A Rather Unusual First Date: Dominican Republic
A first date, first time meeting in fact, on a tropical island neither of us has been to before, how will it go?
On the afternoon of August 13th 2018 I find myself slowly, slowly shuffling through the passport control line of the Airport of the Americas in the Dominican Republic with more than enough time to contemplate the potential error of my ways. Presumably, if I ever get through this line a girl I’ve never met before will be waiting for me through the arrivals gate. But I’ve been out of communication since I left Los Angeles 11 hours ago, what if she, a Venezuelan, was refused entry into the Dominican Republic? And even if she did make it, what if we turn out to hate each other, and I’m about to commence a four-day-long bad date??
I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic, and it makes one do things like this. I had moved to rural Australia three years prior, and while the twilight sun slanting through the gum forests is really something else, I had swiped through the half dozen or so women on Tinder within a 50 km radius of me pretty quickly. So the ill-fated idea was to set Tinder to different locations literally anywhere on the planet in the logic that “the one” could be anywhere. I found out Icelanders have the most interesting names, made a friend in Namibia, and with just my luck cautious initial exchanges with a beautiful Venezuelan doctor grew over the course of months to daily conversation and strong mutual interest. Venezuela! With the exception of maybe North Korea possibly the most politically problematic place for an American to travel to; and, conversely, because of the imploding Venezuelan economy it’s very hard for them to get a visa to a developed country either.
Enter Dominican Republic. We planned to meet for just four days because, despite talking for months, you never know how things will go in person and one doesn’t want to be trapped in a train-wreck week-long date. I should also mention that she and I don’t have a language in common other than a rudimentary far-from-fluent understanding of each other’s (this situation proudly made possible by Google Translate!). This could all go terribly.
And as anxious as I may have been, appreciate the brave leap of faith she was making traveling to another country to meet a guy for the first time!
Day 1:
Finally, finally, after two hours in the passport control line (during which I finished my reading book, “For the Term of His Natural Life,” which seemed an apt description of how long the line was taking), finally I emerged into the arrivals area. I’m scanning the crowd, I don’t see h — suddenly I’m joyfully pounced upon by a beautiful senorita exclaiming in Spanish. Fear #1 of meeting someone from online dismissed: with implausibly large chocolate eyes and a radiant smile, she’s even prettier than the pictures. Problem #2: I can’t understand the stream of things she’s telling me. First couple challenge: getting a taxi. I hadn’t been able to get a hold of the hotel to arrange their shuttle. Cristina negotiated with the local taxi drivers. We successfully communicated with each other, we would take the taxi she negotiated. High five.
The Dominican Republic is the eastern half of the island of Hispaniola — the western half is Haiti. In traveling to the DR one has options. Punta Cana at the far eastern tip has many beautiful beaches and sites around it, while the capital, Santo Domingo, is full of classic colonial architecture and historical sites. We decided to split the difference and book a hotel midway up the coast between the capital and the eastern end, a place called Juan Dolio. We had booked a room at the weirdly named but well-reviewed “Emotions by Hidalgo” resort. Cristina saved me from having to make an ungentlemanly presumption by making our room selection herself, and amusingly the front desk receptionist seemed to assume we were a couple on our honeymoon.
The hotel favored a modernist style, bold blocky square tables and neon signs, but was very well appointed. A faux-rustic bridge crossed an artificial pond by the hotel restaurant, in which a few flamingos stood serenely. Tourists lounged around the central pool drinking the inclusive tropical drinks. Our room featured not one faulty light, dripping faucet, noisy air-con or other such sub-par features one fears when traveling to obscure places in the Caribbean.
As we were exploring the hotel grounds we happened to stumble upon the official beach party when we went down to the beach — the hotel has events every night of the week and Monday is apparently beach party night. The hotel had the good fortune of being on a piece of beachfront from which the coast curves a bit north to the west, just enough to get a glorious pink-and-gold sunset among billowing clouds just seaward of the endless palm treed beaches. The official program involved silly games, a conga line, and a lot of dancing. I took note that the other tourists were from all around the world but I never once encountered another American tourist in the DR.
This still being just a few hours in to our “first date,” I was still very anxious my terrible dancing would be the death knell heralding three days of awkwardness. For a bit of liquid courage I proposed that I was going to get a third complimentary margarita but she calmly observed “es mucho.” It’s maybe a weird thing to find endearing, but having had an alcoholic ex I was relieved to note her complete disinterest in drinking too much, and impressed with her calm sweet assertiveness. When the official party broke up and we were left alone on the beach, I found myself looking into her luminous eyes beside a crackling bonfire, the waves gently crashing beside us and Mars burning brightly among endless stars high above, and I knew it was going to be alright.
