Is the Covid-19 Pandemic Over?

Have we reached a turning point in the pandemic?

Nearly every prediction I’ve made throughout this pandemic (it won’t be a big deal, it won’t last long, they’ll never be able to create a vaccine that fast, of course people will get vaccinated, there’s no way they are going to lock us down again, now that we have three shots we won’t get Covid) have been proven completely wrong. It’s been a wily and unpredictable virus. Politicians have made mistakes. Public health officials have made mistakes. Scientists have made mistakes. Pharmaceutical companies have made mistakes. Citizens have made mistakes.

But you know what? I believe that everybody is trying their best. And doing what they think is right.

There was recently a rally where truckers and other folks concerned about overreaching government mandates for vaccines, social distancing, masks, and so on, drove into our national capital Ottawa and occupied a large area of downtown near the parliament buildings. It was called the Freedom Convoy and they blocked streets with their trucks and for nearly three weeks took over that part of the city. There was horn blaring, rallies, parties, monument desecration, money raising, food kitchens, sign waving, hot tubs, bouncy castles, calls for Freedom, and undoubtedly a sense of brother/sisterhood, solidarity, and exhilaration with sticking it to the man. Similar groups blocked bridges and roads connecting Canada and the US – key arteries responsible for the transport of billions of dollars’ worth of goods. These protests certainly made a point, but also wreaked havoc on the public, causing a huge amount of distress and problems for the wider population. Many provinces had already released plans to discontinue vaccine and mask mandates and most others were in the process of doing so.

After no less than three levels of government failed to address this problem and clear the protest, (proving our country’s weakness and ineptitude) our leaders finally realized that “The right to swing your arms ends just where the other person’s nose begins” and the prime minister enacted an Emergencies Act which enabled the cops to clear the protest within a couple of days, dragging a few people off to jail, but just mainly sending people home.

The protesters were calling for freedom. Which was ironic to many, as the freedoms we’re given in this country are exactly what enabled them to hold such a protest. Such a thing tried in Russia or China or North Korea would have been met with bullets. That is what a lack of freedom looks like.

Interestingly, just days later, Russian troops invaded Ukraine, starting an unprovoked war. Regular Ukrainian people were asked to take up guns and instructed how to make Molotov cocktails, to support their country and resist the invader. Canada has asked its people to take a vaccine, wear masks, and socially distance to repel our invader. An interesting, and perhaps instructive contrast. What does freedom mean? Are we just a bunch of spoiled, rich brats crying over spilled milk?

After these two events, it feels like things have changed. Mandates are coming down and people have decided to live with Covid-19 and the deaths it will bring. But in Canada, I feel like we’ve all done our jobs. The high vaccination rate here and more extensive restrictions has provided us with only one third of the deaths per capita as compared to the US. We should be proud. Sadly, there has been a cost.

The last two years has created a huge array of problems across the country. Small businesses and some entire industries have been decimated, governments are wallowing in debt, people have become unbelievably lazy, kids have missed school and lost critical years of developing social skills, and the debates over vaccines have broken up families and friendships. It is very hard to say what the longer term impacts of this damage will be, but I am sure it will be studied for many years. But with any bad, comes some good. The proven ability to work remotely will pay grand dividends for years to come in the form of reduced carbon emissions, better work/life balance, more adaptation of technology, and a more efficient allocation of resources. And when we do go to the office or school, the old heroic measure of showing up despite being sick with a cold and coughing all over everybody is thankfully no longer socially acceptable. With the use of masks and social distancing, the flu has been almost completely eradicated for two years – who would have ever thought this possible? Lastly, people learned how to slow down and maybe appreciate the simple things a bit more.

I haven’t been journaling much throughout the pandemic, but I thought it was time to take stock of where I’m at with this; where we’re at with this as a family. In the future, we are going to look back to this time and it will be increasing difficult to remember what it was like, and what we were thinking, and what we were feeling.

