February 27, 2025

Waking up in my cramped quarters – at least the AC works well! Breakfast of the still crusty rolls, corn flakes, bacon and eggs, avocado, banana – and zapote! Looking out the window, it looks fairly cloudy, but the weather forecast promises sun. If I am to rent a scooter and travel to further beaches and other attractions of the area, it would only be worthwhile if the weather doesn’t turn as it did yesterday. Perhaps the area perennially risks rain with the proximity of the high mountains that line the peninsula.

Writing and errands done, it is time to make my way into town and explore further – but then it is also a national holiday, so that a lot of businesses and services should be shuttered for the day. Just around the corner, an outdoor shopping plaza with stores lining both sides, and dominated to the rear by a round building with a wrap-around covered terrace. The Boulangerie Jean is owned by a French woman from Toulouse who has been here for eight years. She loves the freedom of living in the Dominican Republic, finding life in France asphyxiating due to the restrictions imposed by the French government and the European Community.

I tell her that in France there are restrictions on the kind of vehicles you can drive, the level of noise you can make, and so on – restrictions that are sorely needed in a place suffering from the amount of air and noise pollution as the Dominican Republic. Here coffee is good, as is the mille-feuille, the conversation refreshing, with her as well as the burly bearded American from Miami that I ran into at La Sirena yesterday evening.

On the eastern road running to the beach, young men at a motorcycle and ATV rental place assure me they can rent a scooter for several days for U.S. $15 a day. Perhaps not today, as I want to explore some of the local beaches on foot, and really don’t need transport, but tomorrow and the day after, certainly. The scooters they have look good, but I will have to make sure everything is in order beforehand. Then beyond hiking the waterfalls at El Limon in the centre of the Samaná peninsula, I am not sure what else I could include in the day – visit some of the more remote beaches to the north of the peninsula? Unfortunately, there are no roads that run directly along the coast, and you have to take secondary roads from the main road that runs diagonally toward the town of Samaná. And I suspect the terrain could be very steep as well.

The traffic today seems somewhat more tepid, certainly not as intensely annoying as when I arrived late yesterday afternoon. While most businesses are shuttered, I am taken by the number of cafes, French bakeries with authentic wares, and Italian restaurants that seem fairly legitimate, offering seductive and utterly authentic European gastronomic treats. Except that the backdrop is usually an ongoing circus of motorbikes and ATVs racing by, the noise deafening and the air unbreathable.

Not far away lies the waterfront, where an entirely different world presents itself, a strip of clean sand and a spread of aquamarine and turquoise open up before me, a considerable swath of water shallow and with a sandy bottom before the beds of seaweed darken the water. As Playa Las Terrenas arcs into the distance, I see a mix of locals and Caucasians, but no overwhelming numbers. A few sailboats remain anchored not far from shore, and otherwise, tranquility.

Many of the stocky, middle aged Caucasians here are Canadians – probably most of them, I am told. Puerto Plata attracts more Americans, due to the mix of flights to the local airport, but the regional Samaná El Catey airport hosts flights primarily from Canada, hence the preponderance of Canadians in the area. Some come on vacation, but many come here for extended periods of time, year after year, living in their privileged enclaves, and going out to their preferred restaurants and bars. And since Canadians – particularly this demographic – loves to drink, this is the perfect place. And you can drive your ATV or golf cart in as inebriated state as you want to, and no one will stop you!

The afternoon’s destination is Playa Punta Popy to the immediate east of Playa Las Terrenas, admittedly not much of a goal, but the more notable challenge of simply lying on the beach, which I seem to have accomplished without much effort in the Dominican Republic – and for me this is a big deal! Old age sets in!

Despite the water being very attractive, relatively shallow, without heavy surf or currents, the sea clear and the bottom sandy, I feel somewhat inconvenienced at having to enter the water as it feels slightly chilly. But is it? Or am I just being lazy? What I should have done is bring my snorkeling things – which I forgot in the Airbnb. With so little to take on for the day, I struggle to find a suitable excuse.

Playa Punta Popy is an expansive spit of packed sand that juts out into the sea, similar beaches of light brown sand extending into shallow waters in the adjoining bays to the east and west, the crest of the sand embankments lined with palms, and above, the cerulean sky with a few dramatically billowing cumulus clouds on the far horizon. Visitors scatter along the tracts of sand, walking, seated, the Caucasians preferring being exposed to the open sun, the Dominicans preferring remaining in the shade, typically in groups or families.

The music continues unabated, any kind of portable music device being suitable, the music ranging between merengue, salsa, and Latin dance pop – but nothing else – western pop, rock, or metal, funk or soul, entirely out of the question. As much space as is available on the beach, the tip of the spit seems like an ideal place to lay down my towel, given the views of the neighboring bays and the shimmering pale green water before me.

Lying on the sand, the sun beating down on me seems too good to be true. And it is: not long into my sunbathing session, a Caucasian couple appear not far off to my side with what looks like windsurfing equipment; as they clad themselves in wet suits and assemble their equipment, the pack of the dogs they arrived with barks incessantly, attacking each other, using the area around the two as toilet, and so on. The environment had been peaceful and placid – but now I just want to leave. This may not be Sri Lanka for the perennial infestation of intrusive dogs, but stray dogs are nonetheless a problem for the mess and noise they create – and I am never completely comfortable with strays running about unchecked, as I learned last year the hard way.

Similar to Playa Las Terrenas, Playa Mar Gorda slopes gently toward the pale green shallows of the bay it encloses, the sand relatively clean, the edge of the beach lined with the picture postcard coconut palms, here and there more Caucasians and locals wiling away the hours with a minimal amount of activity, the water almost bereft of bathers, other than the handful of Dominicans intent on socializing with their drinks in the water.

What changes here is the proximity of parking lots, which also means that the locals can wire their vehicles to large speakers and play the usual mix of merengue and salsa at a deafening volume. I wouldn’t fault very much of the music I hear in the country for quality – I used to love merengue – but relentless, at this volume, and in this peaceful setting – not quite.

In the distance, windsurfers and kite surfers are now visible, the former struggling with their sails, the latter racing along at higher speeds on foil boards, occasionally flying into the air to underly the seductiveness of the sport. I could imagine learning how to windsurf, but kite surfing? It’s one thing to control the pivoting of the sail in your hands while you are braced against board, but how do you control a huge sail high up in the air? I cringe at the thought of being somewhere on open water and having the sail collapse in the sea …

More sunbathing, more time in the water, and it’s time to return to town, trudging along the sand banks, observing the progress of the tide, the surf crashing up on the shore, and the formerly clean sand now brushed with a thick layer of seaweed. Along the waterfront coming into town, the bars are brimming with mostly Caucasians, imbibing in the alcohol that loosens inhibitions and brings them into a common comfort zone, music blaring loudly, and on the street, the usual surge of obnoxious motorcycles and ATVs that make walking through town such a regrettable experience.