Day 2:
First thing in the morning, oily hotel staff tried to rope us into the classic time-share presentation trap by telling us they’d just give us a short presentation about the available activities. Having not yet worked out enough subtle means of communication between each other to work out a plan to escape from under the nose of someone blathering at us, it took an unfortunate spot of time before we managed to escape. Next we found the hotel’s activities-booking guy, who met us in a breezeway like some kind of dealer. He had lots of water-sports on offer but we had already decided we wanted to go to old town Santo Domingo this day and Isla Saona the next, so we cut through his watersports pitches and booked those activities.
It was about an hour drive west along the coast to Santo Domingo. On the outskirts of town one passes a massive stylized lighthouse that is a memorial erected to commemorate the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival. Santo Domingo is the oldest European-settled town in the Americas, founded by Christopher Columbus’ brother Bart in 1496. We didn’t stop at the monument, even though it’s apparently partially a museum, but proceeded directly to the Zona Colonia — old town, and got out of the car beside a statue of Columbus with a lithe native woman inexplicably reaching up to him on his pedestal.
We engaged the services of a certificated tour guide who approached us and he showed us around the grand old Spanish colonial architecture and quietly regal shop fronts. Vines of ivy dignified the walls under balconies fit for melodrama. The tour ended at a shop (of course) that sold various Dominican specialties. There’s a turquoise colored stone called larimar, which is only found in Dominican Republic. It makes pretty jewelry, especially when paired with the amber that is also in a strange abundance on the island.
I was a bit alarmed when the tour guide casually offered me “mamajuana,” but it turned out to be not what you are thinking, but a local liquor made from rum, red wine, and honey, soaked in a bottle with bark and herbs. The native Taino people had made a tea from the bark and honey, and European colonists had tasted it and thought to themselves, “yes, this, but with alcohol!” and mamajuana was born. I dutifully sipped it but it’s hard to enjoy something with a salesperson grinning at you so indulgently and it wasn’t until I bought a bottle at the outbound duty free and tried it at home days later that I realized I really kind of liked it. Its a bit reminiscent of jagermeister but smoother actually. Unlike jagermeister, it doesn’t need to be at near 0 degrees to be palatable.
After the Zona Colonia, we visited the three linked cenotes of Tres Ojos on the outskirts of town. One can descend deep into the beautiful holes in the ground and then take a boat through the cave linking two of them, as drips plink plink from the rocky ceiling and echoes fly across the still dark waters. The third cenote is only accessible from the point you enter just above water level from this cave and is beautiful, the crystal clear water full of fish and lush greenery overhanging from the top high above. They were serene and it felt like one had been transported to an exotic alien world.
Driving back from there our driver asked us if we wanted to visit the aquarium. “Si” said Cristina when I asked her, and so we went. At $5 admission, it was the cheapest thing we did all week. For once without a guide chaperoning us we had fun goofing around together looking at the sea creatures. “Es como yo” Cristina said puffing out her cheeks in front of the manatees. “Nooo tu es muy flaca!” I rejoined, laughing.
Day 3: The most highly reviewed activity to do in the DR is an excursion to Isla Saona. We boarded a large catamaran with about thirty other tourists, the small crew distributing rum-and-cokes before the anchor was even lifted. About four similar catamarans also loaded up and our small fleet was off! The sails were hoisted, Dominican and Latin music blasting and the rum flowing. The sun was warm and bright, the salt spray refreshing, people danced on deck. At Isla Soana we found the absolutely classic tropical island paradise — thickly forested with palms, endless white sand beaches, other than the rustic beach cabanas no sign of mundane human infrastructure. Everyone spent the day frolicking in the idyllic glassy waters.
While twirling Cristina lovingly in the crystal clear water I asked her if she wanted to be like, “Facebook official.” “Siii” she said.
A lunch of barbecue chicken was prepared for everyone. I went to sit down at a picnic table that was empty due to a large number of honeybees around it, but then realized Cristina might not share my lack of fear of bees (I’m a beekeeper), but lo, she didn’t hesitate and sat down at the table. “You’re not afraid?” I asked. “You’re not afraid, so I’m not afraid.” she said. I went to remove a bee from her cup for her, “no, es lindo” she commented (“it’s cute”). This is the woman for me.
Day 4: On the morning of the 4th day we sadly had to go to the airport to depart, my only regret being having only booked four days!
Epilogue: The next year we had a wild adventure involving her getting refused entry into Mexico and we had a mad dash across all of the Caribbean. The Dominican Republic now sadly also doesn’t allow Venezuelans in. As of this writing we’ve now been together five years and are engaged and waiting on a partner visa for her to join me in Australia. In just three weeks (August 2023) we’re going to Colombia together so expect updates!
