There and Back (and In-between)
7:22 a.m.
Anyway, to get on with our story, the temperature at one point between here and there was -19°C, which is fucking cold by any thermometer. The driver of the car swerved once so as not to hit a deer and then cursed colourfully as he had to navigate a detour (getting lost and turned around once) on the highway through the city. Once at the airport (around 3 a.m., just in case you were timing us), the voyagers were greeted by a very long lineup at the airline counter and no suitably attired employees behind the counters. My son surmised that this was so because they were all dicks, and I said, “You mean they’re all named Richard?” He concurred, and then added, “Or they are all private dectectives.” We thought about this for a while as we watched four or five jumpsuit-clad airport employees try to unstick a stuck conveyor belt while an annoying alarm light flashed and beeped for long enough that we found it extremely irritating, but not long enough that we got used to it.
We eventually were processed, our baggage sent on its way (at this point you wave goodbye to it and wonder if you’ll ever see it again), and wandered off to find our boarding lounge and something to eat. Mind you, they did serve us a hot breakfast on the plane, which was a nice touch, so that part was all right. The flight left on time (6:45 a.m.) and arrived in the Dominican Republic at 12:10 p.m. local time (we lost an hour). A bus picked us up, along with the other passengers who had booked with the same airline, and promptly blew out a tire on the highway. We pulled over to the side of the road in a small town where the tour responsable bought us cold drinks from a kiosk and I observed that Dominicans change a flat tire just like everyone else. In other words, two men actually changed the tire, and about five more stood around and offered advice. My husband even got in the act at one point. Amazing? No, not really.
When we finally arrived at the resort, everything fell into place beautifully. We had two connecting rooms on the second floor facing the pool (I would have preferred to be facing the other way, as I find the pool quite noisy, but it was all right), a king-size bed for the parents and singles for the kids. Many of the employees we had met last March remembered us (one of them even remembered me by name) and life was beautiful. We did have some rain for the first few days, but not all day. Just prior to our arrival, there had been some very severe storms, one so bad that people died in Santo Domingo. We were much luckier. As the week progressed, the weather just got better and better.
Both kids had colds and stuffed ears and I ended up getting a sore throat for a few days, but no other symptoms. Thankfully my husband did not fall ill, or we never would have heard the end of it. My daughter’s ears unblocked in time for her to go scuba diving with her dad. Her brother, however, did not have that pleasure, and snorkeled instead, which was still pretty cool. I stayed at the resort and read and wrote and danced at the beach party the entertainment team organized.
We met lots of British people on holiday, and a man from France who was there with his wife and another couple. I took advantage of more of the planned activities, and even got a T-shirt and hat and certificate for winning at bowling, and another T-shirt for kayaking. My daughter got the same for excelling at darts, and my husband received a hat for his prowess at tennis.
Our trip was really all too brief, only six nights, and that last night was the most fun. The band played and we danced, with each other and with the hotel’s dancers. I loved it. But since then my hips and thighs are very sore. Marengue and salsa use different muscles than belly dancing, that’s for sure. The day we were to leave, my daughter and I wandered around looking for people to say goodbye to and were co-opted into a game of beach volleyball, at which I truly sucked (I announced to my fellow team members that I was not an asset), but I actually did get the ball over the net once. Then we had to bid a tearful adios to the animator and collect the other members of our family.
The tennis pro, Pablo, had become a father when we were there in March, and he invited us to his home to meet his wife and baby girl, now nine months old. I was extremely touched. He lives in a cinderblock structure, above his parents, with a corrugated tin roof. There is a kitchenette, a bedroom (with a curtain across the doorway), a playpen in the living room and a table and chairs for eating, a sofa, a cabinet with a good stereo, and a television (which was on the whole time). The house was open to the elements (there were holes in the roof) and it occurred to me how differently we live. This man has a good job at the resort (he’s been working there for nine years), his wife graduated from university with a degree in accounting (but is a stay-at-home mom now) and they live in what looks to me like poverty. Except that this is the Dominican Republic. They have a good life. His wife made us fried plantains and spaghetti for lunch (we had to eat in shifts because there were only four seats at the table) and I got to play with the baby (I told my son in no uncertain terms that I wanted grandchildren).
We cabbed back to the hotel (the driver practically ran into the back of a truck piled with bananas), said our final goodbyes, got our plastic bracelets cut off, and got on the bus back to the airport. My daughter was actually crying. Then we had another adventure. I had totally forgotten about the $20 US airport fee payable at the gate counter. I had enough in Canadian funds, but not in US, so I had to go to the currency exchange counter to get the right amount. I told the girl I needed to buy $50 US in Canadian money (I already had $30 US). She explained that she could not give me Canadian coins in change as they do not deal with them, just bills. This is a problem, because in Canada, we don’t have one and two-dollar bills anymore, but we do have coins in that denomination. So, I ended up spending $65 Canadian for $53 US and 25 Dominican pesos. That, my friends, is a complete and total ripoff, but that’s also life.
We finally paid our fee, and sat around the airport for a while waiting for our flight to be called. When it was, we found that there were only twelve passengers on an empty 747 heading for Montreal, leaving quite a bit earlier than planned and not making the scheduled stop to pick up more passengers. We arrived in Montreal to -8°C and several feet of freshly-fallen snow that the plows had not yet been around to remove. The drive home was hair-raising, the driver needing to sleep very badly, finally stopping at Bromont for a coffee before venturing the rest of the way. The rock walls going around Mt. Orford were completely covered with frozen waterfalls, and our house was intact, but freezing, the thermostats having been turned down during our absence.
But we had a great holiday, folks. As I was leaving the hotel, I told the desk clerks that it was the people who made the place so special. These Caribbean resorts are more or less very similar, no matter where you go. The sand and the palm trees and the blue water don’t change, and the hotels all have good amenities. The languages are different (and I really want to learn some Spanish as it looks like we’ll be going back there), but it’s the people who are really special, and I told them that they were good people. As we were walking away, I heard one of the young men say, “You are really good people, too.” That made my day.
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