At the end of my last three weeks in Cabarete, the wind finally returns. Tentatively at first, a little breeze, but after six days of calm and rain, it’s a sign of things to come. From three o’clock onwards, a nice 20 knots are blowing on the kite beach. The wind is extremely gusty, the waves are mean, high and coming from different directions. But that doesn’t matter. The main thing is wind.
I keep going out to the reef and playing catch with the breakers. I escape all but one of them. It bites me on the bum and rolls over me. Nothing happens. When I surface, a fat turtle is suddenly right next to me and stares at me. Not the only one that day. By the evening, I must have seen a dozen large sea turtles. The oldest sea dweller meets the youngest. (more…)
Caribbean gloom
It has been raining almost non-stop for four days. Heavy thunderstorms cause rivers to overflow and reduce visibility to 50 metres a day. I take advantage of a short break in the rain to walk back to Cabarete from the absolutely windless kitebeach on the beach. It lasts until the halfway point, then I get a clean shower.
The kite camp is almost empty, all my friends have gone. There are currently only two of us here. The day before yesterday, Ali gave us a bottle of rum, which we completely emptied during a fruitless round of poker. After that I felt sick for two days. I’ve been working at least six hours a day for days, my holiday is over. (more…)
Poverty & wealth in Cabarete
Just a moment ago, I was happy about differences in opinions and views. Today, there is one difference in the Dominican Republic that really gets to me: The one between rich and poor. It’s not that it’s something new. There has always been poverty and wealth here. What strikes me now is the gap in between, which is widening dramatically.
The average per capita income has doubled in the last 10 years. 20% of the rich earned five times more, 80% of the poor half as much. What did José, the exiled Dominican on holiday, say? He had never seen so many Hummers and Porsches. The luxury castles are growing everywhere in Cabarete, but only rich foreigners live in them. The peso fluctuates unrationally in relation to economic power. (more…)
Columbus & driving home
Columbus built the first fort in the New World near Cabarete in 1492. It was more of an emergency solution, similar to “Houston, we got a problem”. Of course, there was no radio back then. As one of his three ships was a little too damaged to return to Spain, a few people had to stay behind. They waited in Fort Isabela for their master to return.
Today we are there, quite far out in the West Dominican Pampas. The only visitors. There are no more masters, the ones left behind have been massacred. Not all of them. Those who survived gave Columbus a hell of a reception when he returned. Thanks to our half-Dominican friend José, I get the whole story this time, because the guide only speaks Spanish. (more…)
Dominican Republic by jeep
We hire a jeep for two days. On the first day, we are accompanied by three young Frenchmen from Martinique. Our first stop is Playa Grande, one of the most beautiful beaches in the Dominican Republic. Our breakfast is served directly on the beach: Grilled red snapper with fried bananas, rice and salad. We watch the surfers in the big waves. The friendly chefs charge perverse prices.
During my four visits to the Dominican Republic, I must have ridden 2000 kilometres on my motorbike. The roads have always been bad. Everyone drove like idiots, see“Traffic in the Dominican Republic“. But the roads have never been as bad as they are now. (more…)
Diving in the terrourist camp
Nobody can just kitesurf all the time. After five days on the water, we want to get under it today. We book a dive in Sosua. The introduction takes place in the pool of a terrourist camp. There really are people who fly halfway around the world to be imprisoned. Not just in Guantanamo.
The terrourist camp is a good distance from Cabarete. So that the terrourists don’t get the idea of having any kind of contact with the indigenous people. With the exception of the beach vendors with coconuts. And the reanimatos with funny games like horseshoes. The typical terrourist is usually fat and sluggish. They are already sipping Cuba Libre at eleven in the morning. You can’t stand the techno drone without being drunk. (more…)
Kitesurfing in the Caribbean
Sabine’s infection jumps over to me. The wind blows laminar side onshore at a perfect 15-20 knots for four days in a row. If I was a true German, I’d have to grumble about the seaweed in the water. But otherwise I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. Everything is perfect, the sun is shining, the wind is blowing and Cuba is getting a good clearing every evening.
Every lunchtime we take the shuttle from Ali’s camp to the kite club. Sabine always has an uneasy stomach beforehand, with all the joyful anticipation mixed with a little anxiety. This mixture is hellishly energising. Some days I stand on the beach and wonder whether I can still master the wind. But the XBow simply flattens out every gust. (more…)
A serious infection
My diabolical plan is thwarted by a serious infection. Sabine touched one of those long things on the beach. Her mum had warned her about it just before she set off. But Sabine’s upbringing was anti-authoritarian. The virus jumped over to her in the same second of first contact. By evening number one, she already has very strange facial features.
She enjoys the little trainer kite. On day two, she goes straight to the 8m² bowkite with her instructor. You can see her grin 300 metres into the wind. It stays windy until the evening. On day three, the infection worsens, she learns about the power of the wind, practises the water start on land and running in the water. (more…)
Of Motorbikes, Mountain Flowers & Terrourists
On the evening of the third day, the rain finally stops. We hire a scooter and set off for the Cordillera Central. In Sabaneta de Yasica, a Swat team has just struck with pump guns and machine guns. The Dominican villagers stand around like relatives of recently snatched meerkats. The hinterland of Cabarete is mountainous. Palm trees, donkeys, rivers and petrol from rum bottles.
The next morning we drive through hell to paradise. It was bad four years ago. The roads had more holes than tar. That’s different now. But there are even more massive stinker trucks on the way to Puerto Plata. Last time I thought: “Shit, they drive like idiots”. Now I think they’re all angels. I rode 1000km on a motorbike in Vietnam. (more…)
Condor to Cabarete
Finally away from the German autumn! After an almost sleepless night, we take the train to Frankfurt. The train is on time, the plane is not. There are lots of my favourite people scurrying around at the airport: German holidaymakers. They expect only the best, know a lot, see little, like to complain and never think what they experience is the best of the best.
We go through all the checks (How much longer will it take?), off to the gate, out again (Why do we have to wait so long?), back in again (Can you give me the ticket?) and finally onto the Condor to Cabarete. For the first time in 20 flights, my knees don’t hit the seat in front of me. After 16 hours of travelling, the sun sets blood red over the Caribbean clouds. (more…)
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.