By Taryn Luntz
Special to The Washington Post
Sunday, December 18, 2005
On my first night in Cofresi, a small beach community on the northern coast of the Dominican Republic, the town's temperamental electricity took an extended leave of absence. The window air-conditioning unit in my bedroom was just a formality, it seemed, and as the heat crept steadily through the shutter blinds, along with what was surely the majority of the town's mosquito population, I resolved to stand firm in my quest for authenticity.
Even so, a nice beachside resort with central air -- or even a semi-functional fan -- was looking pretty good right then.
And the Dominican Republic certainly has enough of them to choose from. The island's coastline is full of all-inclusive resorts, many budget-friendly and almost all of them resting on immaculate palm-lined beaches. But choosing to stay at one of these comfortable but insular havens would mean I'd miss out on what I had heard were the country's greatest attractions -- a rich culture and truly generous, hospitable people.
Though the country is home to the Caribbean's only white-water rafting river and the birthplace of that passionate Latin pastime, the meringue, if asked to name something typically Dominican, many of us would flounder helplessly for a few seconds before settling on Sammy Sosa.
I had a feeling that on this laid-back island, an authentic Dominican experience couldn't be too hard to find, so I set out in search of one with high expectations -- and a limited budget. It didn't take me long to discover that a friendly word and a little flexibility are all you really need to unlock the real Dominican Republic.
* * *
A four-hour, $7 bus ride from Santo Domingo landed me in Puerto Plata, a major northern city popular with travelers. But I was destined for the sleepy beach town of Cofresi only a few miles away, where I'd discovered an inexpensive, privately owned villa just off the tourist radar.
That meant there was no hotel shuttle to pick up me, my boyfriend, Chris, and our friends Adam and Caroline from the bus station. Luckily, there was Gabino, a lovable, bear-size man who manages Villa del Sol.
Gabino welcomed us heartily, carried our bags to his car and explained in broken English that he'd stocked our fridge with enough fruit, eggs and bacon to get us through breakfast the following morning. "But I did not get rum for tonight!" he lamented.
"We must stop and get some," he said, veering the car sharply toward a corner market. We told him not to worry -- we'd taken care of that at the duty-free shop.
We pulled up to a narrow, two-story villa painted white with blue trim and surrounded by a smattering of elegantly drooping mango trees. An ocean-view balcony held four wooden rocking chairs, and a covered roof deck overlooked thick treetops. Inside was a large binder filled with practical information and tidbits about local culture and attractions; we affectionately dubbed it the Cofresi Files. The three-bedroom place was ours for five days, and incredibly, the nightly rate of $95 included maid and cook services.
The town was not completely untouched by tourism. A high-end, all-inclusive resort named Sun Village lay at one end, though the guests seemed to leave the grounds only rarely. On the opposite end, the newly built Ocean World offered a chance to swim with dolphins for a bank-breaking $145 per person.
But in between, the pristine crescent-shaped beach was mercifully deserted, and we staked our claim on it for the day. Residents drove by on their mopeds, smiling curiously at us and waving a welcoming hello.
It would be easy to drive by Cofresi without ever knowing it existed. There is only one entrance to the town, and it's by way of a narrow, nondescript street that winds downhill from a main roadway, turning abruptly when it runs into the beach. Except for a few little stores selling artwork and souvenirs, the place consists of only a handful of quiet streets, a corner market, and a steak and seafood restaurant. Though built on a little hill, Cofresi is surrounded by mountains that jut into the sea on either side.
Walking home from the beach that first day, we noticed that most of the houses resembled our villa. The well-kept yards and swimming pools tipped us off to the probability that we had temporarily adopted the lifestyle of relatively well-off Dominicans.
As yet another moped approached, Caroline, tired from the long day in the sun, jokingly asked the driver for a ride up a steep hill. Though he didn't speak English, he understood the request, motioned for her to jump on and zipped her away.
* * *
The next morning, we awoke to find that our maid and cook, Paulina, had arrived for the day and had already prepared breakfast. We climbed to the roof deck and found a plate of fresh pineapple, mango, cantaloupe and papaya resting on a wicker dining table, with scrambled eggs, bacon and Paulina's potent coffee to follow.
Paulina was a warm, maternal Dominican with the kind of strong, weather-beaten face that made it difficult to guess her age. We established an immediate bond based on my ability to speak passable Spanish. The others had to resort to charades.
