When a friend invites you and your amigas to an all-inclusive horseback riding trip in the campo (countryside)...well you pretty much HAVE to say yes. So on Sunday morning, Christina, Amy and I piled into Jean's (pronounced like John but with a much prettier soft J sound) little car and headed out to Mao, a small town located about an hour outside of Santiago. 

Of course no Dominican road trip would be complete without a Presidente pit stop. 

Beers in hand, sun shining, and radio jamming, we continued our cruise down the high way. 

So the back story here is that Jean's family owns several rice farms. In addition to their many work horses, they also have about 5 horses that they raise and train for show. We were going to get to ride the show horses.  However, there was a minor problem: none of us girls actually knew how to ride a horse.  I mean sure we'd all ridden a horse before. Who hasn't been on one of those "horseback riding adventures" where you a pay a company to saddle you up onto a tired old creature that knows the trail so well all you have to do is sit back and wiggle your butt cheeks every now and then to keep them from getting saddle sore? 
Well this was NOT that kind of horseback riding. 
This was legit. 

Jean and his trainer, Jeancarlos, gave us a brief run-down of the basics (pull the reins right to go right, left for left, back to stop),  then threw us up onto the horses and gave them a nice swat on the rump, sending us galloping off.
Ok, so they didn't actually give the horses a swat on the rump.  But the horses did gallop off. They had a mind of their own, those things. 
After the initial shock of trying to reign in a 600 pound galloping beast wore off, we were able to steer the horses into doing a couple laps around the training ring to get our bearings. Then it was time to take our beauties out on the town and test our new-found skills. 

Once on the road, Campanero (my horse) and I took the lead. Apparently Campanero was feeling fleet-footed, but that was fine by me, apparently I like going fast too :)

Isn't she darling?

After trotting through the streets and waving at all the locals (gringas on parade!),  we made our way out of town and down to the river. That's where the real adventure began. 

Now an immense amount of credit needs to be given to Jeancarlos here. It was his lot to ride Scrappy. Scrappy (our affectionate nickname, I'm unsure what he was actually called) was a dappled gray with, too put it mildly, a rambunctious nature.  In fact, I'm fairly certain the horse was trying to kill Jeancarlos on a number of separate occasions throughout the trip, as he would spontaneously break into wild bucking streaks in an attempt to throw off his rider.  Jeancarlos not only managed to ride and reign-in his ill-spirited mount, but, like a true Dominican, he did so one handed-- the other hand being occupied by an open bottle of rum. And the most remarkable part: never once while the horse was pulling his rodeo bronco stunts did Jeancarlos spill a single drop of rum. 

It's getting deep boys!

At one point, the saddle on Amy's horse fell off--- Amy fell off with it. 

But sliding off the saddle was child's play compared to the next leg of the journey. Eventually we came to a particularly muddy spot of the river that had to be crossed.  The ground on the bank appeared to be solid, but as soon as the horses stepped onto the area, they would sink nearly up to the top of their legs in mud. There was drier land just to the side of the mud pit, but unfortunately, this land was occupied by a number of stumpy thorn trees with low hanging branches. The panicky horses, trying to escape the sinking mud pit, would rear up and leap towards the drier ground (with alarming force, might I add), inevitably hurling us frightened riders into a net of needles.
Eventually we all managed to untangle ourselves, but not without a few good scratches along the way. But what´s an adventure without a few battle scars?

Salvache, our trusty side-kick!

Jean and Jeancarlos led the way down the river, sharing the bottle of rum between them, and discussing where would be an appropriate place to stop and play. 

And by play, I mean swim. Fully clothed of course, since none of us brought our bikinis. And what the heck, we were already wet and muddy anyways. 

We splished and splashed and sipped on warm wine and rum until the sun sank down to the tops of the trees. 

Then it was time to hop back on the horses and hustle back to town before night-fall to russel up some grub. 

Jean led us to a local outdoor grill right on the riverside and ordered up a feast. 

Truly Dominican style food with all the fixin's: grilled pork and barbecued chicken, piping hot tostones, and mofongo. 

What's mofongo you say? Well sir (or madam), you don't know what you are missing. Probably one of the most traditional Dominican dishes on the island (right up there with sanchocho and mangú), it consists of fried tostones that have been mashed up with garlic and formed into the lovely  "upside-down bowl" shape you see above. The inside of the bowl can be stuffed with any number of goodies, but this particularly naughty little fella was stuffed with chicharrones, crispy fried pork skin dripping with greasy goodness and lending a nice smoky flavor. Serve it all up with a side of chicken broth for dipping, and you´ve got one serious meal on your hands.

Covered in mud, still dripping wet, and looking like wild barefoot little Indian princesses,  we saddled up our mounts and trotted back home under the stars in a daze of food-induced happiness and the best kind of adventure-worn weariness. 
Mucho amor y gracias a Jean y Jeancarlos!

Race day started at the crack of dawn (i.e. un chin antes de las 7:00 a.m.)

Since our hostal was located a considerable distance from the starting line, we took advantage of the little-over-a-mile walk to stretch our legs and enjoy the early morning views. 

Soon we were walking up to the starting/finishing line on the beach.
(The race was set up as a down-and-back, so the start and finish line were in the same place)

Pre-race pic! Don't we look pretty! 
Don't worry that's all about to change. 

Chugging some water, chatting, and shaking out the pre-race jitters. 

And we're off!

And now....a series of unflattering running pictures. 

Look how calm and focused Amy appears. 
Me on the other hand, I'm all splaying arms and legs and flinging hair. 