When I think back to the HIV/AIDS epidemic, which has now been with us for 40 years and killed 35 million people, I remember being terrified that I was going to contract HIV, despite never being in a high risk group and taking all precautions. At the start there was no treatments or cure so contracting this disease was a death sentence. Information was thin at first and details were patchy, and sometimes wrong, like when it was reported that only gay men could get it. But as more information became available and more experience was gained, the information gained accuracy. Of course, there was media hype but the media back then was limited to television, magazines, and newspapers. And what you read, you assumed, was true; or at least as accurate as they could get at the time with the information they had. But not once do I remember anybody saying to me, “AIDS is fake. It’s not really a disease. Nobody is actually dying from it. The government is just trying to scare you so they can control you more. Don’t worry about condoms, just eat a good diet, stay healthy, and it can’t get you.” And when therapeutic drugs came along I didn’t hear, “People are crazy to take those drugs, they don’t work. The pharma companies created AIDS so they could sell drugs to fix it. Those drugs will make you impotent.” Maybe these things were being said, but I didn’t hear it. Now we have social media, and there’s little need to point out where that has taken us.

Recently, we met up with some people who we love dearly and had decided against taking the Covid vaccine. Because of this, things have been frosty over the past two years, our get togethers infrequent, and our conversations shallow. It felt like we were never going to be able to have a conversation of substance ever again. How could they be one of “those” people? Didn’t they care about protecting the elderly, weak, and those that were medically unable to take the vaccine? Didn’t they want this to be over? Weren’t they scared by the potential consequences of getting Covid? Why couldn’t they just take the miniscule risk of taking the vaccine just like the rest of us had done? Had they turned into these people who haven’t picked up a book in twenty years, but in the past two years have somehow become virology experts, authorities on health policy, and investigative super sleuths?

We had it out. For 13 hours we stood, sat, leaned, paced, trembled, and raged in our kitchen. We held nothing back. Uncomfortable questions were asked. Accusations were made. Beliefs were challenged. There was face to face screaming, and I mean literally nose to nose. It was glorious. It was therapeutic. But mostly, it was a relief. The night ended (and was interrupted many times) with hugs and kisses. Throughout, we respected each other’s opinions and the challenges came from all sides. It wasn’t always “us against them”. Sometimes it was “us against us” and “them against them” – a sign of a rousing, productive argument.

Here is my belief after hearing all the arguments from what I’ll call the other side for lack of a better term. It is simply about trust. Some of us trust what our governments and health officials have been telling us and we’ve acted accordingly. Some of us do not trust them and have searched out alternate sources of information on which to base our decisions. But when we cannot agree on basic facts, it hurts our democracy and makes it nearly impossible to communicate to each other. This is where we have been the past two years – the majority of the population living in one reality and a minority living in another. Neither of these groups is smarter than the other, or has better access to information, or has better reasons for doing what they are doing. It’s about trust.

In the end, nobody knows the truth and nobody ever will. So let’s not pretend that we can. But we do need to decide how we want to live our lives. Do I want to believe everything the government tells me is a lie because they are trying to control me? Do I reject everything doctors and scientists tell me because they are being paid off by the pharmaceutical companies? Do I refuse to trust all major media sources because they are “in on it”? Do I want to look upon every government statistic with contempt, assuming it is all lies? No. I don’t what to live like that. I can’t live like that. It would turn me into a person that I don’t want to be - distrusting, suspicious, paranoid. But I do need to decide what my reality is. And my reality is this. I believe that democracies are good, but flawed, and fragile, and need to be vigorously defended otherwise they crumble. I believe that democratically elected governments are better than autocratic ones because they are held accountable. I believe that people act primarily in their own self-interest, which means some become corrupt and abuse their power, but I also believe that the vast majority of people feel a sense of responsibility to others and usually try to do the right thing. I believe that people crave certainty, but there is precious little of this in life. Finally, in this age, with a camera and recorder in every pocket, surveillance cameras on every house, a pervasive internet, and an activated public, it is impossible to keep a secret.

At the end of our 13 hour discussion, nobody changed their minds about much. But we all felt heard. And that was something that was long overdue. This is why I feel we are at a turning point. People have been heard. The unvaccinated have been punished for long enough. The vaccinated have done what’s been asked of them. Many thousands of lives have been saved because of Canadians’ efforts in getting vaccinated and masking but we also must admit that the vaccines have not delivered what the government and health officials promised. We are all getting Covid now despite our vaccination status and we are going to have to live with that.

