He said his name was Manny Ramirez. I chuckled. Sure it was. He could have picked Sammy Sosa or Jose Reyes or Pedro Martinez, all well-known professional baseball players from the Dominican Republic. And seeing as how we were in the Dominican Republic on our "babymoon," why wouldn't he play to our limited American knowledge of his country and say something that we'd grin at and more importantly, tip him for?
Manny picked us up from the local airport. The air-conditioned van was a welcome relief after standing in line at the open-air customs and visa check. I took advantage of the hour-long drive to the resort to ask Manny questions about the Dominican Republic. Turns out that "all Dominicans love Jesus" and the reason Haiti, with whom they share an island, was devastated by an earthquake and subsequent malaria outbreak was because the Haitians practice voodoo. And that was the end of my little chat with Manny.
Four days of sunny bliss restored my soul, the vitamin D strengthened my bones and the humidity repaired my mid-winter cracked hands. Seemed like everyone loved a pregnant gal in a bikini. Quite the sight, I suppose. I was pointed at, smiled upon and even a few daring folks reached out to touch my taunt baby belly. Resembling a beached whale while lounging about, I turned my pasty butterball into a darkened specimen by the end of our trip.
Having experienced all-inclusive splendor in Egypt and Cancun, I should warn any other travelers that our resort, albeit landscaped meticulously, was a little disappointing. The food was sub-par and the accommodations were more akin to a 3-star hotel. I hope that my credentials (having lived and traveled internationally) stand for something when I make these types of declarations. Case(s) in point, on our first night of "the last trip before we have a baby," we were put in a room with 2 double beds. I guess they figured that under our circumstances, there was no need to give us a king-sized bed. And I'm not sure if it was a "chicken or egg" sort of thing (do they come because there's food they like or is there food they like because they're there?), but the plethora of Russian couples really seized the buffet with borscht, beets and mayo. Those buggers sure do get around.
On day five, I had been pouting plentifully about our departure. Later, we were on the plane headed north, when the flight attendant said, "next stop: reality." The hubby and I held hands and grinned. Because for us, that's not a bad place to be.
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| Our resort, at dusk |
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| Enjoying the pool with a cool, virgin drink and reading "Baby Wise" |
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| Babymoon 2012 |
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| Pregnant gal in a bikini |
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| Pouting |
