Manzanillo and Back

Hey readers, just planted the backpack and kiteboard for a few days back here in San Francisco de Macoris. This past weekend Tamara and I set our sights on Monte Cristi, a far flung fishing village on the North Coast of DR. To get there, we traveled to and stayed in Santiago. This city is the largest of the Cibao valley region and has the second largest population of the country. Its most notable for the large and recent hilltop monument.

A guagua (bus) took us further North and West to Monte Cristi where we took a motorcycle through town and to the Playa Moro. The ride was scenic, but uncomfortable as Tamara and I rode on the same bike with the driver. She had her backpack and purse, I was wearing my kite and camera on my back and holding my kiteboard. These moments really need a photo to tell the story but everyone is too hot and cramped to be patient enough for a pose like that.

Moro is essentially a beach cut into the inside of a crumbling mountain. We hiked first to the top of the lookout. A beautiful day spread out over the North Atlantic and clear views of the reefs in the warm ocean water below us. Even a short hike like this is not advisable in the mid-day sun, but to us it was just more anticipation to taking a swim from the deserted beach below.

Once down on the sand,it really was our beach for the day. Only a group of four was there before us, but they were huddling in the shade under the small overhang in the base of the cliff. Generally Dominicans do not sunbathe, they avoid the sun as much as possible including enjoying the shade at the beach. At this moment I still can't think of words to cleverly describe the fortune that I was feeling at being so alone with Tamara in a place of such beauty. I didn't waste any time, just kicked off the shoes and ran into the calm sea.

This semi-circular beach was just too good to see only from the sand, so I took to the water with my goggles. I had noticed the bottom characteristics from the cliff above, and was aiming to swim over some of the reef and see what kinds of fish were there. I was pretty happy with what I found, a scattering of reef features about 8 feet high in 10 to 12 feet of water with a sand bottom. Further away from the shore was where the 14 foot reef shelf began. It was the healthiest I have seen anywhere on the island, brightly colored although a little sparse of fish. The short swim took me about an hour because I was breath holding and diving around the edges of the reef to explore along my way.

A motorcycle ride, bus, and another motorcycle and we reached Manzanillo. This is the site of a Peace Corps Volunteer named Arya, friend of Tamara and mine. We shared a big beer atop his room at sunset before strolling into town to get the tour. Manzanillo is a shipping port, and so I learned the town is used to seeing Extranjeros (foreigners) as a result I got fewer stares than usual. At the market we picked up some sandwich fixings to make some grilled cheeses and tuna melts. Arya is a bass player, and so we spent time talking about music and Arya filled a flash drive with music for me to take away and load onto my computer.Next stop Punta Rucia because it had a favorable wind forecast days before and I was desperate for some kiteboarding. To get there; motorcycle ride, bus ride, motorcycle ride. The last motorcycle ride was almost forty-five minutes and Tamara were covered head to toe in fine brown dust. First impression of the town; depressed, what had happened here? A lot of tourist ready places were closed or vacacant, and there was only one or two hotels. After check-in at La Tortuga (The Turtle) we hit the beach and I blew up my kite (finally!). The wind increased as soon as my gear was ready so I hit the water. The conditions were gusty but the quality of the spot made up for what consistency the wind was lacking.

The wind started wailing! I began thinking I should have brought a smaller kite. Tamara and I moved farther down the beach, sitting on ours felt like a sandstorm. The wind lightened a bit and I got a second session of the day. After asking a local for dinner advice, we made the 2K walk up to Playa Ensenada. On a Sunday this beach was full of Dominicans and it was a party scene. Tamara and I ordered parrot fish from one of the vendors. It came marinated and fried whole with batatas (like home fries) and salad. Tough to eat a whole fish in the dark with just two plastic forks but it was delicious.

The morning meant a search for somewhere that was open and willing to make us breakfast. Karen's beach shack made a couple omelets, and later we had to hike up a hill on the road outside town to get cell reception. Tamara made the call for a reservation for that night back in Santiago. Among other things, the hotel continued to turn the water off to our room. I had already made progress in the acceptance of the local's gross inefficiency, but until Tortuga hadn't experienced such unwillingness to be helpful when given the chance.

I got two more kiting sessions in that day before our scheduled motorbike ride to the bus stop on the highway. The driver we had talked with earlier showed up forty-five minutes late and drunk. We got a ride from some guys in a pickup truck to a town where we could get a bus back to Santiago. It was a different way to get back, but turned out to be better scenery and a shorter distance. The hotel had some great chicken soup for dinner and the rain in the night helped for sleeping. In the morning we caught the bus for San Francisco and were back to Tamara's house by 11:00. Plenty of time for lunch and to get a nap before we had to teach class at 2:30. Next weekend to Caberete!