Dominican Republic
Our time in Puerto Plata wasn’t exactly what we’d hoped for, though being ill was just part of the reason. Out of the 28 days we spent there, I was only able to go exploring for eight of them.
It all started on Christmas Eve when we left Isla Mujeres, Mexico, where I had been sick for about a week. At the time, I wasn’t even sure I had the strength or energy to travel. But I’m incredibly grateful to Jim, who made the entire travel day as smooth as possible, despite a tight 45 minute connection in Panama.
Before arriving in the Dominican Republic, I’d read about the high fatality rate due to traffic accidents, and as I’ve gotten older, that sort of information has started to cause me a lot of anxiety. I might have a bit of PTSD from a solo drive this past summer from California to El Paso, trailing my son and his family, who were following Jim in a U-Haul. But that’s a story for another time.
As we waited for our driver Rudy, who had been recommended by my friend who lives in DR, my stomach was already in knots. I realize how absurd it sounds, given how much we travel and take random taxis and Ubers driven by people who often seem to be driving like maniacs sometimes on bald tires, with who knows what kind of substances they’ve consumed that day! Add to that the recent weather here, lots of rain and flooding; my nerves were frazzled and my queasy stomach wasn’t helping matters.
The drive from Cibao International Airport to Puerto Plata was about an hour and a half, and I felt incredibly relieved that Rudy was an extremely cautious driver, staying well under the speed limit, and taking his time when the roads were flooded with water. While cars sped past us, he stayed calm and collected. He was an excellent driver and made me feel safe and comfortable the whole trip. Since he spoke no English, the ride was quiet, except for a bit of small talk, but when he dropped us off, I made sure to give him a big hug and thank him for his amazing driving, well worth what we paid.
On Christmas Day, I had reached the end of two weeks filled with stomach issues. Jim suggested we get some fresh air and take a walk to check out Independence Park and a nearby clinic. Unfortunately, the clinic was small and overcrowded, and I didn’t feel comfortable there.
On our way back home, we ran into our co-host Vivianna, who asked how we were doing. Jim explained what was going on with me and she kindly offered to bring me some teas that might help. Later, she came downstairs with two different teas; one for me to drink immediately and the other before bed. She invited us to her place, which took up the whole top floor of the building and I finished my tea there. She explained that she knew someone who could get me in to see a local doctor, but he wouldn't be able to see me until early next week due to the holidays and flooding.
The suspicion was that I had H. Pylori, so on December 26th, I did something I’d never done before in my 39 years with my family doctor: I contacted him on his personal phone. He called me back within the hour. I explained the antibiotics that had been recommended and he said it was hard to confirm without testing that that was what I had, but the antibiotics wouldn’t hurt. So, Jim went to the pharmacy: two antibiotics and a proton pump inhibitor for 14 days cost $5.30, way less than in the states. I started the regimen that night.
The next morning I took my second dose and about an hour later felt awful. I went to lie down, at this point I had little energy and often felt faint. After a while, I tried to get up but everything started to go dark. I struggled to catch my breath and called for Jim, who came running in the room. By that time, both of my arms felt like ice was running through my veins and my left arm was numb. I was clammy and cold but drenched in sweat. We had already researched clinics and hospitals, but the ones with good reviews were hours away. At this point I didn't care about reviews and told Jim I needed to go to the closest hospital.
Jim tried multiple Ubers, but the wait times were long or the rides weren’t confirmed. As he tried to calm me down, assuring me I wasn’t going to die here, I told him to reach out to Rudy. I know he has a son and likely a job, but he responded immediately and was there within ten minutes, updating us by texting his location as he drove. As he got close, we started to head down the three flights of stairs and he greeted us at the gate with the back door already open. When I saw his concerned face, I broke down in tears, so relieved to see him. He helped me to the car while Jim locked the gate.
The drive to the emergency room was different this time. Rudy was still cautious, but Jim said he was weaving in and out of traffic a little more quickly than before. We arrived at a local emergency room that neither Jim nor I had found on maps. He parked right in front and helped Jim get me inside. The ER was small, filled with locals, with a few chairs and a couple of curtained-off rooms. Behind the desk two women managed medications and recorded costs. A nurse took me to the last curtain room where you could hear and see everything happening behind the other curtains. The nurse spoke little English, but I did my best to explain what was going on. I laid there while other patients sat by my feet receiving care. She took my vitals and then came back with an old-fashioned EKG machine from the '80s, attaching little suction cups to various parts of my body.