10 kilometers (6.2 miles) later, the finish line was in sight. Nothing had ever looked so beautiful. I was seriously struggling by kilometer 8. To make matters worse, I kept thinking I was a kilometer ahead of where I was actually at. Each time the kilometer marker came up I experienced the crushing disappointment of knowing that I still had an extra kilometer to run than I thought. You might have thought that I would realize, after one marker sign, which kilometer I was on, but nope, I think my mind was boggled by pain (clearly evident in the following picture).  On the plus side, it might have made me run faster since I kept think I was closer to the finish than I actually was. 

I tend to prescribe to the belief that if you look pretty while you're exercising, your probably not doing it right. 
In my case however, I might be doing it a little too well...

Amy rounding the final turn!

Sydney finishing strong!

sweaty post race smiles!

Just as soon as the race was over, I peeled off my shoes and made a bee-line for the ocean. ¡Qué alivio! Nothing could have felt better more perfect than sinking into the cool waters. Of course, Sydney and I followed up our swim with some good ol' yoga stretching. 

Finally the results were up! Too bad we couldn´t really figure out what all the numbers meant...
Later I found the results online. My final time: 54 min. and 7 sec. That´s a PR! (It´s also my only record, lol, as this was my first 10k). And not to mention, that´s a 8:45 min. mile average, 15 seconds faster than my goal average!! Not bad for only 3 real weeks of training (my previous illness knocked me out of training for about 2 weeks). Needless to say, I was thrilled!! I also found out that I placed 7th out of the 49 women who were running the race. Not too shabby at all :D

This was Sydney´s first real race! 

Wooo! We were all winners in my book.
For more info on the Las Terrenas 5k/10K click here.

We went to celebrate at the French pastry shop...officially one of my favorite spots in Las Terrenas. 

I tend to stand at the counter for far too long trying decide what I´m going to choose, but can you blame me?

Tummies full, and coming down off our running and sugar highs, it was now time to find the bus back home. 

And that´s when our troubles started. (Important note, it was precisely 12:00 p.m. when we left the Pastelería to catch our 12:15 bus.) First, we were given bad information about where the bus to Santiago would pick us up (can´t say this was super surprising, you already know my thoughts on Dominican directions). After almost an hour of waiting, it was quite obvious that we had missed our bus. We talked with a few more locals and found out there were no more direct buses to Santiago, which meant we would have to take a bus to the town of Sanchez and find a connecting Santiago bus there. Wonderful. 
Well we got to Sanchez without a hitch but had to wait another 45 minutes for our connecting bus. 
Finally on board, we settled in for the 3-3 1/2 hour ride. 

About a half our into the trip, the bus pulled off to the side of the road. Apparently there was something wrong with the tire. 
"Ok," I thought, "We´ll change the tire and be on our way."

This was not to be.
I´m not sure exactly what all was going on outside, lots of banging around and cars stopping to see if they could help, but it was taking FOREVER. 
An entire hour and fifteen minutes later, we pulled shakily onto the road again. 

Once more I told myself, "Alright, it´s all good, we´re on our way now."
Once more, not to be. 
Not 15 minutes after we left, the back tire was smoking!
We rapidly pulled off to the side. Our bus driver and cobrador (the guy who collects the money) leaped out of the bus and scrambled to find water to throw on the fire. This was not a good sign.
Another 15 minutes of dousing the tire with water, and we pulled back onto the road again. 
15 minutes later, we were back on the side and the tire was smoking again!!
The driver and cobrador ran through the same motions.
We went through this disastrous little routine (driving 15 minutes, spending 15 minutes putting out the fire on the tire) 2 more times. You can imagine we weren´t getting anywhere fast. In reality, I´m not sure how our driver kept managing to find sources of water. Once we used the hose from a car wash. Another especially comical time, we found a roadside well. The driver worked frantically to pump the water while our chubby cobrador filled up, I kid you not, a water bottle with the running water and rushed hurriedly to throw it at the bus. It reminded me of the circus scene from Dumbo, when the clowns are trying to put out the fire in the burning building with a leaky pale of water. 
Finally, the bus driver pulled off to the side and said we all had to get off and wait for another bus, ours wasn´t going to make it to Santiago. (I´m not sure why we were doing this now and not an hour ago, but possibly it was because our driver finally could no longer find water).
Honestly though, I was happy to get off that bus. 

Problem was, there wasn´t another bus coming by that would fit all of us. So we had to wait for two mini guaguas to come by. The first came in about 10 minutes and half the passengers boarded. Our little troupe waited for the next, which didn´t arrive for another 20 minutes. We were all trying to keep a positive outlook, but our spirits were waning...

Our guagua arrived, we boarded and and sat patiently expecting the bus driver to take off. 
But he never did.
After 10 minutes of waiting I looked around to see what was going on. At this point I didn´t think anything could surprise me. 
I was wrong. 
I realized that the new driver and the old driver were now conspiring to tie our broken guagua onto the back of our new guagua with a rope. 
WHAT??!! 
Were they really serious right now? 
Anybody could see this was a bad idea.
When they had the rope knotted as sufficient as possible our bus driver hopped in and put the guagua into gear. At a snail´s pace we crept into life. But just barely. We couldn´t possibly travel at more than 25 mph while hauling a giant broken bus behind us--and we still had 2 hours of travel ahead of us. At this pace, it was going to turn into more like 4. 
Once, the rope partially snapped and we had to stop to re-tie the broken bus onto the back. 
The second time it happened, we were near a gas station. The drivers hopped out to discuss the situation with all the bystanders at the gas station and they made several more failed attempts, over the course of the next half hour to re-attach the bus. In the end, they decide to throw in the towel and leave the broken bus behind. The first good decision made all day. 
We arrived back in Santiago at 9:00 p.m. You may remember our adventure started at Noon. That´s 9 hours of traveling!!
I could have flown back home to Illinois in that amount of time. 
On the bright side, I suppose things could have been worse. I mean, we can always be grateful we weren´t being chased by dinosaurs....