That afternoon, Chris and I accompanied her to the Puerto Plata supermarket to buy groceries. Looking around, I noted with satisfaction that we seemed to be the only two tourists in the store. I'd asked Paulina to prepare only regional fare for us, and she wandered off to gather fruits, seafood and vegetables so unfamiliar to me that I eventually gave up trying to identify them.
When we placed a bottle of Bacardi in the cart, Paulina shook her head and promptly returned it to the shelf. She lifted a bottle of the locally produced Brugal rum, declaring in Spanish, "This one is much better." We didn't realize until later that she'd picked up Brugal 151, a rum so strong that it could replace lighter fluid in a pinch.
Four days' worth of juice, eggs, bread, coffee, rum, seafood, chicken, rice, fruit and Paulina's secret ingredients ran us only about $20 a person -- a great deal considering that one dinner at many of the area's restaurants would cost about the same. Even the all-inclusives, which usually offer quality all-you-can-eat buffets and entree choices, can't beat the customized, home-cooked meals Paulina spoiled us with daily as we lounged on our deck.
* * *
Eager to explore the jungle and mountains surrounding Cofresi, we decided to book the $40 Jeep safari tour recommended by the Cofresi Files. The "Jeep" turned out to be a large pickup truck with two long benches on either side. It arrived at our doorstep at 9 a.m. Along with four other tourists, a trip videographer, a guide named Rafael and his cooler of rum and Coke, we headed into the wilderness south of town.
Miles into the mountains, we ducked our heads to avoid the stray branches of mahogany trees as dirt roads carried us through poor farming villages and shantytowns, where barefoot children ran after our truck excitedly and adults fanned themselves on their front stoops.
Dominicans consider their coffee to be second only to Colombia's, and we stopped in one small village to learn the traditional way to grind coffee beans. Rafael insisted this includes a ritual of singing and dancing wildly around the grindstone, but when we complied, his mischievous smile fostered some doubt.
In the village of Barrabas, stoic artists carved traditional decorative Dominican dolls from the country's sandstone and neighboring Haiti's volcanic ash. Rafael explained that the faceless dolls represent the blending of the almost extinct indigenous Taino Indians, the Spanish who conquered them and the black slaves who came with the Spaniards. Though the dolls are sold to shops around the country, legend has it that the artists of Barrabas are the only ones who can create them, and the craft is passed down through generations. I snagged one for $12.
The last stop of the day was at the winding Damajagua River, where a long, uphill hike through thick foliage and shallow water brought ample reward. At the top, natural waterfalls cascaded into deep blue pools, and we dived blissfully in.
While Rafael waited behind, a new guide led us up slick rocks to the top of the first waterfall, and we swam vigorously upstream through narrow passageways to the next one. Gasping for breath, we caught sight of our second challenge: a small, powerful waterfall dropping sharply off an extended rock.
One guide hoisted us up while another lay at the top of the waterfall and grasped for our hands. Foolproof this was not. As water pounded down on us, he yanked us up over the top. After four more increasingly difficult challenges, we discovered the only way back to dry land was to ride each narrow waterfall like a slide, ignoring the jutting rocks on either side.
I silently cursed the Cofresi Files for its blase "climb to the top of the waterfall," held my breath and surrendered to the Damajagua.
It was early evening when we finally arrived home. We were comforted by the smell of Paulina's seasoned rice and chicken dish in the oven and the sight of Juan, the trusty night watchman, snoozing on a neighboring porch.
* * *
Our final morning in the villa, we once again awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and a plate of fruit on the deck, but there was no sign of Paulina. We headed off to the white-sand beach of Sosua, a half-hour cab ride ($25) away, hoping to see her later.
We arrived to find that Sosua draws a fair number of tourists, and for good reason. It's laden with spectacular shallow coral reefs, fishermen hawking baskets of steamed shrimp, thatched-roof huts selling tropical drinks in hollowed-out pineapples, and a host of kitschy shops and outdoor restaurants.
When we returned to Villa del Sol to pack our bags for the flight home, Paulina was still missing. Wishing to say goodbye, I consulted the Cofresi Files to find her phone number. Instead, I found a paragraph explaining that she didn't work on Sundays.
The breakfast we'd found on the deck that morning was her goodbye. She had snuck in on her day off to ensure we didn't leave on empty stomachs.
Now isn't that just typically Dominican.
Taryn Luntz is a freelance writer who works for National Geographic Television. For additional images of the Dominican Republic, check out the photo gallery athttp://www.washingtonpost.com/travel.
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