Home sweet sweet sweet home (from the Dominican Republic)

TOUCHDOWN!!

As I write this, I am sitting in my favorite leather recliner with a bowl of Mocha Almond ice cream at my side in my house in sunny California. Just a few short hours ago, Joe and I were wandering the streets of Puerto Plata, the Dominican Republic, eating ice cream that I picked out because there was the least left, a sure sign that it's the most popular flavor, right? Well, the ice cream turned out to not only be rum flavored, but actually contained a dash of Brugal or two... no wonder it was almost sold out! We just happened to be in town for the annual Merengue festival, a nationally televised concert, performance, and crowd drawing event, and as we waited (for four hours it turns out because we had no idea what time it started), we gorged ourselves on first dinner at an eccentric Dominican Irish pub (almost as good as Senor Don Nelson's), then on a hot dog on a stick DR style, our first two peanut sheets, coconut candies, shakes, more peanut candy, more shakes, conch, more peanut candy, etc. until we were out a good... two dollars out but filled to the brim on 10 cent goodies.

In anticipation of leaving the DR, Joe and I managed to cram in a visit to the Brugal factory,

where 5 million + bottles of rum are produced annually with only 20% exported out of the island (that's lot of rum Dominicans are consuming... Brugal is the third largest producer of rum in the world), an amber store where we saw amber rocks being refined on rotating wheels, a quaint and out of the way bookstore where the English books were stored in the "back room,"

and of course, plenty of walks through the streets of Puerto Plata, one of my favorite cities to stay in by far.

A far cry from the hustle and bustle of Santo Domingo, or the uber touristy Cabarete, Puerto Plata can be described in one word: tranquilo. Home to a handful of ex pats, honeymooners, and, of course, the foul mouthed Irishwoman from the restaurant next door, Puerto Plata is a functioning authentic Dominican town, but with just the right number of tourists of the right sort. We met Richard from South Boston who vacationed in PP for 20 years and ended up retiring there, as well as a lovely couple from Indiana who we met when we hitched a ride on their gringomobile (duck tour esque open truck for albino visitors) led by Senor "Hola Coca Cola." It was the perfect combo of English speakers and locals, and a wonderful way to end the trip.

On the day before our flight out, Joe and I decided to climb aboard a random gua gua without knowing where it was going. We struck up a conversation with a 20 something Dominican guy named Ariel who it turns out has visited Miami and spoke great English. He offered to take us to Playa Dorada, a white sands beach, and along the way we stopped off at his grand home and exchanged numbers. Once again, I hope our paths cross sometime in the future; our encounter with open minded and amiable Ariel was typical of the entire trip and the wonderful folk on the Dominican Republic.

With a goodbye to one of my favorite hostels that we stayed in,

we were on our way to Shanna's, and then, the airport (almost choking with the stench we eminated in the cab with windows that refused to roll down).

Funny enough, though I've been in the states less than 24 hours, I already miss it, it being the people, the biodiversity, the warmth, and, of course, the Joe. This trip was well needed, and it did absolute wonders for a girl who took a year off to make the trip, and a boy who quit his cushy job to travel for five weeks with her.

^ Above is poor, unsuspecting Joe being pounced upon while cat napping on the beach. I called over a hair braider while he wasn't looking, and, though he protested, she promptly descended on his hair and left behind three red, white, and blue braids (no more, and no less, and all on the left side of his head) which he good sportedly left in for the remainder of the trip.

^ I miss this boy so much already!

Unfortunately, my camera broke sometime while we were riding up to Julio's house in the back of a truck (I seated on thirty Presidente bottles, Joe seated on a gas tank), so, I will go back and pepper my entries with more pics taken on Joe's camera as they start trickling in.

Thanks for keeping up with this edition of The Travelling Togas... you'll be happy to know that true to our word, Joe and I busted out the white sheets to wear togas on our last night in the Dominican Republic

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It's been 5 weeks of Dominican life, I've witnessed two motorcycle accidents (one at our feet, one from a thirty foot drop where the guy broke his arm and probably more), had mild hallucinations from eating a pound of rancid pig that was roasted in front of our hostel, and jumped off or climbed/slid down no less than 27 waterfalls. It's been quite the experience... hopefully, I'll be able to use this blog soon for some more toga adventures!