Birthday Breakfast! We started Saturday morning off right with an early breakfast at the little French pastry shop in the center of town. 

Now I'm not a French food expert, but I do, however, consider myself a breakfast connosieur. And as a specialist in this department (I've eaten quite enough pastries, pancakes, and muffins in my lifetime to call myself a specialist), I'd say it doesn't get much better than this. 

Davíd went for a mountainous pastry stuffed to the brim with a sinfully delicious amount of cheese and a steaming cup of hot chocolate; Sydney set her sights on the creamy tomato quiche accompanied by a sweet peach tart. 

I ordered a croissant stuffed with cheese and bechamel sauce (akin to Davíd´s order), which I finished embarrassingly quickly (hence no picture). 
Now there was probably enough cheese in that croissant to fill up a normal girl for two meals, but apparently I am not a normal girl. And since it was my birthday, I decided to treat myself to a warm apple pastry to round out the meal.  Happy Birthday to me.  :D

Next it was off to Punto Popy, a nearby beach, to pick up our registration packet for the race. 

We snapped a few pics and wandered around a bit, but we couldn´t find anybody who looked like they worked for the race. Finally Sydney checked her email and we realized the registration pick-up didn´t start until 10:00 a.m. That meant we had a half hour to wait around. 
Sounded like the perfect opportunity to squeeze in some morning yoga to us!

At last, with registration completed and our brand new race t-shirts in hand, it was time to find a guagua for our trip to Samaná. The agenda for the day: whale watching!

I´ve said it before, but I´ll say it again, I love truck bed guaguas. 

Isn´t she beautiful? And that dress is just perfect.

Forty minutes later, we arrived in the colorful little port city of Samaná. There we met up with our friend Amy, who had kindly organized a whale watching expedition for us with the Whale´s Samaná company. In no time at all we were out on the open sea. 
Now for a little background info on whale watching: 

We left the dock in high spirits, quite sure that Free Willy would be flipping his fins hello and dramatically leaping over our boat in no time. 

Well at least that´s the vision I had in my head (yes I realize Killer Whales and Humpback Whales are not the same species, but this is my daydream so don´t ruin it for me!). 
Turns out that was not to be. But we were blissfully oblivious to this at the start and went on dreaming our Free Willy dreams while huming the Gilligan´s Island theme song as the boat left the dock: 

Ha! Now try getting that song out of your head.

Also, I bought a hat. Just $2.50 for that little beauty. 
So I may also have been experiencing what I like to call, "bargainer´s high."

I just love this pic of the Samaná coast! So colorful! It could almost be a painting. 

The whole gang

We passed Cayó Levantado (an island off the coast boasting a whole army of reclining chairs and a 5 star luxury hotel--looks like the perfect place to take your honey for a trip away from it all) and continued merrily out to sea. 

The whole time our tour guide was pumping us up with facts and stats, regaling us with whale tales, and even passing around pictures of leaping whales and a mini replica!

Too bad that replica was as close as we´d get to a whale for the next 3 hours. 
Apparently the whales were being shy today so we headed out quite a distance in order to find them. Our guides kept mentioning that they were seeing "spouts" in the distance, so we would turn the boat this way or that and travel another couple miles towards the so-called "spout." We would arrive in the spot and sit and wait. With no sign of the whales after 15 or 20 minutes, we would move on. After a while I was beginning to think that the scouts were merely "saying" that they were seeing "spouts" in order to keep us passengers from getting too restless. 
It wasn´t working overly well. 
The worst however, was when our guides insisted they saw two whales in the distance. We dropped anchor in the aforementioned location and waited, eyes glued to the water. Apparently most whales will resurface every 10-15 minutes for air. Well the 15 minutes passed and no whales popped up. The guide told us to be patient and to keep scanning, these whales were just "long divers," meaning they could hold their breaths for 20 or 30 minutes.  

By this time we had already been wandering around in the open ocean for more than 2 hours and some of the passengers were not handling the rocking of the boat too well. Being anchored only made matters worse as each swell of the waves sent our tummies tumbling. 
The poor woman sitting just down the isle from me had been throwing up for over an hour, and Sydney wasn´t in prime form either. 
The 20 minute and 30 minute mark both slid by without hide nor hare of the whales, but our guide was adamant; keep waiting, she said, these whales are just "really long divers," a whale can hold its breath for up to 40 minutes if need be. Finally after 40 minutes we were informed that another spout had been spotted, but way away in the distance. 
I was pretty sure the staff were inventing things by now. I had just had my eyes glued to the ocean for 40 minutes and hadn´t seen a thing. 

We sloshed our way over to the spout sight and began our waiting process once more. We had now been on the sea for 3 hours and the disappointment of the passengers was palpable. We were all ready to head home. 
About that time a spout of water shot into the air followed by a giant grey tale sinking below the water. Our boat sped off for a closer look! 5 minutes later 2 impossibly large sea beasts were arcing gracefully threw the air. Finally! The whales!

And now, a series of missed whale shots. Turns out for such big animals, they are a bit tricky to capture on film. 

Oh there he is! If you look close you can just barely see him below the surface of the water. Ok so not super impressive, but checkout the whale samana facebook page if you want to see something a little more interesting. 
In any case, we spent the next 20 minutes following a pair of whales around as they splashed and spouted along the surface, until our time was finally up. Thank goodness. The whales were lovely, but they would have been 10 times lovelier had they decided to make an appearance in the first 1-2 hours of the trip. 

