Driving in the Dominican is a combination of driving in New York and India. Traffic lights are simply a means of decoration, instead drivers simply beeping their horns to warn other drivers they are coming through. Motorbikes with 4 passengers riding on back. Overloaded trucks lopsided with sugar plantation workers.

The owner of the car hire firm wanted me to drive seeing as I was the paying customer, but I asked Stacher to explain in Spanish that he was more qualified to drive than I was, and the risk of me crashing was far greater than that of Stacher crashing. So after finally convincing the owner we were off.

We drove through miles of open countryside and towns. Past fields of sugar cane and forested hills. The Dominican is a country as dangerous as it is beautiful, with corrupt officials stationed at random checkpoints. The Dominican army brandishing AK47’s randomly pulling cars over demanding in Spanish we give them money. Instead we all played dumb and pretended we all spoke nothing but English, which in the most part was true. We were waved on as the official cursed at us in Spanish. Later Stacher, who speaks fluent Spanish French and Haiti relayed what the offical had said, that he was demanding money. I looked at Jen in surpise and awe with the casualness that Stacher had dealt with it all. We continued…

Altos De Chavon is a recreated 16th century spanish village on the Chavon river, apparently the back drop to such movies as Anaconda and Rambo III. It is an amazing place sporting a world famous golf course and they’ve recently expanded it to include mansions for the rich and famous. Started in 1976 Altos de Chavon is the work of local stone masons, carpenters and iron workers, and it is simply breath taking. When you arrive you feel as though your in a different world. Perched high on the cliff tops the view is endless. The mountains of Haiti in the distance, the river below, amazing architecture all around and an open ampitheatre used as a backdrop for such people as Julio Iglesias.

After an hour of taking photos, and taking lunch we decided to head back home. It was early evening and I asked Stacher if we could pull over into a sugar cane field so I could take some photos. We arrived at the same checkpoint we’d been stopped at before. The officials now disappeared. We headed down a beaten track deep into the field and beat down a sugar cane we’d try later at the resort.

We passed through the same towns, stray dogs as frequent as the campaign posters for a new president. We pulled over several times more, seeing more and more of the real Punta Cana. The school children playing baseball in the dirt fields. A donkey ladden with fruit teathered to a fence. Raw meat hanging in the shops. Fruit stands everywhere. The hustle and bustle of the city. Store owners leaning against the doorway’s. Poverty one minute, cities the next. It was beautiful. I wish I could travel more.

We arrived back at the resort around 8pm and exhausted headed up to the apartment where Stacher and I stripped the sugar cane of it’s bark and he showed me how to eat it. Chopping the cane into small chunks you chew and suck, spitting the pulp out. o! the sugar rush.

As I slowly stirred at 5:45am the roasters were calling and the day was slowly waking. The stillness of everything. The quiet.

I walked past an empty swimming pool, most people still asleep, and hit the beech at 6am. There were a couple of other people already on the beach, each of us wanting to experience the romanticism of sunrise. The garden wardens were going about their business, chopping down newly grown coconuts from the palm trees so that they weren’t blown off and knocked some un-suspecting tourist out.

Low tide, a very gentle breeze and not a cloud in site. We sat there in anticipation, listening to the waves ebbing onto the shore. Listening as the world slowly woke from a deep slumber, and then there it was, the glow, the introduction before the sunrise. A gentle warm glow painting the underside of clouds that had blown in on the breeze to watch the sunrise.

And their it was. Semi circle on the horizon, at first a tiny spec gradually expanding as the sun rose. Flooding the ocean with a pool of warm light, and radiating heat to expel the temperature of the night. A couple kissing, several people running past on an early morning jog. Someone doing tai chi, everyone celebrating sunrise in their own way. I simply went back to bed.

After a nap and some breakfast Jen and I hit the beach again. Jen choosing to sunbath, and revise narrative scripts for her latest tour, I took the kayak out again. This time the breaks were even better. The wind was strong and it was low tide. Those 2 foot waves were now 3 and their frequency was greater. Leaning back into the kayak as I breached the waves paddling out I decided not to venture too far. The waves were strong. Once again I picked my spot, turned around and rode the waves.

An hour later I was bored, having returned the kayak after bottoming it out a couple of times on the reef and adding a few nice scratches to the bottom I decided I’d try my hand at sailing. The katamarangs had entranced me since day one. Leaning back into the wind, sail bloated with wind, rushing you down the shoreline.

I spoke to my friend at the beach hut again and honestly confessed to having no sailing experience and coughed up the $40 to have a quick introductory lesson, enough to get me going.

An hour later my guide and I took the Katamarang out. Wind on our backs, sail teathered. We let the rope out a little to catch the wind and we we’re off. Feeling the rudders as they cut through the waves blasting towards to the reef. Before the shallows we turned about, pushing the tiller and rudders in the opposite direction and scouping under the sail as we switched sides. Letting the sail out full as we sailed against the wind, cutting backwards and fowards to maintain forward momentum. We rode a couple of kilometres down the shoreline before making another about face, this time with the wind, strong forcing the sail open, wanting to whisk us away. We kept the sail small to avoid flipping the boat and raced up the shoreline. This time with amazing urgency, bouncing over waves, wakes forming as the rudders sliced the sea. Reefs below us. After an hour we headed back to shore completely releasing the sail to kill all speed, and facing into the wind as we breached the shore.

