrunched up faces, coffee, fruit… eehh… and eggs again…

Packing up our stuff, we head to the place where the guagua dropped us off (see the story of the Canadian, the shotgun and the pig fuck). There are no timetables. Is there even a bus coming? We’ve been waiting in the sun for half an hour, the shade disappearing as quickly in the morning as our faith that the bus will actually arrive. We have a 4-5 hour journey of over 300km of Dominican roads to cover. Roads made by island workers whose biggest hobby and determination is to do things properly (while all their friends sip coconut juice through a straw on the beach). We’re heading for the Samaná Peninsula.

Note: Later, it turns out that you won’t find many beaches here and the quality of the roads isn’t too bad.

The key to the success of all travel is to divide the roles.