Category: Travel

the one where nothing goes as planned
In my experience, on every trip, you’re almost guaranteed to have at least one day that doesn’t go as planned. Where everything is harder than it should be. On this trip, that day was Tuesday. We knew many things would be closed on Sunday, and Labor Day on Monday, and we planned accordingly. We expected that by Tuesday, everything would have reopened.

portsmouth

We planned to travel west to Portsmouth, Dominica’s second largest city and its original capital. We’d check out the fish market, get some lunch, do some snorkeling, and head back to Calibishie via the scenic route across the island’s northern peninsula.

We checked out the fish market. Maybe we were too late arriving, but the fish selection was limited to these tiny sardine-like fish that I would not have known how to cook. We did buy some plantains for frying up later, and coconut water that was bottled fresh out of the coconut by a man with small stand. We also met the friendliest drug dealer we’d ever met, who merely wished a lovely day when we declined the gallon bag of weed he pulled from his jacket.

We walked north out of Portsmouth, up the beach to the string of restaurants and water sports places that catered to tourists. It was dead. We found one open beachside bar and ordered a drink that turned out to be the best mixed drink we’d have the whole trip—a coconut rum and lime concoction that was apparently popular with the French tourists. (I believe it was this, but with a local coconut rum.)

deserted beach north of Portsmouth

Abandoning Portsmouth, we drove north to Toucari Bay in search of some more activity, and—of increasing importance—actual food. I had wanted to check out Keepin’ It Real, which seemed to be on everyone’s lists of the best restaurants in Dominica. Toucari Bay is also renowned for its snorkeling. Alas, this restaurant too was closed, and no snorkeling was on offer.

We returned to Portsmouth, thinking that the second largest city in Dominica would surely have some open restaurants to feed two, by this time, starving tourists. We tried a restaurant called the Purple Turtle, which had looked open, but it turned out we had just seen a bunch of locals hanging there playing games.

Finally, a man called—no joke—Buddha came to our rescue. He explained that Labor Day was continuing for a second day, so yes, everything was still closed. On his advice, we headed to the Portsmouth Beach Hotel, which catered to westerners. There we had a lovely lunch of more mahi-mahi and fried plantains.

Once again, the fish was good, but the plantains were dry and bland. Also disappointing—the waitress clearly was just filling in because the regular server was on holiday, so she didn’t know the menu well. When I asked if the prices were in US or Caribbean dollars, she said they accepted both. But when pressed to answer which currency the prices on the menu were quoted in, she said US. 130 USD for a seafood platter for 2 would have been a little more than we were prepared to pay, but would have been an excellent price in East Caribbean dollars (about 1/3 the cost). Sadly, we learned that the waitress was mistaken far too late to change our orders.

dominica’s northern peninsula

It was now 1:30 or so and we were finally fed. But we had accomplished none of the things we planned to for the day. We gave up on snorkeling and decided to just move on to the last thing on our agenda—taking the scenic route through the mountains of the northern peninsula.

By this time, I was comfortable driving in Dominica. (This was no small feat—I have a whole post about the driving still to come.) I spent a lot of my youth in the Mountain West, and I adore driving on steep, switchbacky-roads. This was one of my favorite roads of all time.

Driving north out of Portsmouth, we rapidly ascended Morne au Diable, straining our poor rental car so badly she needed a break at the top. But it was a fantastic spot to stop, trapse out among knee high grasses, and enjoy the view from the top of a mountain that dropped precipitously down to smooth Caribbean waters.

view from the top of Morne au Diable

From here, the road crossed the inside of the crater of a quasi-dormant volcano. Books and Buddha had told us to stop a Cold Soufrière, a cold sulfur spring that could be reached by an easy 5 minute walk from the road. I found the site to be a little underwhelming as a tourist attraction. It smelled like sulfur and was cold, as advertised. Having enjoyed my share of natural hot springs out west, I found the cold sulfur water was novel in its incongruity. But it was a small and not terribly picturesque spring.

Morne au Diable, seen from the east

bwa nef waterfall

Buddha had also recommended Bwa Nef waterfall. Google Maps did not do a great job leading us to the trailhead, so we endured one failed attempt that resulted in us driving throughout a car graveyard ending up among some sheep, one of whom was very angry at our presence.