It’s time to move past this and get started on repairing all the damage. Mending our social connections. Going out again and supporting local businesses. Shutting off the goddamn television and putting down the toxic phones. Seeing peoples’ faces again and being happy instead of scared. Letting our kids be kids. And if (when) another more dangerous Covid strain comes along, will the people demand we handle it differently?

We have a lot of work to do. Somebody said getting out of this pandemic is going to be harder than living through it.

Let’s hope not.

A New Year's Eve Adventure

It was the night we needed during a time we didn’t.

New Year’s Eve 2021. Pandemic raging. Care factor zero. It was time to lash out, rage, and take it back. Take it all back.

My lady looks at me. Her deep brown eyes, her dark flowing hair, her full lips that mouth the words, “I love you,” then presses her body against mine, and we lock together like magnets, in a steel embrace, never parting, until we do.

“Let’s do this,” I whisper gently into her ear. In the mirror, I can see her smile, chin on my shoulder. A dangerous smile. She is ready.

We dress. She wears tight, black leather pants, dancing shoes, a flash top that clings to her enticing curves, and hair pulled back tightly, creating a perfect line. I too wear black, the devil’s shade. My belt brandishes a skull. My shirt is long sleeved, epic. My hair is wild. My silver-buckled boots are heavy. It’s time.

The boy sits at his computer, on the after-hours exchanges, trading. He is focused. Gorillaz play in the background. He gives me a nod. I nod back. The understanding is there.

The girl is away tonight, with a friend, creating her own adventure.

We strap on jackets, helmets, gloves, then mount the matching Ducatis and ignite them. The bikes yearn to go, and go fast. We scream away from the house, in parallel, rip past the feeble stop sign and race down the street, lean steeply into the exit, and are on the highway, accelerating wildly, smiles hidden behind our helmet visors. We are like bullets, but defying gravity, moving ahead, charging ever faster, weaving around vehicles, owning the road, owning the night.

Ozzie’s Oyster House is where we stop. It is in the city. Though the hot bikes despise it, we power them down, lock our helmets to the hot frame, then walk in the entrance together, as if staged. As we step inside, we are noticed, eyes attracted to us, then diverted quickly. The hostess shows us to a table, but we take the bar. I have a gin and tonic, she has a wine, no explanatory toast is required – we know we drink to us.

The oysters arrive, magnificent on the shining plate, moist, sensual, promising. We tap shells, then slide them back. The taste is exquisite and I hold the mollusk briefly on my tongue, letting the salty water trickle down my throat, feeling the ocean, honouring the creature. My lady’s eyes are closed as she consumes the oyster, embracing the moment, existing in another place. A sea place. Together we travel wordlessly in our shared mind’s eye.

Surrounding us are people. Some laughing, some talking, some silent. Nobody approaches us, but they sneak curious glances. They can feel our energy and they want it. But it is not theirs to have.

Shells are emptied, drinks are drunk. We hold hands and face each other, smiling.

“Ready?” she says.

“I am.”

We are back on the road, twisting through city streets, passing trees, passing buildings, passing people, as if at random, but we know this city. It is winter, but the surfaces are dry and the temperature is mild. I see the reflection from the arrogant moon on my gas tank. It is a nice night for a ride.

It is 11 o’clock when we enter the club. The entrance is concealed and unseen. Nobody is supposed to be here, but many are, looking to fill their voids, reclaim their lives. She holds my arm, and the attention of onlookers. My lady is the most beautiful woman here, as I knew she would be. It can be no other way. We see our friends, in the far corner, at a table, being beautiful, but in no hurry to do so.

“T-dog,” I say.

“We meet again,” he says, giving me a knowing handshake and a wink. When he releases his grip, two white pills are revealed in my palm, each imprinted with the image of a throwing star. Ecstasy. I place one on the tongue of my lady, and one on my own, and there they dissolve, releasing the mind-altering chemicals rapidly, catching up to our friends

“Queenie, so nice to see you again,” I say as I kiss her on the cheek and put my hand on her shoulder. My lady exchanges embraces with each of them, then we sit together for a round of drinks, then another. As the E’s fully penetrate our minds, stillness is no longer an option - it becomes imperative to dance. The four of us push to the dance floor, unstoppable, full of love, and we submit to the music, who is an unflinching and joyful master.