4 whole hours after our departure, we were back on dry land once more. Overall, not the best experience. I can´t say it was Whale Samanás fault, obviously they can´t control where and when the whales will pop up, but I doubt I´d shell out the fairly handsome some of money they charged to do it again.  
On the plus side, I did get to see two whales leap Free Willy style. 

A quick snack purchase and we were back on the guagua to Las Terrenas. 

We arrived at our hostal a little before 8. With a long day behind us and an early morning race in front of us, the girls and Davíd decided to hit the hay early. 
I, on the other hand, went out in search of a nice dinner (I had skipped lunch in order to splurge on some good seafood for my birthday) and a wifi connection. I couldn´t end my birthday without a skype session with my twin sis after all. 

Fresh fish in salsa verde and roasted potatoes

Welp, turns out eating dinner alone at night on your birthday is a bit depressing. Double that sentiment when you skype with your twin sister back home who is throwing a raucous party surrounded by all your dearest friends, who you suddenly realize you miss terribly. For the first time since I arrived on this island, I felt homesick. 

My twin, Maggy (the beautiful blond in the middle),  and the rest of my lovely ladies, getting ready to head out for some birthday karaoke. 

But don´t cry for me, Argentina, all I had to do was remember where I was and how much I truly have to be thankful for to knock out the birthday blues.  One look at at a 10 year-old shoe shine boy has a way of really putting things back into perspective. Besides, I didn´t have time to waste on wallowing, I had a race to focus on for tomorrow!
(But as a side note, I still really miss all of you back home!)

Stay tuned for Las Terrenas Day 3

Time for the show down! After 5 weeks of training, it was finally time for Sydney and I to pack our bags and head to Las Terrenas for our big 10K race. Of course we may have had an alternate reason for choosing to run the 10K in Las Terrenas, aside from wanting to challenge ourselves that is,  i.e. Las Terrenas has one of the most stunning beaches on Earth.  And a Sunday race guaranteed us that we could have Friday and Saturday to enjoy the scenery and everything else this lovely little town has to offer. 

The day started bright and early on Friday with an 8:15 guagua ride on Transporte Sámana. Running late like my typical self, I didn´t make it to the bus station on time, but no worries, they were able to scoop me up a little farther down on the route. All´s well that ends well and Sydney, Davíd, and I settled in for our 3 hour bus trip. 

The guagua dropped us off in the little town of Sanchez where we caught a connecting ride in a truck bed up and over the mountains about a half hour to Las Terrenas. I think Truck Bed might be my new favorite way to travel (aside from motoconcho). What better way to get where you´re going then with the sun on your face and the wind in your hair?

We arrived safely around noon at our hostal, Jardin del Caribe, you can find room pictures and booking info here.

The place was clean, the staff friendly, and the rooms sufficient for the very reasonable price we were paying. However, the location is definitely a little off the beaten path. It was located on a side street well removed from the beach (a 15-20 minute walk). Sydney and I are walkers by nature, so it wasn´t too much of a hassle for us, and it was nice to be surrounded by locals instead of tourists, but a place a bit closer to the beach would have been more ideal. 

Our next stop, a light lunch and a long walk along the beach.

Stunning. That´s really the only word I have to describe this beach. Just stunning. 

We couldn´t resist purchasing a little snack, dulce de mani (kind of like peanut brittle), before returning to the hotel to throw on our work out gear. Then it was back to the beach for a sunset run. 

Running on the beach is tough stuff! Talk about a calf work out. Nothing a little Yoga couldn´t fix though. And little did I know, I had a professional Yogi with me. Since Sydney´s Mom is a yoga instructor, Sydney knows all the moves- she guided me through all the yoga poses like a pro. 

After a hard run and some amazing yoga, it was time to rehydrate and power up with some fresh coconut water and coconut meat- my newest favorite snack on the planet. I´ve had coconut water before, but I´d never had the vendor open up the coconut to take out the deliciously sweet all-natural meat. I had no idea what I was missing!!

Then it was time to get all cleaned up for dinner and dancing. 
We ate dinner at Dan´s polar bar, I nice little outdoor joint with a variety of American and Dominican fare and prices that are more reasonable than the fancy beach-side eateries favored by tourists. . 

Next it was time for bachata lessons at La Bodega. Sydney and Davíd, both amazing dancers, promised to show me how it was done. We got there early, around 9ish, so we had the floor to ourselves, which was just fine with me: that meant that nobody was there to witness my amazing lack of rhythm. 

Sydney and Davíd took the floor first to teach me the basic steps. 
It´s worth mentioning that there are 3 major dances here in the D.R.: Bachata, Merengue, and Salsa. 
When I first arrived I could scarcely tell the difference between the three--they all just sounded like Latino music to me. After a couple weeks however, I started picking up the subtle differences. Merengue, the easiest to dance, is fast paced and simply consists of swinging your hips back and forth,1-2, 1-2, 1-2,  in time with the music. Bachata, on the other hand, is a 1-2-3, pop, 1-2-3, pop. A bit more difficult for the rhythmically challenged.  And Salsa...well let´s not even go there. 

Next it was my turn!
Davíd was wonderfully patient and after a couple songs, my feet finally had the 1-2-3-pop down, even if my hips still needed a little practice---classic white-girl problem. 

Here´s one of my favorite bachata songs, so you can get the picture. 

