February 28, 2025

The usual checkout at the scooter rental place: do the mirrors work, do the gauges work, how to open the gas tank, do the brakes work, what are the different key positions, etc. I point out to the employee that the rental contract doesn’t apply to scooters, and he thanks me for my insight. Anticipating that the road may involve some climbing, I wonder whether the engine is powerful enough to climb steep grades, although I don’t have huge plans for the day, other than to visit the Salto El Limón and perhaps some beaches. Then again, I don’t know how much climbing is involved on the way to the waterfall.

It couldn’t be easier to travel here; well, not in town, with its manic vehicular traffic, the endless scooters, motocross bikes, golf carts, ATVs and incidentally cars, racing back and forth, although not far out of town, past the annoying traffic calming strips, the number of vehicles is reduced to a bare minimum, giving rise to the question as to where all those vehicles racing around Las Terrenas are heading to? Perhaps they are just largely on joy rides?

To my left, tall, slender coconut palms stand guard at the strip of pale yellow sand and translucent emerald green sea. I ask myself whether you ever grow tired of seeing this sight, although locals may feel differently, given that they have never known anything different. Unlike the Caucasians crowding in to experience their slice of paradise, the Dominicans are intent on enjoying themselves when they are not working to survive, attempting to cash in at least to some extent from the deluge of foreign money that also makes their own lives prohibitively expensive.

Luxurious hotels line the outside perimeter of the road, then the gargantuan gated resorts of more exclusive pedigree appear on the sea side of the road, precisely the kind of places I would never frequent – although they do look quite nice, the individual residences stacked in cubist fashion and presumably ample in space and privacy. Beyond, there is little except green, the high ridge that runs through the centre of the peninsula rising in the distance, grazing cattle, small-scale agriculture, and then the first tracts of land associated with the town of El Limón.

I reach El Limón proper, the road weaving gently amongst the modest establishments, small talleres, bodegas, retail establishments, eateries, and far beyond, the turnoff to the waterfall. Notably, the roads seem to be consistently well-paved, another indication of the relatively high standard of development in this country. For that matter, while locals may engage in seemingly modest economic activities, you don’t see the markers of great poverty you’d see in most other Latin American countries, including run-down tenement housing, ragged clothing, more than an occasional battered car, a prevalence of open sewage, and so on.

An overweight local is now following me, buzzing me to follow him to the place I can get horses to ride up to the waterfall – and he won’t leave me be. When someone is that aggressive in promoting his services, it suggests that it would just be best to ignore him. He follows me as I turn off onto the dirt road toward the head of the waterfall trail – and he just keeps after me, shouting at me to follow him. Given that I completely ignore him, he eventually leaves. I will later get a sense of why he may be that aggressive – riding to the waterfall on horseback is one of the main things to do on this heavily-touristed peninsula, so there is a lot of money to be made. But I am intent on making my way to the waterfall – on foot!

I embark on the muddy, rocky trail on foot, quickly reaching the first of a number of streams that you have to ford. I could leave my shoes on and worry about drying them later – but I would prefer not to risk debilitating my shoes even more – every time they get soaked, they risk losing their shape more. Sandals would have been ideal – but my vaunted Keene sandals need to be repaired. And so I will have to wade through on my delicate bare feet, attempting to minimize the cuts and bruises on the unforgiving rock, the most important part being not slipping – and my pack with camera flying into the water.

Larger rocks with smooth surfaces are ideal to step on – but not if they are not stable. Slowly I make my way across, stupidly put on my shoes again, unaware that I will momentarily have to take them off again for the next two river crossings. Passing by me, cordons of self-satisfied visitors being led on horseback, a venture that caters to a somewhat lazy and self-indulgent mindset, although my perspective is ultimately somewhat laughable, considering what a mediocre hiker I am.

The rest of the trail does not involve wading through rivers, but that doesn’t mean to say it’s an easy climb. I gingerly place each foot on some muddy rock, moving slowly and carefully enough to get a firm grip and avoid slipping and ruining the rest of my trip. The trail is decidedly uphill – there are only a few stretches that are relatively flat, before which the climbing continues again. At least the heat and humidity aren’t punishing!

More cordons of horses returning my way, but not many; most hikers descend on foot. There are also no views to be had here, but finally, arriving at the last peak before descending to the valley where the waterfall is located, views open up of the dramatic emerald hilltops. Some parts of the hills around me are covered in forest, other in grassland, and the rows of coconut palms with their fronds teasing the wind create a dramatic visual effect against the topography of the landscape and the rich patches of white cotton batting on the cerulean sky.

I really don’t want to continue walking; I am happy to look down over the waterfall I see cascading on the distant cliffside, play with my camera, and enjoy the peace and quiet – and not having to move my body any more. But my camera has stopped working … unfortunately the symptoms of the increasing malaise I am experiencing with the camera are of an electronic nature, the screen in Auto mode displaying icons that are largely unfamiliar and certainly not appropriate for the mode.