Sweat. Bodies. And the beats. We writhe, sway, and gyrate together, caged in by the throbbing crowd, driven by the all-consuming bass, and the flashes of light in the darkness, the glimpses of blissful faces, the energy of the charged moment, the magic of the drugs, and the relentless desire for motion. My lady is with me, face to face, body to body, with my hands on her, and hers in the air, welcoming my advances, offering herself to me. We move together as one as the chemicals flood our brains, and we become pure love.

Then, a gunshot. Was that the music? Another shot. The adrenaline surges through my body, obliterating the other substances in my system, bringing focus, clarity, purpose. Our hands clasp and we move rapidly through the crowd towards the entrance, scanning the scene. Another shot, and I see the lightning from the muzzle of the gun. A young punk. Two young punks, shooting at each other, hiding behind partygoers. Without speaking, we release hands, and do what we need o do. I advance on one of them, my lady targets the other. In an instant I am in front of the fool, and with an open hand I strike his nose, upwards, shattering cartilage, maybe puncturing his brain. He is on the ground, motionless. I seek out my lady in the crowd. She stands above a crumpled body, fist clenched, eyes ablaze. We exchange a look, she points to the door, then we move to the exit and leave. This part of the night is over. T-dog and Queenie are already outside, safe.

“Never a dull moment,” Queenie says.

We smile and nod, then mount our bikes as they disappear, together, into the city.

Highway lines are a blur as we accelerate, fueled by the adrenaline, far more powerful than any synthetic. I smile beneath my helmet, then laugh out loud. Our bikes are moving in unison, and I reach out to her. Our gloved hands, fighting against the wind, touch and briefly lock. I know she too is smiling.

The engines scream in ecstasy as we wind them up – 150, 170, 200, 240 and there is yet room in the throttle. There is little traffic, but the cars we pass scarcely perceive us; maybe a peripheral flash, a momentary whine, dark rockets, then nothing. What was that?

We return home, exhilaration still fresh, ghosts of club music in our ears, the chill of the night clinging to our jackets. The boy lays on the carpet, surrounded by glasses and an empty vodka bottle. Doing shots with the hamster again. L’il Lenny is on his wheel running, off balance and tipsy, but nonetheless, the victor.

“You okay buddy?” I ask him as I prod his side with a toe.

His eyes open slightly, and he smiles. “I made a hundred grand tonight, so we celebrated. Those hamsters sure can hold their booze.” He collapses back into sleep.

My lady and I exchange a smile. Crazy kids.

I shut the ordinary bedroom door behind us. Clothing is rapidly peeled away, discarded on the bluish-green carpet. The pace is frantic, urgent, burning. We submit to the flesh. We own each other. We love each other. We’ve taken back what is ours.

It is 2022.

Back Home for Christmas

This was it. Our last day. And a full day at that, as our flight was not scheduled to leave until 10:20 pm.

I can sum up the day in one sentence – we received verification of negative Covid tests, went for breakfast, had a long walk, went for lunch, hung out at the pool, Stella played volleyball, Magnus drank coffee and read a book, Ana and I soaked up the sunshine, we played bingo and had drinks, then had supper, and shortly thereafter were transported to the airport, bought duty-free, flew home, breezed through Canadian customs and immigration with no issues, nor any need for Covid testing, drove home, and were in bed by 5:30am.

It had been two years since we last boarded an airplane together, and in two years so much had changed. Magnus is a foot taller, Stella is turning into a lady, both of them have busy part time jobs, both have been through hellish and bizarre high school years, and both Ana and I have had drastic changes to our working environments due to Covid. I had been anticipating this trip for weeks, and when it finally arrived, and we were not stopped by Covid restrictions, I was overcome with happiness and looking forward to a trip similar to the ones we’ve done in the past, which was naïve on my part, as not all of us were on the same page. Magnus is really his own person now, on his own schedule, and has his own preferences, so he spent a good part of the trip by himself, and seemed quite happy with that, but we had to accept that he needed his space and didn’t want to be around us all the time. Stella really did seem to have a great time and spent a lot of it with Ana and I, and didn’t seem too distracted by Covid, but did take the opportunity to spend some time by herself. Ana, on the other hand, just couldn’t shake the Covid anxiety and had a hard time relaxing, right up until the end of the trip when we finally got our negative test results and managed to get back into Canada without requiring any testing or quarantine. It didn’t help that I let my guard down at times during the trip and took unnecessary risks with Covid protection. So in the end it wasn’t a perfect trip (an impossibility), but I think it was as good as could be expected in the current environment.