The actual trailhead was further down the mountain, and it was well-marked with space to park. We were the only car. The hike to the falls was easy for me (a 40+ woman in average shape), but my friend was recovering from a leg injury and found it a bit of a struggle. Along the way we met the proprietor, who assured her that it was not much further, so she persisted. (On our return, he asked for a tip, as we were crossing his land, which we gave him.)

Bwa Nef Waterfall

The falls was one of the more unique ones I’ve been to. Two sharp black cliffs towered on either side of us, so tightly spaced that it felt as if we were entering a cave. Two boulders perched atop a narrow strip of ceiling open to the skies. The boulders looked almost precarious, but the proprietor had already assured us they have been there for years and never fallen.

We ended our day satisfied with the unexpected adventure at Bwa Nef. Sometimes the best parts of a trip are unplanned.

previous posts on dominica
2023-09-24
a journey into caribbean history
Before we left, I had a vague game plan that on the days we ventured away from our immediate environs, one day we would head east, one day we would head south, and one day we would head west.

The main draw in the east was the Kalinago territory, which is the only reservation in the Caribbean for the pre-Columbian indigenous population. When Dominica was first encountered by Europeans on Columbus’ second voyage (on a Sunday, hence the Latin name “Dominica”), the island was populated by the Kalinago (called the Caribs by the Europeans).

a bit about dominican history

The Kalinago on Dominica resisted European colonization for centuries after Columbus, but starting in the 17^th century, the island fell alternately under the control of British and French colonizers. During this time most of the Kalinago population was wiped out and, as in most of the Caribbean, replaced by enslaved peoples from Africa brought to work on plantations.

But unlike in the rest of the Caribbean, the Kalinago population was not wiped out entirely. Today the Kalinago comprise over 3 percent of the population—a total only in the thousands, but a significant rebound from its nadir in the hundreds in the early 20^th century.

Under the Carib Reserve Act, passed after Dominica’s independence from Britain in 1978, the Kalinago have their own self-governing territory in the east. It was to this territory that we headed on Monday.

A primary school in Kalinago territory

onward to kalinago territory

Our travel guides had said that this was the poorest part of the island, and the poverty was immediately apparent from the state of the roads. The roads on the island were generally not in the best condition, but everywhere else, they were at least reliably paved. As soon as we branched off the main road to head towards Kalinago territory, the road turned to gravel. We found stray dogs and chickens roaming freely as we gingerly made our way along the unpaved coastal road.

Kalinago Barane Aute is the main tourist attraction in Kalinago territory. It has a small but well-done museum about Kalinago life and the destruction to it wrought by colonialism. (I found it refreshingly undiplomatic about this.) After that you are free to wander a loop through a model village situated along the craggy cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. The Crayfish River flows through the village and cascades down to the Atlantic at the picturesque Isulukati Falls. In retrospect, I wish I had a guide to show me around the village. I enjoyed the beauty, but didn’t feel that I walked away with as deep an understanding of Kalinago culture as I would have liked.

Kalinago head carvings

At the end of the loop are a few shops selling Kalinago crafts. The Kalinago are particularly known for their baskets, which are made of dried reeds, dyed yellow, brown, black, and pink using natural techniques. They also made crafts out of calabash gourds, hollowed, dried, and etched with designs evoking the island.

emerald pool

After Kalinago Barane Aute, we departed the Kalinago territory (roads immediately improved), and continued south and west to the Emerald Pool. It was an easy hike in and down to a small pool (which was not quite emerald, perhaps more of a jade) fed by a waterfall that plunged from the rainforest overhead.

Emerald Pool

It reminded me of being inside a cenote in the Yucatan, except that the cenote was cut in half. The cliffs above formed a semi-circle around the waterfall, and plants and vines hung down into the chasm. After the pool, the water flowed away from the semi-circle, down the side of a mountain where it presumably joined up with other streams to form a river and eventually meet the sea.

The pool looked small, but it was delightfully cool and deep enough that there were spots I couldn’t touch. I swam up under the waterfall and got pummeled by the water, while braver souls jumped off the rocks behind the waterfall. (I would have been game for this, but the pool wasn’t quite that deep).