The three of us whirled and twirled the night away, until about 10:30 p.m. that is. Then it was back to bed so we could rise and shine early in the morning. We had big plans! But more on that in the next post :)

On Sunday morning, after a hearty buffet breakfast, my parents and I went off the reservation (resort), in order to get to know Puerto Plata a little better. And what better way than to get a bird´s eye view than from Puerto Plata´s Teleferico: A cable car that runs to the peak of the nearby Isabel de Torres mountain. 
The only problem, actually getting to the Teleférico.
The resort would have gladly called a taxi to come pick us up, but they also would have happily charged us $45 for a round trip to and from the Teleférico. What!?? Upon further inspection, we descovered that all of the resort´s transportation costs were ludicrous. A day trip to Sosua: $70 USD. A day trip to Santiago: $120 USD. You may remember that a one-way bus ticket between Santiago and Puerto Plata normally costs just $3 USD!! 
So of course there was no way on God´s green earth that we were using the resort´s transportation. Instead we headed out to the street to see if we could flag down our own taxi.
We didn´t have to walk too far though, as another couple taxis were lined up and waiting to go just outside the resort´s walls. However, we ran into a similar problem with them. These taxis were lying in wait just outside the resort so that they could catch unsuspecting tourists and lure them in with their "fair" prices. They only wanted $35 for a round trip to the Teleférico! Hah! Well I bargained and bartered as best as I could, but in the end could only get the trip down to $20, when I knew it really should have only cost about $10. C´est la vie, I suppose. 
Anyways, we finally arrived at the Teleférico, and after about a 10 minute wait in order for a broken wheel to be changed (I guess we should be glad they caught it and fixed it!) and fending off several tour guides that wanted us to hire them to walk around with us up top, it was finally time to board the cable car. 

Mom was a bit nervous. Although I can´t for the life of me figure out why. What could be safer than journeying up the side of a mountain in a claustrophobia-inducing little box, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground by a rickety cable built in the 1930s?

Well, no worries,  we arrived safe and sound the whole 2,500 and some feet above our starting point. The main attraction at the top of the mountain (aside from the braathtaking views) is a Christ Redeemer statue (a smaller replication of the famous one standing guard over Rio de Janeiro, Brazil) and a lovely botanical garden to wander around idly. 

My parents know an impressive amount about plants. Even on a tropical island which they have never before visited, with thousands of species of shrubbery, trees, and flowers, they were able to meander through the wildlife and rattle off the names for about half the plants we saw. They are really quite amazing. If I know half as much as they do one day, I´ll consider myself a lucky girl. 

Another great thing about visiting parents....gifts! Like this swishy little retro number. I just wanted to twirl and float through the garden all day. They also brought me mounds of chocolate (which I consumed at an alarming rate), and new work out clothes and tennies for my upcoming birthday. They know me well :D

All good things must come to an end though, I suppose. And after our nice little hike it was time to catch the cable car back home. 

So you may remember from a while back that I mentioned that I am taking a Capoeira class. Ok, you don't remember, no sweat, I'll remind you: I'm taking a  Brazilian martial arts class called Capoeira, but more on that later. In any case, my Capoeria master is also involved in several other forms of martial arts and is well-respected in the Dominican professional fighting world. Not to mention, one of his students, Diego, is arguably one of the best Tae Kwon Do and Mixed Martial Arts fighters on the island (and a friend of mine!)
A couple weekends ago, Diego was invited to fight in a professional MMA show at Ocean World Casino in Puerto Plata and my Capoeira master was invited to referee. 
And since I had nothing going that Saturday and have never seen a real MMA fight in person, I thought it would be cool to check out the action. 
I was right. It was awesome. I´m talking hanging-on-the-edge-of-your-seat, ruthless, cringe-worthy, white knuckle-excitement kind of awesome. 

The cage. Cue scary music. Once you step in there, you're on your own. No one is going to save you. You´ve got to stick it out for 3 rounds with a professionally trained fighter who wants to kill you. 

I arrived at the casino at 8:00 p.m., but in classic Dominican fashion, the actual fighting didn´t start til 9:00 p.m.. That´s ok though, it gave me a chance to check out the surroundings, order a drink, and settle my jitters. I have to admit, I was really nervous for all the fighters. There were supposed to be 8 fights, if I remember correctly, with Diego fighting in the 6th. 

I flinched and cheered and gasped through each and every round. 

Boa, my Capoeira master, refereeing. 

Knock out. Brutal!!

Pre-fight Picture (Diego is on the right)

In the heat of battle. 
It´s a good thing the other people sitting at my table were also cheering for Diego (even though they didn´t know we were friends), otherwise I might have had to throw a few punches myself. 

Waiting to hear the winner....

 Diego´s victory dance

Post celebration with the coaches
For more cool pics, check / Para más fotos vacánas, chequa: Noche de Gladiadores on Facebook

Back to the beach! After a month back in the country, I'd say its about time I found my way back to one of the D.R.'s most precious resources, and this time around I even made it to a beach I haven't been to before, Playa Ensenada. Although it's a bit of a hike, about 2 and a half hours on a one-stop bus from Santiago, this little treasure was worth every bit of car-sickness I got from sitting in the very back seat (bad decision. will remember this for future bus trips.)

A little background info: Playa Ensenada is a 1-kilometer stretch of golden sand and shallow waters hugged by a nearby mountain range. Off-shore coral reefs keep the waves small and the waters very calm here. 

A small dirt road, lined with an array of colorfully run-down shacks and shanty's offering the day's catch, runs along the stretch of the beach. 

But if you haven't quite worked up an appetite yet, no worries, just sit back, relax and soak up the sun. 
Or cool off wading around in the shallow waters. 

Or take a little walk to admire the stunning views. 

Until the smell of fried fish and tostones wafting through the air makes your tummy grumble, that is. Then its time to choose your shack and eat up! (Best to go for one with a couple good fires going :)

After a hearty lunch it was time for a little adventuring. A small "island," Cayo Arena, lays just off the coast of Playa Ensenada. And with just 500 pesos (13 dollars), you can catch a sweet little 20 min yola (the name for the boats pictured) out and back. 

