Saturday 7 am —
I woke from the stirring going on in our cabin. “Why in the world is everyone getting up this early in our day to sleep in” I rolled over and asked Kirsten. “We’re going to the beach!” She replies. Considering I hit the hay at 8:30 the night before, I missed the midnight discussion of going to the beach today. I need to to shower (since I hadn’t in days), pack a beach bag, eat breakfast, and make myself presentable (along with the group) for the first time in weeks. I had 45 minutes to make all of this happen. We shuffle up the hill of our driveway and make our way to the street where we are to catch our first guagua, the DR’s economic version of a taxi. An hour and a half later we finally chase one down. From the first look inside, we question if one more person could squeeze in, much less 19. We squish 2 teams in and wave goodbye to the Worthy Pearls, who sacrificially volunteer to wait for the next one to come. We ride 20 minutes with 22 adults, 2 toddlers, and half a buttcheek on a seat. Carsick and numb, we barrel out at our checkpoint to wait another hour for our next over-populated ride. The second guagua drops us at our third checkpoint where a line of motorbikes await us. While climbing on the bikes 3 deep, none other than our Worthy Pearls roll up next to us in the back of a sketchy single cab truck. As loud as we scream in our reunion, I’m not sure how we don’t scare off these Dominican taxi drivers. Between racing our teammates, being handed bananas off the back of a truck, and not being able to keep my hands inside the vehicle at all times, we had the ride of our lives. We find ourselves at a beach full of breathtaking beauty. I’ve never seen so many shades of blue in my life. The white sand warm my toes while the beaming sun warm my skin. The waves are ferocious – washing ashore, capturing backpacks with cell phones inside, and pulling you put to sea with them. The resorts and mansions line the shoreline. The palm trees shade the restaurants and souvenir shops. I find myself walking a mile barefoot through town to the nearest grocery store where ice cream and fresh body wash, that turns out to be lotion, awaites me. After a day spent basking in the sun and stuffing our belly’s with American food, we prepare to head back home. To our surprise, our chauffeur from our mission site (whom told us the time we would leave) informs us that it is too late to catch the second guagua and we will have to walk the last 20 minute trek up the mountain in the dark. Unfortunately for the Pearls, the only option is to cram everyone in the truck for the 1.5 hour trip back. 18 people are strategically placed in the bed, on the toolbox, on the sides, in the cab, and on the roof. (For my mother’s sake I won’t discuss which position was mine). The journey home is full of accapella singing, sounds of the transmission going out, photos taken by us and of us, and honking and waves from those passing by. Basically, we are the American parade of the DR.
We each noted these moments as the first of many moments to come where we truly felt like World Racers.
— your World Racer,
KP