The problem with the extensive options the digital cameras offer is that in the end they simply serve to confuse more than anything else. Thus far, viewing pics seems to malfunction at a certain point of the day. I have no backup camera – I can use my phone, but its camera is not that good. Buying another camera – expensive proposition, and probably only a good idea in Puerto Rico, as everywhere else I am going is very small, with limited retail possibilities.

Finally, after having rested and overcome my frustration at the seemingly endless climb over the muddy, rocky terrain, the waterfall doesn’t seem that far away, nor the descent to the floor of the valley below that great. Well, it does turn out to be farther than my poorly trained eye determines, but it’s all downhill, and this part of the trail is much more orderly, mostly stone steps built at a pitch that makes it easy to walk down. But the waterfall at the base is not the waterfall you come here to see – you have to ford another stream, then climb another set of stairs to reach your ultimate destination. I made it this far – I will have to continue, although the crossing is predictably painful.

At the crest of the last staircase, an incredible sight greets me – a vast cascade of water rushing down a rock face in a single drop into a discreet pool, and secondarily, hordes of people that couldn’t have come up the trail I just hiked. It turns out that there are a variety of options for accessing the waterfall, and the bulk of these people may have come via another route. It certainly shines a light on the popularity of one of the prime attractions of the Samaná peninsula.

Normally, I would find the crowds challenging to be around, but I join a heterogenous group of individuals hearkening from Mallorca, Madeira, and the Dominican republic who bring their unique and entertaining stories to the table as we lounge around the periphery of the waterfall, enjoying each others’ company and the beauty of the place. Some of the visitors continue climbing to the top of the waterfall, although I am skeptical as to the visual value of the experience, given that you won’t see the waterfall, rather, just the pool it drops into.

Not many of the visitors enter the pool the water cascades into – I would consider it, but am not too motivated, given having to leave my valuables on a bench along which hordes of people passing by. Also, not being much of a swimmer, I am concerned about the depth of the pool and potential turbulence.

The hike downhill is definitely far easier than the one to the waterfall; while on the climb up, I was possibly too stressed to garner an organic sense of the totality of the hike, I now recognize its daunting length, essentially climbing a mountain, the pitch continuous, with little reprieve, and much of the trail a muddy, rocky mess, although to be fair, the heat and sun of the afternoon has dried much of the wet mud that made the ascent so difficult.

While I am often challenged with steep, tortuous descents, particularly with complex root systems or loose rock littering the path, it seems easy enough to find footing going down and the drop isn’t too steep. Happily, it is also too late in the afternoon for more visitors to come on horseback, which means that I encounter virtually no one on the trail descending, other than some members of the group I met at the waterfall.

At the base, the fords present the last challenge, my shoes and socks off again, then into the water, and irrespective of how slowly I attempt to maneuver over the rock rubble at the bottom of the shallow stream, my feet are in agony from the sharp edges of some of the rocks I step on. In some alternate life, I would be active outdoors without shoes, but that is certainly not where the trajectory of life has taken me in the last year – my feet are simply far too sensitive for this kind of thing.

Despite the lengthy descent, it is not even 4 pm, and so I still have several hours to sunset, and that means the possibility of visiting some other remote beach in the area. While there are beaches strung along the north coast running both directions from Las Terrenas, as of the point where the road to El Limón segues from the coast and proceeds to the southeast, the beaches running to the east are no longer as easily accessible, at best by means of minor side roads that run from the main road into the interior of the peninsula to the coast. To the north of El Limón lie Playa el Limón, Playa El Morón, Playa Lanza del Norte, as well as others.

Past El Limón, the road weaves voluptuously toward Agua Sabrosa, then heads north past the bucolic settlements and comfortable houses, a view into the quality of life country Dominicans enjoy, not necessarily extravagantly wealthy, but healthy, balanced, surrounded by green, and untrammeled by the excesses of development, the children’s sense of equanimity highly informative.

Now onto to Playa Lanza del Norte, not necessarily exceptional in Dominican terms, the broad crescent of dark sand graced with tendrils of vegetation, the curtain of ubiquitous coconut trees lining the broad beach, the Cabo Cabron peninsula extending well past the edge of the bay far to the northeast, and beyond that, out of the line of sight, Las Galeras, too far to visit on a mere day trip, but perhaps on another visit.

A few locals wander the beach in the distance, the low waves rolling in and cresting in a bath of languid foam closer to the shore, shallow sheets of water reaching much further up the graduated sand embankment, but otherwise, a serene and beautiful beachfront entrepot. If there were no other beach here, this would be an amazing reason to visit – but the area of Las Terrenas provides an endless panorama of gilt coastal reverie …

Back at the Airbnb, dinner in the overheated, fan-ventilated kitchen, then writing, hunched over my laptop in the corner of the air-conditioned bedroom, stray dogs barking furiously, attacking each other – another country that doesn’t seem to be able to deal with its dogs …