But make sure to reapply sunscreen! The Dominican sun is unforgiving. 

A study in blue.
See that, that's where we are going! Out into the wild blue yonder!!

After a bit of a choppy ride, and some spashes to the face, the island finally appeared on the horizon.

So I suppose I should tell you that the real reason everyone heads out to Cayo Arena is for the snorkeling. The whole island is surrounded by a coral reef...and not just any coral reef...one of the best snorkeling reefs EVER. Since I don´t have a waterproof camera, I can´t show you the amazing-ness hiding just beneath the water´s surface, but we are talking Finding Nemo stuff here: Beautiful coral in odd shapes. Big blue fish, zippy little silver ones, and oodles more darting to and fro.  Gentle, lapping ocean currents causing everything to sway back and forth as in dream. And then all of the sudden, the whole scene drops off and there is nothing but deep, endless ocean stretching for miles. 
Breathtaking. 
That's the only word I have to describe the experience. 
And well, I also have this picture from Finding Nemo below to help you visualize, but believe it or not, the picture isn't far off from the actual thing. 

After snorkeling, it was back to the beach to let the sun and the wind dry us off. 

The colors! Oh the colors!

After a little over an hour on the island, our captain rallied the crew and we all hopped in the yolas once more to take us back to the mainland. All good things must come to an end I suppose. But not before a little detour through the manglares (mangroves). 
Mangroves are pretty much the coolest trees ever with an amazing underwater root network that is vital to the ecosystem in the area. Not to mention, they have roots that drop down from their branches! Crazy-cool looking. 

With a pretty decent sun-burn and a smile on my face, it was finally time to head back to the bus (front seat this time!), for a good long nap where I could dream about planning my next trip back. 

So I should probably start by prefacing this story with the fact that Dominicans are terrible at directions. 
Ok, so maybe that's a huge generalization and completely inaccurate. Dominicans aren't necessarily terrible at directions, many are just terrible at admitting when they don't know how to give you proper directions to where you want to go. 
Now to my American mind, admitting that you don't know how to get to a specified location is far better than sending a stranger off on a wild goose chase in the wrong direction. 
Is that how Dominicans see it though?
Of course not! 
Nope, instead it turns out that Dominicans are masters of "inventing" directions. 
Now I'm not sure the mindset behind this. Perhaps Dominicans just don't like to give the impression that they don't know their way around, especially in their hometowns. Or perhaps, and probably more likely,  to Dominicans it would seem extremely rude and unhelpful not to at least attempt to point a stranger in the right direction. Does it matter that they themselves don't know where the location is situated. Not one bit.  Best just to give the strangers your best guess and send them merrily on their way, happily believing they are headed on the correct path. I mean, at least you did the best you could to help them and you sent them off with a smile, right?
I know, I know,  it sounds crazy, but it's true. 
I wouldn't  be writing to you about this interesting  phenomenon had I not wandered streets aimlessly in the wrong direction, multiple times, after asking a local how to reach my destination. And nearly all my friends have reported similar incidents.  Most recently though, I experienced this lovely cultural quirk on a hiking trip to the highest peak in the Santiago area, Pico Diego de Ocampo. Being the highest mountain in the surrounding mountain range, you would think it would be a fairly popular location. Or if not popular, at least easy to find. 
You would be wrong. 
So the adventure started with Sydney, Davíd, and I catching the M concho to the Javilla Tours bus station on Saturday. From there we hopped on a guagua to Villa Gonzalez, a neighborhood on the outskirts of Santiago. We knew that the entrance to the hiking path was located somewhere in this vicinity. We just had to find out where. Since pretty much all information is communicated by word-of-mouth here (which is the catch-22 of having to ask directions), we stopped and asked two motoconcho guys if they could point us to the trail for Diego de Ocampo. And OF COURSE, they knew where the entrance was and would gladly take us there for 100 pesos each. First mistake. If I've learned anything about finding locations in the D.R., it's that you should always double-check your information. Asking one person is not good enough, you literally need to get the opinion of a minimum of 3 people in the surrounding area, 5 is even better. For certain at least 1 out of 3 of those people will give you directions in the exact opposite way of the others. 
We hopped on the motorcycles willy nilly though and let them drive us upwards a ways and deposit us at the foot of a path that at least looked like it might be the start of our climb. 
So into the woods we went. 

Happily on our way!

About 3 minutes into our hike another local showed up behind us, and for some reason or another, decided to join us on our expedition. I  think he lived in a house near the start of the trail and when he saw the motoconchos drop us off, he just decided that he was bored and a hike with some newcomers would be a nice addition to his day.  We explained to him we were headed to the top of Diego de Ocampo and he took it upon himself to be our personal guide.  

Sydney, our guide, and Davíd. 

Uggh. Flip Flops were a bad choice!! lol

We hiked for a good 15 minutes on some seriously treacherous terrain along side a picturesque little creek, until finally the trail ran into a muddy road. 
Ummm, is this the right way to Diego de Ocampo? we questioned our "guide." 
"Oh no, this path won't take you there, you have to go to another trail very far away to climb that mountain."
Thanks, guide, for mentioning that 15 minutes earlier when we told you we wanted to go to the top of Diego de Ocampo!
So faced with the decision of turning around and trying to find our way to the correct path, or continuing on, we decided just  to hike on. The hike, afterall, was turning out to be both beautiful and challenging, as we were spending most of it scrambling across rocks, dodging muddy paths, and skipping back and forth across the creek bed. So maybe we wouldn't make it to the top of Diego de Ocampo today, no problem, we could save it for another weekend.  You have to roll with the punches here and learn to appreciate what you have, even if its not what you originally planned or wanted. 
And since the hike was so pretty, we weren't having any trouble appreciating it anyway. 
And our guide was super nice, helping us across the creek and up tricky steep areas, even if I did question his directional knowledge. 
We continued. 

