Something that has nothing to do with Scuba

Sosua Travel Blog

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Back in the D.R. we decided to go out and see a bit of the country one night.  Sosua, where we were staying, was a small town and a bit of a tourist trap.  We all had beggars fatigue after a day or two so the idea was to head out through the mountain road to a chalet / restaurant described to us by a local restaurateur. The Britannia, back in Sosua, was a sort of British pub gone tropical run by an ex-pat brit.  Armed with the instructions: turn right at such and such city and continue for a couple hours until you see 2 swiss restaurants on either side of the road from each other.  Eat at the one on the left.   We decided to try it out.  So 5 of us piled into the very cheap clown car we had rented and took off.  On the way up we figured out the local mile marking method.  A donkey, many of them actually, was tied up to the fence post about every 2 kilometers.   It was so methodical we were actually able to discern distance by counting donkeys like the sailors of old counted knotted ropes. 3 hours, a lot of hills with incredible views, 15 donkeys and one very stressful and potentially violent gas station stop later... armed thugs ran the station and told us it was best if we left; we finally found it. Resting on the peak of the central mountain chain overlooking Santiago was a beautiful wooden chalet serving some very fine international cuisine.  We stayed in the chilly mountain air sitting on the balcony soaking in as much of the literal and metaphorical atmosphere as we could.  We met the owner of the restaurant and chatted with him and a few business people the entire night.  It was a fantastic evening and a great escape from the city of Sosua.  On the way back we had to descend the previously well lit day trip through the mountains now in pitch black darkness.  Hair pin turns.  Sheer drops.  Braying kilometer marking Donkeys (they need a union that gets them out of night hours).  The return trip would have been interesting anyway but Hector and Darren decided to make it more so.  Darren has a notoriously weak bladder.  He's worse than a pregnant woman doing sit ups. About half way down the mountain he tells Hector he needs a Pee break as soon as there is a shoulder to stop on.  Hector just sort of nods and grunts.  A few donkeys later Darren starts pointing out the opportunities.  Hector just sort of grunts.  A donkey later and Darren is adamant about his needs.  Hector hands him an empty Gatorade bottle and tells him there's no way he's stopping on a pitch black, lane and a half wide mountain road in the middle of nowhere.  Darren looks at the bottle.  Then looks at Alisa sitting practically in his lap next to him in the back of the clown car with Joe on the far side window. Both of them look back at the Gatorade bottle when Alisa says, I think there's a spot right over there we can stop.  Hector sort of grunts. Darren looks back at Alisa who sort of shrugs and buries her face into her husbands shoulder away from Darren.  Next thing you hear is a window being rolled down and a bottle flying out of the car.  Yes, he littered.  But hanging out with the pee juice wasn't an option.  My only comment as we passed a tired looking pedestrian walking up the side of the mountain we were driving down: Was that bottle labeled Lemon Lime or Fruit Punch and what are the odds a tired and thirsty pedestrian would be optimistic enough to think they were blessed by the Gatorade gods?
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photo by: Stigen