This pandemic has caused a lot of unseen damage, and much of it won’t even be recognized or understood until far into the future. It has changed so much that it is really hard to comprehend, and even harder to remember what things felt like before this pandemic. But I am so very thankful that we took this chance to go away, take a break, and spend one more vacation together as a family. I don’t know what 2022 will bring, but I do know that both of the kids are very close to embarking on their own journeys through life, so I will relish the time we get to spend together, no matter how, when, or where that happens.

So, with that, the 2021 trip to the Dominican Republic comes to a close, and we return home ready to enjoy a wonderful Christmas!

Damajagua Falls and Puerto Plata

Our taxi driver Carlos arrived shortly after 8, and we were on our way to the Damajagua Falls.

We like to do day trips during these all-inclusive holidays as sitting on the same beach chair for hours per day can get tedious. Relaxing, but boring. During our day trip to Sosua we had arranged a deal with that taxi driver to pick us up today and take us to this very popular waterfall destination, and he was able to do it for half the price of what the resort charged for a similar trip.

By this time, the Spanish was really coming back for both Ana and I so we spent the 75 minute trip quizzing Carlos about the country and the progress it had made since we had last been here so many years ago. Based on the little we’d seen, we’d both felt that things had improved here substantially. For example, when we lived here there was litter scattered everywhere you went, the drivers were suicidal, long power blackouts happened every day, there were many brutally poor people on the streets begging for money, and most regular people seemed broke and a little desperate. But during this trip, we had seen very little sign of any of these things. Carlos told us that the current and previous governments had invested heavily in road improvements, the electrical grid, garbage collection and recycling, and many other areas, resulting in drastic improvements across many aspects of society. This was so exciting to hear. We lived here for nearly two years and loved it, but the country just had so many problems, and it seems like progress is so hard to make in poorer countries. If you look at Haiti, the Dominican’s neighbor to the west, located on the exact same island of Hispanola, it is a story of corruption, natural disasters, political anarchy, massive corruption, steady decline, and heartbreak. It’s hard to imagine two countries on the same island on such different paths.

We got a very small taste of the traffic misery we remembered from our days in Santo Domingo as we passed through a few busy areas of Puerto Plata. The gasoline fumes from all the black smoke emanating from lorry trucks, tankers, beaten-up cars, and motorbikes were pungent and penetrated the car and my mask, giving me a thankfully short but pounding headache. Once we exited the city, the air cleared and it was back to green countryside and manageable traffic.

The Damajagua Falls are a set of 27 waterfalls and pools linked together such that you can either jump or slide from pool to pool. Depending on the time of year and quantity of rainfall, the number of these that can be accessed varies. Our guide Danny told us that the full set of 27 hadn’t been open for several years due to scant rain, and today we would be able to access 7 of these. After gearing up with helmets, lifejackets, and water shoes, we did a 30 minute hike up some steep paths that left us huffing and puffing. Along the way Danny pointed out many different types of trees, such as guayaba, grapefruit, mandarin, and also a few clumps of gigantic termite homes stuck to trees they were in the process of attacking.

A three metre jump into the first pool got us off to an adrenaline-fueled start. We then slid, jumped, and swam our way through the remaining 6 pools, having a whale of a time, having never seen anything quite like this before. It is absolutely worth the trip if you ever find yourself on the north coast of the DR.

From here we returned to Puerto Plata and our driver took us to the city centre where there stands a huge cathedral and a wide open plaza ringed with restaurants, souvenir vendors, and other shops. We seemed to get lucky with our timing as there were very few tourists around so we practically had the place to ourselves.  We learned that a new cruise ship port called Taino Bay has just opened up the week before, which made it the second one in the area, after Amber Cove. With these sorts of massive investments it’s likely to place Puerto Plata firmly on the cruisers destination map in the coming years, and the substantial economic spinoffs for locals that usually result.