Then it was my turn. I spent the next hour racing up and down the shoreline riding the waves, amazed at how powerful the wind had become. Daring to release the sail more and more for greater speed. Leaning back and riding the waves. I daren’t release the sail too much for risk of flipping the boat, so I edged the rope out trying to find the point at which I would chicken out. Once I hit that point I brought the sail in a little to be on the safe side and was satisfied with the occasional lifting of the booms, arching my back to coax the boat back to the sea. I love sailing and can’t wait to try that again.

With it being a 5 star resort I quickly realised that most things were all-inclusive so I set about trying out as much as I could.

I lay on the beach day to day staring out into the beautiful ocean, reefs beckoning. Snorkeling. Surf breaking. Kayaking. Wind blowing, Katamarang sailing.

After a quick chat with the guys in the beach hut I realised there were many restrictions on what I could and couldn’t do. Damn insurance companies. Snorkeling, I wasn’t allowed beyond the buoys because of the boats, “but” I protested, “the best snorkelling is at the reef, beyond the buoys”. “You’ll need to book a snorkelling trip”… ah! man. Kayaking, not allowed beyond the reef, but that’s where the best surf was ! urggh !

In the end I decided that breaking the snorkelling rules probably wasn’t a good idea with outboard boats cruising up and down the coast towing groups of giggling tourists on banana boats, and katamarang’s zig-zak’ing down the coast trying to catch the best gust of wind, there was to much risk of getting knocked un-conscious as you surfaced for air. So in the end I took a kayak out beyond the reef !

I remember the last time I went out into the ocean against waves. It was when I was surfing with Greg off of Long Island.  I soon realised that those pretty looking waves were in fact 2 feet walls of crushing water, and that waves break at low points in the water. So you had to be careful not to hit the sea bed.

After rowing up against some of the smaller waves I made it into the big surf and soon realised why they advise that you don’t go beyond the reef. It’s shallow. VERY shallow, the reason for the awesome surf. Here you are, about half a kilometre out to sea and its shallower than the coast ! Flipping a kayak and smacking your head on the reef is a real possibilty. None the less the urge to hit some big waves takes away your sense of reasoning. Riding those waves off Long Island on the surf board back into the shore line was an awesome buzz. Timing it right to ride the perfect wave.

Paddling out into the bigger swells I turned the kayak around to set up for the perfect break. Back paddling as the smaller waves rode underneath the kayak waiting for the big one. You see it coming getting ready to break, you look around one last time, time it and start paddling hard. With all things being equal it hits you just as it’s breaking and you ride your kayak on the crest of the wave until it fades out. Man that’s awesome, just feeling the rush as the wave takes you.

I spent the next hour playing with the breaks, and amazing some American tourists. Sorry mum !

On Sunday  (4th Mar) we decided to go ATV ‘ing. Jen, Taylor, Stacher and I got hooked up with a local ATV’ing company and spent an amazing few hours being guided through outback and cross country on ATV’s. On the trip we visited local cocoa and coffee plantations, a lagoon in an underground cave and I experienced my first taste of Mamawana, a local herbal and rum concotion. As I discovered later in the week it’s a mixture of six local “herbs”, which to this day I still sware contains marajuana, usually in a 1 litre bottle infused with 1/8th honey, 1/8th wine and the rest dark rum.

The locals drink it in their coffee, most westerners hate it. Strangely I liked it. So much so that Stacher kindly bought me a bottle of it. Thanks Stacher.

Later on Sunday, after an amazing day out on the ATV’s we drove a few miles out into the country as the sun was setting to visit Stachers home. Having spent time in Kuwait I am always humbled by how people sometimes live, and ultimately have alot of respect in how they exist and always remain positive with very little. For me its a humbling experience whenever I find myself saying “I hate this” or “I wish I had that”, recalling some of the places I’ve visited and realising how much we all take for granted.

The fact that I work with computers is news that travels fast in the Dominican and shortly after arriving at Stachers house I take a look at his PC after he grumbles at it’s lack of speed. After an eternity booting up I soon discover the problem.

It is a testimony to Microsoft operating systems that they can run successfully on computers seriously under recommended specifications. Pentium III 400Mhz with 64Mb RAM and a 20GB Hard Drive. Built from pieces of an old Dell Optiplex, it doesn’t take much to figure out why this computer is slow. Doing my best to tune it, I sit thinking to myself that our company usually throws out computers bi-annually as part of our upgrade policy, usually because we complain they run slow !!! I make a vow to myself to get Stacher a better computer.

After giving Stachers German Shepard dog what I can only descibe as the largest bone ever ! ( it was like something from a T-Rex ! ) we set out in a taxi back to the resort. A full moon flooding the roads, reflecting back in the puddles from an evening shower. 

As we walked down the plane gantry stairs I noticed the airport, thatched in palm tree leaves, a million miles away from Heathrow looking more like something from hawaii.

After swimming through the hustle and bustle at the airport, porters trying to take your bags and the obligatory tourist shot as you arrive, we met our taxi with Stacher, a family friend who lives there.

The journey from the airport to the Ocean Blue beach resort was short, 20 minutes across a mixture of sand and tarmac’d roads. The similarities to Kuwait were amazing, it brought back so many memories of when I was a kid. The unkept roads, the rubbish spralled everywhere. Despite 5 start resorts occupying the majority of the coast with the occasional celebrity mansion, Punta Cana is one stop removed from a third world country.

The dominican is on the brink of an economic u-turn though. U.S. Real Estate companies buying big plots of land, building luxury hotels and appartments, new infrastructures being built in the towns and cities as the populas continues to live squaller.

We eventually arrived at the hotel and paid our taxi driver 800 peso’s ( the local currency ) with a crazy exchange rate. After checking in we headed upto the apartment and then onto the beach.