"We've been hiking for a while now, I'm kind of getting hungry...oh hey, mango tree!"

Sydney enjoy/destroying her mango

So the whole hike probably took us about 2 hours. We decided to walk back into Villa Gonzalez instead of calling up the motoconchos so that we could enjoy the scenery and the wildlife....like the tobacco field pictured above. 

And the occasional traveler on burro (donkey), still a pretty popular form of transportation in the mountains.

And a gaggle of guinea fowl, "guineas" in Spanish (not to be confused with "guineos," which are bananas)

And a herd of happy cows. 

So maybe we never made it to the top of Diego de Ocampo, but in the end, "it's the journey, not the destination."

The adventure began at 5:00 a.m. Well actually, it started with a 4:50 a.m. wake up call from Linea Junior, the guagua company in which we had reserve seats to take us to Constanza. So bright (or rather, dark), and early, I stumbled out of bed and into the night to await my guagua. I was apparently the first passenger on the shabby little bus, which was empty save for the driver and the cobrador (money collector).  Once aboard we silently made our way through the city collecting the rest of the Constanza-goers, including Sydney, along with her boyfriend Davíd and visiting mother. When we finally picked up our last passenger, we curled ourselves up in our tiny seats, huddled against the cold, and tried to let the mildly jostling rhythm of the bus put us to sleep for the next few hours. 
Our bus deposited us onto the drizzly streets of Constanza around 8:00 a.m. beneath a haze of gray clouds. The weather was not looking promising. We were cold and tired when we arrived. The winding hills up into the mountain did not make for good sleeping on the bus. Lucky for us, the bus stopped right next to a lovely little comedor that was just starting to serve up breakfast. We went in to dry off and fortify ourselves for the day. 

If the sunshine yellow walls and warm manner of the doña who owned the comedor were not enough to lift our spirits, the cafe con leche certainly was. Nothing like a steaming cup of coffee with warm milk and sugar to chase away the chill of the morning. 

Breakfast was a hearty affair: Fried chicken, Chicken guisado (pictured in front there), queso frito, and boiled yucca and rábano (both dominican root vegetables) with pickled onions. Yes I realize that this sounds like a strange breakfast by American standards, but its pretty standard fare here.

The rain had finally stopped by the time we finished breakfast, and now that our tummies were full, we were ready to burn some serious calories. See that mountain right there....well that´s not the mountain we hiked....I just thought it made a lovely picture. The mountain we hiked was shrouded in fog, so I didn´t get a good photo of it, but it was just as tall, maybe even taller, than the one pictured there. 

Our goal was to climb to a shrine, El Niño Dios, located on the top of a mountain just outside of town. Getting there is simple, just walk down the main road through Constanza and keep following it to the outskirts of the village. Eventually the paved road will turn into dirt and will start taking you on a windy incline up to your destination. 

On the way there, you´ll pass by lots of plots and fields chock full of every sort of veggie. Constanza is one of the main agricultural centers of the D.R. since its climate is cool enough to produce crops that wouldn´t survive in the hot humid weather found on the remainder of the island. 

Picking onions

Picking carrots

Baby lettuce and potatoes

Too pretty not to snap a picture of. 

We met this guy along the climb, but when I tried to stand closer to him for a better picture, he put down his horns and stared menacingly at me. Clearly he did not want to be friends. 

The happy trio: Sydney, Mama Kaiserman, and Davíd. 

The climb was long and steep and invigorating, although the last half mile tried particularly hard to kill us. We huffed and puffed our way to the top and finally arrived at the pale pink shrine on which the Niño Dios statue stood with open arms to welcome us. 

The view, I imagine, would have been breathtaking, had not a chilly wind blown a cloud over the valley. 

With the rain drizzling down once more, we only lingered long enough to meditate on the thrill of the journey up the mountain in the company of good friends and the happiness of being able to conquer the top. Then we were off again down the steep slope of the hillside. 

The clouds cleared on our way down the mountain for a slightly more breathtaking view

Along with being the land of vegetables, Constanza also seems to be a leading producer of young children and stray puppies.  Above, boys huddling together to draw on a cement post. Below, girls entertaining themselves with paddle-ball and a tired old pup snoozing in the shade. 

After another hearty meal at the same comedor, we arranged for a trip back to Santiago. The four of us squished into the back seat of a truck (where I eventually shifted to the floor) and started our 2 and half hour venture back to Santiago.   

We rolled back into the city around 5:30. A lovely little day trip if I do say so myself. 

Since I´m only back in the U.S. for a little over 2 weeks, I knew I had a limited amount of time to get my fill of winter before returning to the ever-steamy island of forever summer that is the D.R.  So when a chance came up to join a ski trip to Colorado, how could I say no? I mean, you can´t get much more winter-y than Winter Park, CO. Plus, with friends, road-tripping, skiing, and a New Years party thrown in, it was pretty much a no-brainer. I had to go. 
Let´s recap :)

It was a pretty large, modge-podge group that decided to head west, 17 in total. The leaders of our group had rented a huge lodge nestled in the snowy hills at the foot of the mountain and had kindly arranged to take two vans to transport us out there. 10 of us would be making the trip from Naperville, Ilinios to Colorado via the vans. The others opted to fly or were driving out from other locations. That left 5 of us in each van, which we packed up to the brim with suitcases, snow skis, and of course, snack food. 
We left the bleak Illinois landscape at 8:00 p.m. on the 27th, hoping to drive through the night and make it to our destination by noon. 