We returned to the resort at 2 pm and Magnus was so famished with hunger that he raced to the snack bar, thinking the lunch buffet was probably closed. The rest of us returned to the room, dropped off our gear and cleaned up a bit, then went to the buffet, filled up a plate with all sorts of culinary wonders, then joined him on the patio by the snack bar. On his place was a half-eaten bun containing one half-eaten dried up hot dog and no trace of condiments, then about 13 cold French fries.

“What the hell’s that?” I asked him.

“What? That’s all I liked from the snack bar.”

“Why didn’t you go to the buffet?”

“I didn’t think it would be open.”

“Why didn’t you at least put some condiments on your hot dog?”

“I was too hungry for that.”

“OK, well why don’t you go to the buffet now and get a decent lunch?”

“I’m full. And I’m going back to the room.”

Teenagers. Magnus is going through this strange phase where he barely eats anything during regular meal times, but tops up on junk and snacks throughout the day. It drives me nuts, especially after we cook great meals at home and he just picks away at them. At least here I didn’t have to cook any of it for him.

After lunch, the rest of us returned to the room and, clearly exhausted by the unheard of level of physical activity for a day at an all-inclusive, we all fell asleep and had huge naps. Ana and I woke up in time for a nice beach walk, and we let the kids sleep as both of them had actually been feeling a little stomach upset. It was back to the buffet for a late dinner then we retired to the room and watched part of a horribly stupid movie on tv (the only channel not in Spanish) – a remake of “Clash of the Titans” with a whole roster of Hollywood superstars, stilted and ridiculous dialogue, and a CGI team they must have recruited right from Ringo Starr’s 1981 film “Caveman”.

Swab Up the Nose

I was thinking that the listing of uplifting words and phrases painted on our hotel room wall might be changed up to have more of an impact. There’s no shortage of sources telling us to be more positive (lifestyle gurus), or to exercise more (Peleton ads), to eat healthy (cereal boxes), or to be nicer to people (The Wiggles). Instead, why not hit people right in the face with all the unproductive things they do that makes their lives miserable? Then, instead of going down the list saying to yourself Yep, I should do that, should do that more too, definitely don’t do much of that, and so on, the reaction might be, My God that’s me, why do I do that, no wonder I’m so depressed. Here’s a great listing of phrases to paint on your kitchen wall:

EATJUNK

WORRYNEEDLESSLY

LOAF

LIVEVIRTUALLY

PROCRASTINATE

AVOIDWORK

PLANNOTHING

CONSUMEGREEDILY

BEMEAN

NEVERFORGET

APOLOGIZEFORNOTHING

COMPLAINENDLESSLY

I was up early this morning to do some writing, then spun by the room to collect my peeps for Walking Club but they were out cold so I continued out on my own. And I found the answer to Magnus’s question to me from the previous night, which was Can the moon and the sun be visible in the sky at the same time?. As I walked, the brightly-lit moon was directly in front of me to the west, and it was not long before the morning sun appeared directly to the east, and as it rose in the sky strengthening, the moon slowly began to fade. I walked until the beach slimmed and turned into impassable rock then stopped, did some stretching, took a moment to close my eyes and appreciate the feel of the sand beneath my feet, the salty windy on my skin, and the music of the ocean. These moments which implant themselves firmly in my memory, are what I come back to during the depths of the Canadian winter.

At 9am we showed up at the resort medical office for our PCR Covid tests, which are required to get back into Canada. The doctor took our payment then proceeded to ritualistically shove a swab up each of our eight nostrils to the point where it could go no further in, then gave it some twirls to stimulate the brain core a bit. When he did mine, my right leg started to spasm, and I could see he was pleased as the swab had definitely hit some cranial matter.

After the tests, we went online to attend a virtual funeral service streamed from the UK for our good friend Heinrich Richheimer. He was a career mentor to both Ana and I and had worked with us on several major projects when we lived and traveled overseas. It was an interesting coincidence that we happened to be in the Dominican Republic for this event, as Heinrich, Ana and I had spent so many evenings together in Santo Domingo enjoining wonderful dinners or just hanging out in our apartment. He was a great friend and we will miss him.

