Thanksgiving in Samana: A Meditation on Gratitude, Smugness, and mild Caribbean Terror
Today is Thanksgiving and I should be writing something heart-warming and emotional about gratitude. And I am grateful, truly. But if I’m honest, I also feel… smug. Embarrassed and smug — a combination I didn’t even know was possible outside of yoga classes, comparing sour dough recipes, and walking a dog in a tactical vest only because she has a tendency to fall off docks.
Let me explain.
We slipped away from the ambitiously named Ocean World in Puerto Plata, last Saturday and made a 15 hour night passage east to Samana. Night passages always leave us a little groggy for a few days, but are worth it for the calmer seas, and in theory less sea objects intent on crashing into us. I take the grave yard shift from midnight to 4 am because that's when the ocean is meant to be quiet, but I'm a ship magnet, which is very different from a shipping magnet: I attract giant cruise ships like Carnival Cruise passengers to a buffet line - rather than a shipping magnet who has staff to avoid these kind of nocturnal nuisances. But on this particular night, even my marine magnetism failed, and we arrived in paradise entirely unscathed.
Bahia Marina, Samana is beyond belief. It is around 4o acres on a forest covered cape with a lovely protected marina, three restaurants, 4 pools, a hotel, and even a spa. There's just enough jungle around to make you feel you're so insta-adventurous without any of the inconveniences, such as bugs and things with teeth that want to eat you.... I have officially entered marine nirvana.
For a few days we lolled around enjoying the sunset pool deck, and wallowing in free wifi and margaritas... I was dangerously close to feeling relaxed — which is how I knew something was wrong. I am an Anxiety Queen. I need something to fret over. There wasn't even a leaking toilet! My life felt empty, so naturally we rented a car.
And oh my! Dominican driving is not for the faint-hearted or the over-sober. The locals occasionally drive on the same side of the road as Americans, but that’s really just a suggestion. I'm pretty sure I heard laughter every time Ken used the indicator. There are more mopeds than cars, and each moped carries two humans, one toddler, a plantain tree, and a large refrigerator. No one — including the multitude of stray dogs, and unmanned horses, also using the road— wears helmets. The potholes are large enough to host a small wedding reception.
It occured to me that our seemingly weery looking jeep must have some hi tech stealth capability because no one seemed aware of us on the road at all, they just pulled out in front of us with complete faith we would not run into them. Halfway through the ordeal I cursed myself for not buying knock-off Valium from that guy in Ohio who sold me my illicit fat-dissolving injections. Instead, I sat upright and jittery, doing my best impression of a thin, worried middle-aged maniac.
Our first outing we took the dog and went to Playa Rincon; a 3 mile wilderness beach where we parked the car, and went for a long beach walk and a picnic, it was insta-fantastic.
Feeling a bit more bold (or stupid), the next day we left Gypsy behind and decided to go ziplining. I cannot stand tour guides — too much being told what to do, where to stand, how to breathe — so armed with nothing but an iPhone blue GPS dot and optimism, we set off.
Cut to us navigating a mere suggestion of a road, our Iphone blue blob stuck on "no service, good luck" mode, passing shanties and jungle, completely lost looking like we were unwilling participants in a Survivor for Seniors TV show. Then the Jeep's started making grinding sounds which sounded like the start of some mechanical death throw. Curious locals emerged from doorways as we limped past: a committed test pilot revving a dying engine, and his hysterical wife clenching the dashboard like it was the last Helly Hanson jacket in a Black Friday sale.
We eventually reached the zipline place, where I discovered my “natural hiking” Vibram shoes are only natural for walking for smug embarrassed mall hikes and Worth Avenue shopping tours. I had to duck-walk up the 45-degree mud slope, sporting a crotch harness and an orange helmet like a deranged stunt penguin. Ken once again found himself wondering how lucky he was to spend his life with such a natural and graceful beauty.
Our two patient guides, Jean Louis and Erick strapped us together for the first zipline - I think more for their own entertainment than safety and sent us careering over a deep gorge, through the treetops. Despite the fact that from the ground we probably looked like two strange jungle animals in orange helmets screaming and fornicating, it was quite exhilerating.
By the end, Ken and I were hanging upside down like a Silver Cirque du Soleil recruits. After 10 ziplines we reached the bottom for a celebratory pina colada and then braved the Mad Maximo roadway back to our nice, safe marina compound.
We returned the car with gratitude, relief, and guilt that I’m not a more laid-back, culturally immersive traveler. Maybe I’m spoiled (confirmed). Maybe I’m anxious (very confirmed). But maybe — just maybe — I’ve finally realized how good life is, how much I love and appreciate everyone who is on this crazy train called life we are careering along on, and how much I want us all to hang in there together.
Wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving - with just the right balance of gratitude, smugness and only a touch of mortal fear today.
