This time last year barely over a dose COVID plus pneumonia, I was in Dominican Republic. That was a different experience in many ways; some good, some not so much.
Starting off, they ground crew broke the plane in Pensacola. Having worked around an airport, I knew we were in for at least an hour delay. Pushing back from the gate, the pin on the tow bar of the tug broke. It wasn’t just a simply matter of replacing the pin. Oh, no! the process was replace the pin, call the plane’s chief maintenance engineer to inspect the front landing gear, enter the incident in the plane’s logbook and sign off on it. Then hook the plane back up to the tug, push away from the gate, get in the take-off line again and finally wing it to Miami. As I am landing in Miami, my plane for the DR is taking off. Nice. Now I gotta re-arrange for ground transportation while spending an hour and a half in the AA rebook line because everyone either went to lunch or on their break all at once. I finally arrive in Punta Cana three hours late.
Punta Cana was developed to be a tourist Mecca and it is. Most everything thing there has been built since the 1990’s. Event the airport is still under construction. As I was walking in, there were some guys with wheelchiars. Now I was nursing a pretty significant knee issue. I shoulda sat my ass down in one. I would have been taken to the front of the line. But no, another hour or thereabouts in the Customs line. Finally, outside and found my ride. It was about an hour down to Dominicus Beach, down a nice 4-lane highway to no where. It was like the Hwy 287 between Fort Worth and Amarillo. Plenty of nothing to see with an occasional fence gate or cattle gap with a dirt road to no where. Anyway, after about an hour, we turned off the four-lane onto a paved pig trail full of people, dogs, goats, etc. About fifteen minutes down that road, we turned off to another street with a little bit of local shops up to a wall and gate. Gate oped, gate closed and now you are inside where you’ll be for the next week.
Up to the desk, where they can’t find my reservation. Of course not, what else is gonna go wrong today? While they sorted that out, I excused myself around to the bathroom. WTH? There’s about a 12 inch space between the front of the toilet and a concrete wall. I realize most Dominicans are smaller than Americans or Europeans but no one over ten could have used that thing properly. I’ll leave how I managed to your imagination.
So now I have my room assignment and a porter to have all the gear and bags. First though, a stop at the first drink stand where I downed three glasses of something tropical plus one for the walk. My accommodations turned out to be one side of a beachfront bungalow. It had a covered shade porch, an adjoining sun lounging area, then palm trees and the beach view. Score!
The resort we stayed at was Wyndham Dominicus Beach. It was a huge place and I don’t think I saw every bit of it. It was owned by Italians and that play a role in the week’s festivities.
Sunday morning and time to dive. At least the dive shop was a short walk from my room. I was having issues with a knee injury I inflicted on myself in the pool. Wrenched it around too hard trying to get my fin on and just wrecked it. Sometimes it wouldn’t straighten out like it should. Got to the shop, they had tanks set out for us, assigned us a box in the gear room. We had to set up our gear, they loaded it on a cart and took it to the dock. Their whole process was a CF.
The diving in general, for the level of experience in our group was just kinda meh. Among the six of us divers were three instructors, one divemaster and two very experienced advanced divers. I don’t think my computer made it below eighty feet depth all week. The reefs had a lot of fish but everything was small. We did travel around a good bit to various dive sites. Reef Oasis Dive does have a coral propagation program, so that’s a positive note. The one wreck off the coast we were going to dive is not marked. Apparently, the shop just can’t seem to keep a buoy mounted to it. Fishermen either run over them and cut the rope or they get stolen. GPS anyone? Our last dive, we were going to try it, but our guide took us in completely the opposite direction. All we saw was grass and sand. The boat crew offered to go the dock and swap tanks but we had already packed our gear and were ready for lunch.
During the middle of the week, I could tell they were building up to some kind of event. There is in Italy a sure enough Roman Holiday called Ferragosto. This is a holiday originally established by Caesar Augustus. So, the Italians have had two thousand years to perfect it. That place blew it out like I have never seen, with food, drink, music, dancing, bubble machines, name it. Most of my crew that evening went to have Mexican and could only get space for like six people. We had eight total in our party. I said no big, I wasn’t in the mood for Mexican and went to the main dining hall.
OMG! The rest of my group missed the high point of the whole trip. The main hall had every kind of Italian food, seafood, prime rib. In the courtyard, there was a whole grouper being carved up and grilled; desserts lined the patio. I tried to eat and drink myself to death. Then the party really got started. I don’t know what time it ended but it was still rocking when I finally fell asleep. Despite the mediocre diving, it was worth the whole trip and all its issues to be there for that party.
It was a shorter trip than usual to the DR, only six days then home. Of course, flying through Miami always sucks because the outbound flights are late. Generally, you end up with four- or six-hours’ worth of layover. All in all, glad I went but will probably never go back.
The Red Fins 