When I woke in the morning, I thought I was ready for anything. Within the first 24 hours of arrival, the Dominican Republic had already revealed itself as the mysterious,
untouched country boasted of in travel magazines. There had been no difficulty for my friends, Patty and Elaine, and I to acclimatize to the lush surroundings.
In no time, we had immersed ourselves in all that the town of Sosua had to offer.
Our first day was spent relaxing on the endless strand of white-sand beach that fronted our hotel. Reclining on lounge chairs, we drank banana rum drinks and purchased jewellery
from wandering vendors. Dozens of colourful sails flitted by like butterfly wings across the sea as windsurfers tackled the waves. Along the shore, sturdy local women
travelled up and down the water's edge, balancing their wares high upon their heads.
Lethargy swept over us like a warm Caribbean breeze and so we were unprepared for the two young boys that wandered in our direction. Speaking to each other in Spanish,
they broke into a run around our chairs as though playing a game. It was their striking dark eyes and mischievous grins that made me throw them a bottle of water and a few
Dominican pesos. As though from out of nowhere, half a dozen more smiling boys appeared and circled our chairs. Giggling, they picked up all three pairs of our shoes from
the ground and scurried away, disappearing as suddenly as they had arrived.
“Somebody should go after them,” I said.
“You go,” Patty countered.
Dazed from the heat of the sun, none of us even bothered to get up.
By the time we started back to the hotel, the creeping shadows of dusk had long been spreading across the sand.
A skittish bird flew low over our heads as we walked the length of the beach.
| “That was a bat,” Patty commented. |
“No it wasn’t,” answered Elaine. “There aren’t any bats around here.
Walking faster now, we neared two towering trees that grew side by side along the beach. Their clustering leaves swayed in and out to a silent rhythm, pulsing eerily in the gloom. We stopped and stared, trying to comprehend what it was that we were seeing. Ducking another large bird that skimmed over my head, I finally understood. It was not the leaves that moved, but hundreds of leathery, bloodsucking bats hunting insects in the trees.
“Bats!” I screamed. “Let’s get out of here.
We cursed the boys for our shoes as we raced barefoot to the safety of our hotel and our room where we got ready for the evening. Then we were off to the discotheque. There the music was as heated and fast as all the dark, sweaty men in the club. All night, the rum flowed freely and the dancing was like nothing I had ever seen. The Dominicans seemed to live in the music that we others only just heard. All around us and with us they danced up their own sizzling mixture of the merengue, bachata and the rumba. By some point in the night, I had picked up so many new dance moves that I couldn’t wait to show them off when I got back home. Little did I realize that the steps would not stay with me, as though in some way intrinsically linked to the heart of the Dominican.
The next morning, my friends and I barely made it to the lobby in time for the tour we had scheduled. When we arrived, all the other tourists were waiting in the back of the pick up truck and there were only two seats left. One of us had to sit on the hood of the cab and I volunteered for the first leg of the trip.
Before climbing onto the top of the truck, one of the guides, Carlos, handed me a clear bottle of unidentified liquid. The shirt he wore hung open and he rubbed his chest, proudly displaying a bellybutton that protruded some inches from his abdomen like a secondary organ. I choked back a gulp of the firewater he had given me and made sure to look nowhere but directly in his eye when I gave him back the bottle.
Now on our way, I clung to the roll bar as we bounced along uneven dirt roads, ducking political banners hanging from the trunks of palm trees and dodging hard-shelled, flying insects. My muscles ached by the time we reached our destination and I hopped off the roof of the truck. We had stopped in a marshy field and we followed our guides down a trail that led to the mouth of the jungle.
The path narrowed and we moved in single file through the underbrush. All around us, slender tree trunks stretched to the sky like long necks craning above our heads. A humid breeze rustled through the leaves and seemed to carry with it the breath of dinosaurs that once had roved this jungle. We did not speak to one another, instead acutely aware of the chatter of tropical birds and the ominous puddles you could disappear in that lined the trail.
We came to a stop on the edge of a sheer drop-off. Below our feet, a bath of blue-green water sparkled in an old stone quarry. Thick vines drooped past into the water but we took the long way around, descending a steep stairwell carved into the side of the bluff. We stepped down onto a floating dock where we left our things and plunged into the lake.
The water was shallow and warm and so clear I could see my own feet. Overhead, the sky was searing blue against the lush green mantle of the forest grove. All around me, curious fish swam the reservoir, their scales glittering pink and green in the filtered sunlight. I swam farther from the dock, the water becoming deeper, my feet no longer able to reach the muddy bottom. Now treading water, the fish came so close that I could touch them. They were not timid and their skin was coarse and clammy. I felt something tickle my thigh and I squinted through the dazzling water. A meaty fish with pointy teeth was nibbling air bubbles off my leg.
I kicked my leg out and felt myself sink. My head dipped below the surface and I swallowed a mouthful of water. Coughing and flailing, I splashed my way back to the shallows and my friends. Luckily, I hadn’t been followed and no one had noticed my freestyle swim of hysterical panic.
The next moment, I heard splashing beside me and I was surprised to see Carlos race past me in the water and hurl himself onto the dock. I was horrorstruck when I saw a small fish clamped onto his bellybutton. He tore the fish away and blood spattered across the dock.
I heard Elaine whisper, “Holy Mother.”
Patty just shook her head.
We collectively decided it was time for all to get out of the water and the tour continued in uncomfortable silence. Sitting among the subdued group of people in the back of the pickup truck, I could not guess what the next stop would bring.
Breaking the silence, Patty leaned over to me and said, “This place isn’t ready for tourists yet.”
I couldn’t have agreed less. Beautiful, untamed Dominican Republic, please don’t change a thing and I’ll be back as soon as I can.
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