That’s me, swimming in Emerald Pool

Did I mention it was May 1, International Labor Day? Someone had told us the day before that there would be a big party in Marigot, which was about 30 min east of Calibishie and on our way back from our day’s adventures.

party in marigot

Hilariously, the party was KFC-sponsored (we later determined there was one KFC in Roseau, and it appeared to be the only fast-food chain on the island). People were playing beach volleyball and other sports along the shore, while pop music pounded from loudspeakers.

Passing by the KFC, we instead ate at a quiet little beach bar beyond the main festivities called the Last Flight (presumably named after the inoperable plane parked beside it). We had a couple Caribe beers and ordered red snapper (again, good fish, forgettable sides). As the sun set, the sky opened up in a downpour and we ended the day drenched as we walked back to the car.

previous posts on dominica
- Dimanche à dominica
- Where the hell is dominica?
2023-09-24
dimanche à dominica

The sky was alive with color when we picked up our rental car—a older model Honda HRV—at the Avis rental place a short walk from the terminal. I’ve owned Hondas for over a decade, so the car was pretty familiar to me, aside from the fact that the driver’s seat was on the opposite side. This was my first time driving in a country that drives on the left, and I have to say the 30 min from the airport to the Villa Passiflora in Calibishie in the waning light was a harrowing experience. I will have much more to say about the driving later.

After checking in with the villa’s caretaker, we ventured out into the town to get some dinner and essentials at Coral Reef Bar & Restaurant, which had a little grocery store (more like a convenience store) attached. We sat on the porch just at the water’s edge, which we couldn’t really enjoy because by this point darkness had truly fallen.

That first night we enjoyed a seafood feast that set the model for most of the meals we would enjoy on the trip: amazing seafood + sides that were just “meh”. I had a delightfully seasoned mahi-mahi, paired with fries that appeared to come out of an Ore-Ida bag. We drank the local beer, Kubuli, which I found to be a bit too hoppy for my (admittedly anti-hoppy) tastes. At the convenience store, we picked up basics, including a bottle of the rum that would become our staple, Belfast Estate BB Rum.

We knew most things would be shut down on Sunday, which was fine by us, as we were both looking for a vacation with some built in chill time. Waking up to this view, I was pretty content to stay put.

Perched up in the hills, the house was largely open to the elements. The porches on the first and second levels were nearly as large as the enclosed rooms themselves, of which there were really only four (not counting bathrooms)—a kitchen on the first floor, a master suite on the second floor, and two other bedrooms (one on each floor). Each one could be fully opened up in fair weather, with plantation shutters and French doors and for the most part that’s how we left the house.

Fans and natural breezes provided all the cooling we needed—and when they didn’t, there was always the infinity pool, which is where we spent most of our first day. Laying in the sun, floating in the pool, drinking a Dark & Stormy. Rinse, repeat.

Mid-afternoon (after sobering up from the Dark & Stormy), we ventured out to find some real food (the off-brand corn flakes I’d bought the previous night could only tide us for so long) and explore the local town by the light of day.

We drove west through Calibishie and beyond, along the coastal road that rings most of the island.

After passing through town, the road swept up onto the cliffs and plunged down again to the shoreline. The only challenge was finding places where we could safely pull over to take in the view of the aqua blue, rocky coastline.

We found a fun little beach in a town called Thibou (Tee-bow)—the armpit of the island, as my friend called it, not because it wasn’t nice, but because it was right in the crevasse before the northern peninsula juts up.

Finding an open grocery store on a Sunday proved a challenge, and stores that were open were rather limited in their selections. We managed to cobble together enough ingredients to pull off a chicken curry back at the house, where we watched the sun set on our first full day in Dominica. Despite the challenges of driving and finding food, we felt at peace and confident that we’d chosen our island destination well.

2023-09-23
where the hell is dominica?

Upon our approach to Dominica’s Douglas-Charles Airport (DOM) in the golden light before sundown, my first impression was of elevation—multiple thickly forested peaks plunged down towards roiling cobalt seas, sometimes with a gentle decline, but more often with a sheer black cliff. An isle of luxurious sand beaches this was not.

But let me back up. Many of you are probably thinking, “Isn’t it usually called the Dominican Republic?” or, “But the Dominican Republic has lots of beaches.” If you are confused, don’t worry, you’re not alone. I was basically in the same boat you are prior to about 6 months ago. I knew Dominica was a Caribbean island, and I knew it was a different place than the Dominican Republic. But I couldn’t have told you where in the Caribbean it was (answer: Lesser Antilles, between Guadeloupe and Martinique), the name of its capital (answer: Roseau, which is not pronounced like the 18^th century political philosopher), or whether it had been a British, French, or Dutch colony (answer: both British and French, but mostly British, and now independent).