I couldn´t resist packing some plaintain chips,  an impulse purchase at T.J. Maxx of all places. Nothing like bringing a little bit of the D.R. with me!

Standard road-trip fare: Reeses Pieces, water, Red Bull, coffee, 5-Hour Energy, and some kind of music-playing device. We were set for a good trip. 

We were cruising along making great time when our little expedition hit its first snag, a broken-down van at 6:30 a.m. in No-wheresville, Nebraska. The temperature outside: -6 degrees Fahrenheit. Not cool. 

So what did we do? We piled 3 of the passengers from the broken van into our still-functioning one and headed to the nearest town to hang out,  while 2 others stayed behind to wait on the tow truck and take it to the nearest auto-body shop to find out the news. 

Broken-down van not going to get us down!

At 7:00 a.m. we rolled into Paxton, Nebraska and parked in front of the first open establishment in sight, Ole´s, an old-timy looking bar/restaurant with a blinking Miller Lite sign in the front window. Is 7:00 a.m. too early for a beer? The sun was just starting to chase away the shadows as we stomped the snow off our boots and made our way through the front door.  A group of old farmers were sipping on coffee at the front table and a plump elderly waitress greeted us with a warm smile in the dim morning light. But as we made our way farther into the sitting area, we soon realized that this was no ordinary small-town bar. The stuffed jaguar prowling over the fireplace was our first clue. We had stumbled onto quite possibly the most fascinating restaurant we could ever hope to kill 3 hours in. It turns out that Ole´s is not only famous for their excellent food (go for the omelettes, they won´t disappoint), but it also masquerades as a zoo of dead safari animals, all hunted, killed, and mounted by one of Paxton´s own (way before this kind of thing became illegal). 
Slightly tragic? Yes. A little creepy? Maybe. Super interesting? Most definitely. You could waste a good hour just perusing through the restaurant and peering at the old black-and-white photos and extremely large trophy heads hung on the walls. 

Plus they even had a pool table to pass the time.  We all ordered breakfast and crossed our fingers, hoping to hear from Bill (whose had stayed back with the broken-down van) soon that the problem would be minor and we could be on our way again in no time. We would have no such luck. Turns out, the car had a busted transition. Definite major problem. Bill ended up having to scrap the van since replacing the transition would cost more than the van itself.  He called to deliver the bad news around 8:30 and the boys took off to go rent another vehicle from North Platte, the closest town with a car rental. Us girls stayed behind to play a few rounds of pool with dead antelopes for an audience. 
Finally, at 10:00 a.m., we were on the road again. 

The rest of the trip flew by without a hitch and at 4:00 p.m. we uncramped ourselves from the close quarters of our cars, stretched, and lugged our luggage into the very spacious and absolutely gorgeous lodge that would be our home for the next 5 days. 

That´s only half the luggage!
A quick trip to the grocery store, some unpacking, some air mattress inflating, and a short discussion over who would sleep in the 5 bedrooms and who would take the couches and air mattresses, and we were all set to hit the hay for the night and hit the slopes in the morning. 

The rest of the days were pretty much spent in the same way: roll out of bed at 7:00 a.m., snap on the ski boots, wait for the shuttle, hit the slopes around 8:30, ski til noon, eat lunch and warm up our toes, ski again until 3:30-4:00 p.m. (or until our fingers and toes feel like they might freeze off), file into the shuttle home, collapse into a heap of tiredness on the couch, crack open the beers and pour the wine, eat dinner around 6:30 or 7:00 p.m., entertain ourselves with ping pong, pool, and the hot tub for the rest of the evening before falling into deep sleeps, wake up, stretch our sore muscles, and repeat. 

Lucky for me, My Dad and Mom also decide to come out to Winter Park for a little winter time fun too. That way I didn´t have to sacrifice any of my precious little time with them. They rented a nice room in a very convenient ski-in and ski-out resort right on the mountainside. I got to race down some slopes with my Dad and ski in to hot soup and a warm fire with my Mom, then head back out to more slopes and fun times with friends. Perfect.  

We legitimately used the ping pong table for ping pong the first couple of nights, but who are we kidding? We all knew it was only a matter of time before it would be converted into a beer pong tournament. 

Just another minor car problem. Way to go Blake ;)

Soon New Year´s Eve rolled around and we had to break tradition with our comfy sweats and cozy sweaters to get all jazzed up for the night. Just look at those girls glitter. 

Starting the night off right with a little shot of rum :D

Soon it was time to call the shuttle and head out to Ullrs Tavern to dance in the New Year.

We rolled out of bed in 2013 to find the ground covered with a couple of inches of fresh powder and snow still drifting down lazily.  Perfect for our last day of skiing. The previous night´s festivities had us all moving a little slower...and some of us slower than others...nothing a little banana coudn´t fix though. 

Frozen eyelashes! It was so cold on the last day, that when my goggles fogged up, they immediately froze and I couldn´t get them to defrost. I had to ski down the slope with my eyes half closed (which I don´t recommend!) as snow flakes pelted me in the face and froze onto my hair and eyelashes for a lovely ice princess look. 
(This picture reminds me of the lyrics "snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes" from the song My Favorite Things in The Sound of Music.....can´t help but smile when I hum that song in my head)

At 5:00 a.m. in the morning, we waved goodbye to the snowy peaks of Colorado and began the long journey home. 

I can safely say I got my fill of country music, classic rock, cold weather, hot chili, cozy sweaters, warm fires, knee-high socks, Blue Moons, snowy evenings, good friends and loving family. Except for the last two, because I´ll never get enough of those. 
Farewell winter, I´ll be back to the land of eternal summer soon.