By then Rudy had contacted our mutual friend Eriksson, who was on his way to help translate. The nurse returned with a thumbs-up on the EKG results and told me to stop the antibiotics I started. She said they were bad for me and would give me a new prescription for H. Pylori. She also said I would need a shot. I explained that I was allergic to certain medications, but she just smiled and continued preparing the shot. The second nurse, dressed in all white, came in and found a vein on the first try, slowly administering a clear liquid and withdrawing a little blood each time. When Eriksson arrived, seeing a familiar face made me break down again. He squeezed my hand, and his presence was such a relief.
It turned out I had an allergic reaction to one of the antibiotics I had never taken before. The shot was an anti-inflammatory, and all my vitals and the EKG looked good. The nurse reassured me that I didn’t need to stay any longer. When we went to pay we were given an itemized bill for $66.
I decided to stick with my current regimen minus the antibiotic that caused the reaction. The next four days were tough, but we had a backup plan: if I started to feel any worse or wasn't feeling a little better each day we could catch a nonstop flight to Miami.
On New Year’s Eve, our anniversary, we thought it might be a good idea to take a slow walk to the beach. The stroll was refreshing even though the sun wasn’t out, just warm enough to feel good for the soul. Sadly, the beach was littered with all kinds of trash and it didn’t do my stomach any favors.
Vivianna continued to check in on us offering homemade soups and natural remedies she thought would help. She recommended a local remedy called Creolina used for stomach issues. She warned me to only take 3-6 drops, no more, as it could be very dangerous. I’m all for trying natural remedies, but after Jim looked it up and said he wouldn’t even consider it, I decided to pass. Creolina is a coal-tar-based cleanser, often used for cleaning animal quarters and disinfecting surfaces, not something I was willing to try.
On January 2 the sun finally peeked out and I decided I was ready to do a bit of exploring. Our first stop was the Amber Museum ($3.90), which was fascinating. One of the mosquito encased amber gemstones was used in the movie Jurassic park. Since I had regained my appetite, we went to a Venezuelan restaurant where I had my first Arepa, a type of flatbread made with ground maize dough stuffed with a filling. It was delicious.
After lunch, we visited the General Gregorio Luperón Casa Museum. He was the 20th president of DR and a very important figure in gaining their independence from Spain. He was a 33rd degree freemason and was initiated at the Masonic Lodge of Puerto Plata. We had a private tour that was in English ($6).
The next day Jim scheduled a one hour couples massage, which was amazing ($80). Afterward we went to a fancy restaurant where I had a salad and Sancocho, a traditional Dominican soup. Jim tried the Mofongo (mashed plantains) and soup. He didn't particularly care for the Mofongo, but I thought it was rather tasty.
On our walk back home we stopped at the Best Cigar Shop we found in Puerto Plata, Vivonte Cigar Factory & Lounge. There we got another private tour which was free with the purchase of a cigar. Before the tour started, we were each able to pick a cigar to smoke while taking the tour. I’m not much of a cigar person, so I let mine go out after a few puffs and saved it for Jim. The tour also included two tastings of Mamajuana, a local spiced rum. I only took a small sip since my stomach was still unsettled, but Jim enjoyed the cigars and drinks.
The following morning I was feeling better, but now Jim had caught a bad head cold. He spent the next three days in bed and I played nurse.
By January 8, we were both feeling much better so we spent the entire day exploring, covering many miles on foot. We started with Umbrella Street, which lived up to its name, then visited the trash-filled beach again, stopping for what was, hands down, the best pizza we’ve ever had. Jim’s review says it all…
“We were met by the owner Florin soon after we arrived. After a warm Italian welcome, we decided on splitting a pepperoni pizza which he said he would personally prepare. After the first bite my Italian ancestry started crawling from their graves to hop on a boat to Puerto Plata to get just one taste of this magnificently created cuisine. After three months in Italy, tasting pizza from the north to the south, I can honestly say this blew them all away. From the dough to the perfect ratio of sauce to cheese this has to be as close to perfection as I have ever tasted. Thank you Florin and to your friendly staff for turning this pit stop into a truly unforgettable experience. I wholeheartedly recommend this dish by this master of pizza. They even have crushed red peppers and freshly grated parmigiano reggiano. I can't wait to return to try other dishes. Thank you!”