The rest of the day was highly relaxing, but quite void of adventure. We stationed ourselves on one of the dreamy four-post beach mattresses beside the pool and played cards, napped, read, jumped in the pool when we got hot, and watched the mosaic of kites flying in the bay as the riders cut through and leaped off waves. Stella and I finished up the afternoon by grabbing a couple of boogie boards and riding the waves. She got rocked and rolled by one wave so badly that her mask popped off and was lost in the swirling and sandy waters.

We had our third and final a la carte meal of the trip at the Italian restaurant La Vela. Determined to not consume twice as much food as we needed, we asked the waiter for advice, and he assured us that, because of the small portion sizes, we would need an appetizer, a pasta dish, a main course, and a dessert, then of course a basket of fresh bread. So we did. I knew I was in trouble when my appetizer arrived and it consisted of two sliced tomatoes, half a shredded lettuce, and a pound of sliced mozzarella cheese. We did our best and consumed as much as we could, but by the end it was all we could do to drag our overstuffed arses directly back to the room.

Exploring Sosua

The morning was warm, windless and the nicest of the trip thus far, so Ana and I headed out at 7am for Walking Club after trying in vain to seduce Stella into joining us. We walked the entire length of the beach to the east, seeing a few of our favourite beach dogs along the way, and a number of people running up and down the beach. I’ve never been much of a runner; walking has always been my thing. Runners always have this look of extreme pain on their face – they never run past you wearing a blissful smile, like many walkers do. When runners do take a moment to look at you, panting, with bulging white eyes, I always get the feeling they are about to say Help, somebody just plunged a knife into my back! or I’ve been poisoned! That’s why I like to take my exercise long and slow.

To break the glorious relaxing monotony of the resort, we decided to take a trip to explore the nearby town of Sosua. We found a nice taxi fellow named Carlos outside the hotel and had a lovely conversation with him during the 15-minute ride. He told us all about the high vaccination rates in the Dominican Republic, low Covid numbers, the escalating price of gasoline, the political situation in Haiti, and we even recruited him to take us to some nearby waterfalls and a tour of Puerto Plata on Wednesday for a great price. As usual, the Spanish was coming back to Ana twice as fast as it was for me, but I was still hanging in there.

Carlos dropped us off near the main beach area and we were surprised to find a completely calm and sheltered bay with boats anchored offshore and no waves of any sort – such a drastic change from the perpetually crashing surf in Cabarete. After dodging half a dozen vendors trying to sell us banana boat rides, catamaran trips, beach chairs, glass bottom boat excursions, fresh fruit, and hair braiding, we found a great spot, spread our towels over the sand, extracted the masks and snorkels from the backpack, and within minutes the girls and I were in the water swimming out to the nearby reef while Magnus stood guard. It has become abundantly clear that Magnus is not a beach guy; he doesn’t like the sand, hates wearing sandals, and prefers to stay dry. I don’t know what family raised him like that.

As expected, the coral reef was mostly dead, which is inevitable when you allow hundreds of inexperienced snorkelers every day to pummel, stand-upon, and remove items from the reef, but there was a surprisingly large quantity and variety of fish and the structure and size of the reef itself was impressive. When we returned, Ana and Magnus went for a beach walk while Stella and I alternated between lying on our towels getting baked by the hot sun, and dipping back into the cool and incredibly clear water. They returned with two tiny hermit crabs and some shells, which was more life than we’d found the entire time exploring Cabarete beach. After a few more swims, Stella and I did a beach walk to return the hermits to their home, and along the way found some nice pieces of sea glass in the sand.

Our sun-kissed skin was becoming sun-charred so we packed up our stuff and walked through the long stretch of shaded beach bars and restaurants, some consisting of rusted corrugated sheet-metal walls, some with thatch roofs, and others constructed of abandoned wood and various cast-off bits and pieces. What was relatively consistent between them was the abundance of odd couples – 65-year-old white European or American men with 18-year-old Dominican girls. I pointed this out to Stella and we had a discussion on the business of prostitution. She was shocked, and I think saddened.

We found our way to the downtown area and wandered around for a long time before we were able to find a bank machine that would produce some pesos for us, and by that time we were starving so we found a table at Captain Bailees restaurant and had a lovely, long lunch, followed up with a haircut for me and a bit of shopping for Ana and the kids.