So how did I end up booking an unlikely trip to an island I had just barely heard of? This spring, a friend and I were both desperate for a girl’s trip to escape the winter office drudgery, and we spent days researching the various Caribbean islands to find the one that best suited our needs. The Caymans were too commercialized. We would have had to fly to Martinique from DC by way of Paris (not really, but it may as well have been so). We researched the vibe of the different islands, and tried to decide what it was we were really looking for out of our Caribbean escape. Barbados looked lovely, but so did St. Lucia, and Bonaire, and did we really consider Jamaica? We were paralyzed with indecision.

Finally, my friend found an AirBnB in Dominica called the Villa Passiflora that looked absolutely gorgeous, with an infinity pool, panoramic ocean views, four-poster beds, dark wooden timbers, and impeccable tropical landscaping.

Flights to DOM from Washington-Dulles routed through San Juan, Puerto Rico at convenient enough times. “We love the house, let’s just book it” I told her, and the rest is history.

Now we had to figure out what to do once we got there. We were somewhat enthused by the absence of tour books on Dominica by the usual suspect publishers—no Lonely Planets or Fodors here. That told us that this island was truly off-the-beaten path. Sure, Time had named it one of its top destinations for 2023, but everything we read suggested it was still largely untouristed and more authentic than many Caribbean islands.

(My friend ended up with the Bradt guide from 2016, and I bought this completely off brand book written by former Peace Corps volunteers from 2011. Both were dated, but serviceable.)

By the time we got there we had a bit of a plan. It involved some lounging on the deck chairs by our infinity pool, reading and drinking rum. Some hiking and snorkeling and seeking out hidden waterfalls. Lots of eating seafood.

I will say that we accomplished most of what we set out to do. But we did find that Dominica was an island where you can’t get too fixated on your own plans—which really, is part of the fun of travel.

The setting sun illuminated puffy clouds in salmon pink as our prop plane landed on the single runway at DOM one Saturday evening at the end of April. We had no idea what unexpected adventures really lay ahead of us.

2023-09-17
how to stop worrying and love a layover in san juan

Ok, I wasn’t actually worried—I was thrilled that my May escape-the-office-with-the-girls vacation to Dominica (about which, more to follow in separate posts) would involve a day-long layover in San Juan, Puerto Rico on our return. It was like a bonus trip, and a challenge: experience as much of San Juan as we could in about 24 hours.

A dear friend from Puerto Rico had advised me to find three things in San Juan: mofongos, Medalla beer, and seafood. With such a short stay, my travel companion and I weren’t willing to limit ourselves to only experiencing the food and booze. (Although we did check all the items of her list, and more!)

When we were booking this part of our trip, we did just enough research to decide that we should stay in Old San Juan, rather than the towering tourist villages just west of the airport, where you can find such tourist staples as the Hilton and the Morton’s Steakhouse. This was absolutely the right choice.

Old San Juan (Viejo San Juan or San Juan Antiguo) is everything you want out of a historic city, easily walkable narrow streets with something to see on every inch of every street on the little peninsula the old town occupies. Everything was brightly colored, from the paint on the multihued townhomes, to the turquoise waters of the Atlantic on the north side and the Caribbean on the south side, to the fuchsia bougainvillea that spilled over terraces, to the tiny little mosaics that marked the street numbers of houses or depicted the patron saints of churches. The old town teemed with restaurants, cafes, and bars, all contained within imposing fortifications that encircle the town and provide excellent vantage points for selfies.

The fortifications are the dominant feature of the little peninsula. On the east side, across from the Puerto Rican Capitol, you’ll find Castillo San Cristobal, while at the western end of the peninsula, you’ll find the Castillo San Felipe del Morro, or “El Morro”. The entire city in between is encircled by stone walls.

We spent just long enough in El Morro to take some selfies on the walls and skim through the history exhibits, which taught us a bit about the purpose of El Morro, Castillo San Cristobal, and all the walls in between. The island had been hotly contested among European colonial powers during the Age of Sail as the gateway to the Caribbean, and had been caught up in many battles. The city’s defenders had built up the walls and castles incrementally from the 16th century onward to fortify the island amid the persistent risk of war.