After lunch we headed to the Puerto Plata sign for a photo op, but sadly it was under construction. We then visited the Infantil Malecón Park, walked to the Fortaleza de San Felipe (Fort $3.25), the Anfiteatro de Puerto Plata (Amphitheater) and Paseo de Doña Blanca (Pink Street). Thankfully, the street wasn’t crowded with tourists that day. Puerto Plata is a cruise stop, so on some days there are a lot of cruisers. Jim found the port schedule and we made every effort to avoid the busy days. We ended at El Faro (the Puerto Plata lighthouse). I opted out of the climb to the top, but Jim ignored all the red ribbons saying "danger, do not climb."
On our last day of venturing around, we met up with my friend, Eriksson, for lunch. I met Eriksson through working at W.E.S., he was also close friends with my son. He was amazing with the students and started the school’s Green Team, which was an elective for middle school students to learn about community service and giving. They raised money for a sister school in the Philippines. Later, he founded Grateful Deeds Inc, a nonprofit to help kids in the Philippines, which can be found on Facebook.
It had been almost five years since I last saw him. After leaving the school he moved around a bit and ended up visiting his grandfather in DR and decided to stay. Until recently he was living the simple life in the mountains of DR and just recently moved to Puerto Plata. Seeing him was the highlight of my time here. We shared the last four years of our journeys; we laughed, cried and it felt good knowing the core of who he was has not changed and his positive outlook on life is infectious.
He now has a tour business in DR, so if you are planning a trip reach out to him to find out how he can help with the planning, Briosoempowered@gmail.com.
Unfortunately the very next day I was back to feeling sick and for the next week we took it easy. We decided to leave Puerto Plata a week early for two reasons:
The first was our Airbnb. The place was comfortable, but from the moment we arrived we hadn't had a restful night's sleep. The past reviews said nothing about it being loud. We figured the noise and partying was probably due to the holiday. NOPE! Our bedroom slider faced the street and was across from Mr. Lunch's restaurant. It was never open during the day, but opened in the late evening. Most of the noise from here was patrons laughing and talking, which yes could be heard.
There was also Don Rafa’s on the corner, a small store with limited groceries, but well stocked with rum and cold beer. It was fairly quiet there during the day. It was typical to see old men sitting on the steps or chairs drinking beer and visiting. But that changed after dark, constant motorcycles and cars that bumped merengue music would cruise by and stop in to visit, often staying for hours and leaving the music on. Every vehicle had a sound system you could hear from miles away.
Oh and then add the daily construction not only on our building, but also the neighbors. The next three weeks consisted of construction in the morning starting at 0800 and lasting well into the evening. The nightly domino tournament would start around 1700, right outside our building because of course we were the only place with a street lamp. You wouldn't think it would be loud, but it was extremely competitive with lots of yelling, hollering, dominos being shuffled and sometimes slammed. This would continue until 2100 and then the worst part…. The music from a car parked in front of Don Rafa’s, where people would gather to party, dance and drink. It was so loud that it drowned out all voices. It would shake the room and windows and didn't let up until the early hours of the morning, sometimes only a couple of hours before the construction starts up. The host was kind enough to text us in the morning about the construction, as if we wouldn't feel the jackhammering shaking the unit.
Second, the beaches. I had never seen such littered beaches. They were covered with all sorts of trash—bottles, plastic, mattresses, diapers, clothes, and oddly enough, a lot of shoes. While the water looked clear when we walked out on a pier, we had to trudge through trash to get that far and the water draining from the city smelled foul. Needless to say, we didn’t swim or even sit on the beach.
On our last day we walked to a beach that showed potential but was still littered with garbage. Eriksson did share that the garbage comes from the mountains and was worse with the recent flooding. While I’m sure there are nicer beaches in the DR, Puerto Plata didn’t offer that experience.
For our trip to Santo Domingo, we chose our trusted driver Rudy to take us 3.5 hours away. The ride through the small mountain villages was beautiful and we got to meet Rudy’s nephew, who joined us for the ride. We passed through Rudy’s parents’ town and even picked his dad up on the side of the road to give him a ride to work. Rudy’s dad seemed incredibly proud of him and as he got out, he smiled and said, "Ve con Dios," which felt like a beautiful way to end our time in Puerto Plata.