We tried to call Carlos to pick us up for the return trip, but he wasn’t answering his phone so we found a different taxi to take us back to the hotel, and there we laid low and recovered from our strenuous day trip.

The Lunch Scam

The rain began overnight and continued into the morning, so I enjoyed a rare sleep-in and Walking Club didn’t get going until close to 9 after the skies had cleared. Even at that departure time I couldn’t interest Magnus, so he hung around in the room while the rest of the walked, then we all met up for breakfast. The breakfast spread was excellent, as each day they had fresh papaya, cantaloupe, and watermelon, as well as yogurt, fresh croissants, then all the greasy fry-up staples such as omelets, several types of sausages, fried potatoes, and lastly, trays of waffles, pancakes, and French toast.

We played around in the pool and did some body surfing in the ocean, and somewhere along the way Stella lost her silver earrings, which bummed her out, but fortunately a new set of earrings was only a short walk away in one of the jewelry stores in town.

Yesterday, we had been approached by two hotel staff – Samwise and Carlos, and they had offered us a free lunch at one of their sister hotels, which was a higher end facility, in the hopes that we might consider booking our next trip there. Upon agreeing, they pulled out a booking form, wrote some information on it, then gave it to us. Look, we knew right away there were some ulterior motives here, which would probably require a time-share presentation or something like this (what did someone once say about there being no such thing as a free lunch?), but on these all-inclusive trips any chance we have to do something out of the ordinary is welcome.

We arrived at the Presidential Suites Lifestyle Cabarete hotel at 12:30 and entered the front door to find a large eating area with no sign of food or guests. A staff member suddenly appeared, asked for our voucher, then led us across the street to a different portion of the hotel and we were directed to a table near the fancy bar and offered a drink. So far so good. Then a slicked-up dude arrived, welcomed us, gave us a party sack which included a mickey of rum, a bottle of Mamajuana ingredients (Dominican’s version of aphrodisiac liquor), and some other trinkets. Then…the sales pitch. He told us all about the model which was absolutely not a time share, but was the next gen version, now called a Holiday Vacation Club where you pay an initial amount (from $25k to $350k) which gives you access to any of their properties in the DR, Mexico, or Dubai. They also allow you to rent out rooms to non-members for a premium over what the member would pay, allowing you to pocket the difference. The salesperson was likeable and pretty convincing, as these guys always are, but we made it pretty clear this was not for us, but we would like to see a room. He took us up to the three bedroom unit, which was simply stunning, as all bedrooms and living areas had ocean views, and it was very modern and spacious. There was one other couple there cornered on a couch getting the hard sales pitch from another salesman, but we kept standing, in fighting pose, as our guy tried again to convince us to at least buy some sort of trial package. We said no, but asked to see additional information or a contract, but we were told flatly that they did not provide any sales information and all deals had to be done on the spot, today, which screamed scam and red flags. We politely declined and hoped we’d then be directed to the restaurant, and he did accompany us to the restaurant, right through it, past the fancy pool and pool bar, then were heaved unceremoniously down a set of concrete stairs to the beach below like yesterday’s garbage.

“So I guess you had to spend the 25 grand to get lunch?” I asked.

“What a scam,” said Ana. “That was a total waste of time.”

“What did you guys think?” I asked the kids.

“I think it was a great deal. I ran the numbers through my head and it makes a lot of sense,” said Magnus.

Stella didn’t have much to say, besides where were we going for lunch.

We had a great conversation all the way back about direct sales, multi-level marketing, our past experiences with these sorts of sales pitches, and how to recognize a scam. I found it the whole thing to be an irreplaceable learning opportunity for the kids, especially Magnus who is a natural salesmen, but also I think inclined to fall for these sorts of things, so exposure to high pressure sales in a safe environment with his parents was probably a good experience for both of them.

Lunch was had in the buffet, which fended off my family’s starvation after the phantom lunch invitation, then dinner was taken in the second of the hotel’s a la carte restaurants – the Asian Fusion. The rest of the day was spent by the pool, and Ana and I went for one more walk later in the day and were happy to come across a group of local kids who had struck up a big game of beach baseball. It was satisfying to see teenagers having fun with each other, being social, being goofy, and getting exercise instead of just standing there silently mesmerized by their phones, scrolling endlessly.