DR Part 3 – Saturday 6/1/13

Saturday and Sunday are party days in the DR. We planned to make the most of them this weekend. We started the day with coffee and eggs cooked over the small propane burners. We quickly got ready and made our way south to check out the surf competition. We parked near Hollywood (another place called Hollywood just down the street from the place we were the day before). There were a group of old Dominican men playing bones and talking mad shit while as they slapped the dominoes on the table. Typical Saturday according to Danny. We watched both the surf and boogie board competitions for a while and drank a few beers.

There was a surf board that we were offered to borrow right near us. Danny and I decided against attempting to surf using a short board. It would likely have been a waste of time. Instead, we were going to head to the cliffs. The girl Lauren with the nose ring stopped by. This time she was with a very disobedient puppy and was again looking for her young friend. She asked if we were going to the cliffs, to which Danny answered “yes” and asked if she wanted to come. She did not, but said that we should meet up later. But, we wouldn’t see Lauren again. We finished our beers and headed south.

We parked along a mountain road about 3 miles south of Playa los Patos. We walked down a dirt path past many little shacks and a number of people bathing in the aqueduct which paralleled the path. After cutting down through a corn field and making numerous wrong turns through the jungle through thorny trees, we found ourselves standing over blue water crashing into sharp building sized rocks. If we jumped straight out, it was nothing but blue. If we jumped right, we may have had to contest with a strong surf. We looked over the edge for about 30 minutes discussing where to jump, how to land, and various other subjects to psych us out. We did discuss the places to jump that weren’t so high, but both of us knew that we were jumping right here at the highest point of the cliff.

After tossing a few rocks over the edge and roughly running the earth’s rate of acceleration formula, I suggested that the water was much more than the original 50’ discussed earlier. Further calculations put our estimate around 75 feet. The scary thing was not the distance of the fall, or the 10 minute swim back to the beach that would follow. What made it scary was the fact that only 3 people had actually jumped out of the 20 or so that Danny knew to walk up to this edge. And, that those 3 people may be the only people ever to have jumped from this spot.

But eventually, I tell Danny to go. He does, and about 5 seconds later I follow. We are both sore for days after hitting the water at roughly 45 mph. The adrenaline rush was amazing and made it all worth it. After collapsing onto the beach, we scaled the side of the cliff to grab Danny’s flip flops that he left at the top. I saw a bunch of weird crabs on the climb back up. They looked like spiders. The climb along the side of this cliff was not a safe one, and these creepy spider crabs were not making it any easier.

As we walked back to the truck, we chatted with a Dominican man who was walking with his horse. We admired his amazing view from over 150’ up above the beach. He offered to sell the property.

We drove back to the shack to cook up some pasta and veggies that we got from the market. Danny made a hell of a good vegetable sauce to go with the pasta despite his lack of Italian blood and previous track record of gross food. I often witnessed Danny’s meals either in our old office in Virginia or before rugby practices in DC. Dude would mix green beans with spaghetti, or jelly with tuna fish. But, this was good food.

After our dinner, we drove to the office to stream the Pens’ game on Danny’s laptop. The Pens shit the bed in Game 1 of the ECF against Boston. We don’t let us get us down. We’re drunk on rum and the high from cliff jumping. We head a few blocks down to the main beach front avenue to drink beer and rum and to listen to bad techno at high volume. There were so many motos. We spotted one with 6 people on it. And the speakers were blasting music so loud that we couldn’t even talk. We could not fight em, so we joined em. We smoked some hooka on the street and then went into a small club that looked like a scene out of scarface. It was old and poorly designed. It was crowded and only salsa songs brought the dancers to the floor. We were a drunken mess by the time we left. We had drank the better half of a handle of rum during the Pens game along with the most delicious peach juice ever. We drank a few jumbo beers on the street, and a small bottle of rum in the club.

It is a good think we could only drive 20 mph on the way home. It was still really dangerous when leaving Barahona. Some drunk guy stepped out from behind a bus and we almost hit him. So, we crashed around 3am and a few hours later the rains came.