Santo Domingo
After everything Alisa and I went through in Puerto Plata I started researching new areas to stay. Our flight to Aruba left out of Las Américas International in Santo Domingo. I really wanted to slide in another chance for the Dominican Republic to show all beaches weren't like taking a trip to the dump on a hot, humid day. I checked out Boca Chica but after a little digging, the scams on charging for a table when eating out already left a bad taste in my mouth before eating the overpriced, bacteria-ridden fresh catch of the day.
I found a place across the Ozama river from the colonial area of town, in Santo Domingo. Places like Christopher Columbus’ house, old forts and maybe a decent meal sounded better than trying our luck at another beach. Apparently the Ozama river is where the ships carrying the great explorer first moored, on a tree mind you.
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| The tree |
The explorers brought gifts including smallpox, measles, whooping cough, chicken pox, bubonic plague, typhus and malaria. We brought our gratitude and thankfulness. In exchange, we were given four great days of our own exploration experience. We walked through the clean old colonial city with so much history. Besides the Columbus “Discovery,” we learned about DR’s past and all its people have overcome, both from past foreign and recent domestic control.
We were escorted across busy city streets by the tourist police, given free tours into some of the homes of the most influential people who helped the country become what it is today.....mainly a spring training battleground for US baseball teams.
Seriously though, we walked on the first paved street in the New World, saw our first Larimar stone, only found and mined in DR and our second Christopher Columbus statue. Both have been pointing in different directions. The one in Barcelona is supposedly pointing here and the one here is just him pointing to where he landed. I wondered if he was ever depicted in a different stance. There's one with arms crossed in Boston that was beheaded during a protest in 2020, seems it's best to have direction in one's life.
As we explored we found Catedral Castrense de Santa Bárbara, a cathedral for sailors and later the military. We went inside and found a completely empty church. I walked up to the altar and found this gem. That's called knowing your audience folks. I was sincerely impressed by the details and creativity.
We also found the Museo de la Policía Nacional / Direccion Policía Comunitaria and I snuck in an easy slug bug on Alisa. It pays to research.
We visited the Pantheon of the Fatherland, where what looked to be teenagers performing the changing of the guards.
The eves of the Catedral Primada de las Américas de Santo Domingo were truly a work of art, seriously my neck hasn't been the same since.
I really wanted to pick up a Haitian passport but decided against it last minute.
Don't risk it... soak and wash all fresh fruit and vegetables in Purimax.
You have to be patient when waiting for an Uber. Connecting you to a driver takes time, but they are cheap. For under $2.00 you can get around. However, once you are connected with a driver, they will text you through the app quoting you a different price. And if you don't agree they will cancel on you. This never happened to me when I took an Uber, but to Jim almost every time. Finally he would just say “no efectivo, pago para pagar con propina,” I don't have cash, but will leave a tip through the app. That would work most of the time.
There is a positive police presence. Some are touristic police who will stop traffic for tourists or foreigners to cross the road or help you by answering questions. Then local and national police, they carry guns but seem friendlier than in other countries. And very proactive.
One day we witnessed an old man on a scooter following four teenage boys, not sure what was going on, but the boys were laughing and shouting at him, running while he was trying to catch them. Jim and I followed them down the road where a tourist police just watched, but just as we hit the main street a cop car saw and stopped. They grabbed the two older boys by their shorts and they were giving the officers some lip, until one officer spoke and yanked their shorts tighter and they shut up. They talked to the old man and next thing you know all the boys were crammed in the back of a small car and taken away.
Although we saw some homeless people and a few "crazies," we felt safe walking anywhere we wanted to go. Locals were friendly and eager to help, offering assistance with groceries or even providing medicine for Jim’s cold. However, we never ventured around at night.
Puerto Plata is full of colorful murals, with some dedicated to famous Dominican athletes and others simply beautiful works of art.
The U.S. dollar is accepted, but the exchange rate is terrible. Always choose to pay in the local currency for a better rate. We learned our lesson the first night we got in. We didn’t have pesos and went to a small store to get water and a few other items, it cost $40.
There is a grocery store chain called Sirena, which has pretty much anything you need or want, even birds singing to you in the isles. Imported items are a little high, but still less than in the states.
Pharmacies in the DR carry a wide range of medications without prescriptions and for a fraction of the price.
And as my friend Eriksson pointed out DR is about 20 years behind in how they do things, but it works for them, so be patient.
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