The trek to and from El Morro, while a short distance on a map (and, in fact), was made unusually punishing by the heat. Even the locals were complaining that it was exceptionally hot for May. By the time we made it back from El Morro to the city proper, we sought out any place with air conditioning and food like two women seeking an oasis in the Sahara.

We stopped for lunch at a place called Tropical Taste, which I found by following my Puerto Rican friend’s advice to seek out mofongos. This place came up in Google searches for both “best restaurants in San Juan” and “mofongos near me”, and if we hadn’t been looking for it, we never would have found it because it was strangely situated at the back of a shop.

Mofongos are a delightful Puerto Rican plantain-based specialty, savory and served with the meat of your choosing. I went with the churrasco, a spicy grilled beef. I had eaten mofongos before (at a dearly departed restaurant in DC called Banana Café), and these were, I must say, just as good as advertised. If you like a savory plantain, you will love mofongos—they are roasted and lightly mashed with garlic and I don’t know what other goodness. We also tried the Medalla at Tropical Taste. It was a nice light lager, similar to other Caribbean beers we’d enjoyed previously on the trip.

After lunch, we meandered some shops and art galleries and stopped by the Paseo de Sombrillas on Calle Fortaleza to snap some quick photos. In another town, this would just be a boring, official street that passes in front of the governor’s mansion. Not in San Juan. Here, the street is graced by a canopy of upside-down umbrellas, colored pink, blue, green, yellow, purple, that sway in the wind like psychedelic boughs. (Trip Advisor informs me the colors change throughout the year.)

From there, we descended down the walls on the south side of the city, and perused the artisan tents on the Paseo de la Princesa. At this point, we were again lured indoors by the prospect of air conditioning—and two-for-one mojitos. But though the two-for-one mojitos sign drew us to the Princesa Cocina Cultura, the cocktail menu looked interesting enough that we opted for some undiscounted specialty cocktails instead.

I went for the bartender’s own rum-based take on an Old Fashioned, which showed me I was dealing with a true mixology expert. So I felt in good hands when I made my next request: I told him that we were only in Puerto Rico for 24 hours and wanted to taste the “best” Puerto Rican rums, however he chose to define that. He chose quite well and introduced us to Ron del Barrilito (my friend’s preference) and Don Q (my preference). He also told us this story about Ron del Barrilito’s the Freedom Barrel, which will only be opened when Puerto Rico gains its independence. Both were so good that we bought bottles of our favorites at duty free the next morning.

After that we headed back to check in to our hotel, a boutique hotel called La Terraza de San Juan on the quiet Calle Sol. Much like the city itself, there was something to see in nearly every square inch of the common areas of La Terraza—delightful murals, frescos, tiles, upholstery. In contrast, our room was fairly spare, but it did have the one feature we most valued—air conditioning! (I truly could not recall if the room I booked had air conditioning before we stepped foot in it, so this was a moment of bliss.)

En route to dinner, we did a mini pub crawl, stopping for bad mojitos at one bar (made with Sprite, really?), before stumbling upon some excellent live music and cervezas at a brew pub called Cervercería del Callejón.

Dinner was at El Asador, which was situated in a lovely old hacienda-style building that felt a bit fancier than the food proved to be. Following up on my friend’s three must-dos in San Juan, I was hoping for a seafood feast. We had ceviche as an appetizer and dulce de leche crêpe for dessert, both of which were excellent. None of the seafood entrees really called to me, so I ended up with a lobster risotto. I’ve had better. On the plus side, we witnessed the real-life start of some joke when two parrots walked into a bar.

Before turning in, we stopped for one more drink at a speakeasy called La Grieta, which served exclusively tequila- and mezcal-based drinks, including a spicy drink whose name I unfortunately do not recall. I am always on the hunt for good spicy drinks, and this one packed delightful amount of heat.

For all intents and purposes, that last drink was the end of our time in San Juan—because some of us are over 40 and no longer up for raging all night like the freshly minted 21-year-olds with whom we shared that final bar.

So that’s 24 hours in San Juan. Verdict: would definitely go back! It would be a fun place to spend a few days for a girl’s weekend, bachelorette party, or as a launch of the more comprehensive exploration of Puerto Rico.

2023-09-16