Got back this evening from a great trip from the mountains.  We went to Jarabacoa, about 40 minutes southwest of Santiago. Jarabacoa is a beautiful valley located high in the mountains.  We got there late Thursday afternoon.  There were 3 hotels to choose from, the Rancho Baiguate, Gran Jimenoa, and Hotel Pinar Dorado.  Saira, at Ocean World, had suggested Gran Jimenoa, but Dan wanted to check out the other two first.  Hotel Pinar Dorado was highly recommended by the guidebook, but when we drove by, it looked like a rundown apartment complex.  Check that off our list.  Next we tried to find Rancho Baiguate.  None of these hotels are right along side the road.  We started down a pothole filled road, that eventually became a pothole filled mud hole.  At this point we decided to turn around and take Saira’s suggestion.  We were very glad we did. Hotel Gran Jimenoa is beautiful!  

Our room was a junior suite, and our balcony overlooked the Yaque del Norte river.  This river is used by whitewater rafters, in fact on Friday, we saw two boats go by.   After checking in, and unpacking, we decided to go into town for snacks and drinks.  In this beautiful mountain town, few people spoke english, but we were able to piece together enough spanish to communicate.  We had a relaxing evening Thursday night, spoiled by the air conditioner and a huge room with lots of hot water!

The next day we were off to the falls.  There are two major waterfalls in this area, En Salto de Baiguate and En Salto de Jimenoa.  En Salto de Jimenoa is the larger of the two, while you can swim in Salto de Baiguate.  Swimming didn’t interest us so we decided to find en Salto de Jimenoa.  That turned into an ordeal.  The directions seemed straight forward, signs were supposed to be obvious, but somehow we missed it.  The paved road, major road, we thought we were  following, turned into a pothole, one lane, gravel road, leading to who knew where.  Rancho Baiguate offered guided tours, so we swallowed our pride and decided to get with someone who knew where they were going.  Now trying to find Rancho Baiguate turned into a problem.  A sign pointed off the major road, onto a gravel road that wound behind a neighborhood, and some kind of flower farm.  The road was narrow and in disrepair, and we seemed to drive forever before we found it.  Rancho Baiguate is an adventure center.  They have horseback riding, canyoning, rafting, obstacle courses, just about anything you wanted to do.   There were usually two options for the falls, horseback riding or jeep.  the kids and I were all for the horses, but Dan who is allergic to them wanted the jeep.  Unfortunately for him, they informed us that only the horses were available that day. (Yes!) 

The horses looked as if they could be better taken care of, but looked better than the working horses we had seen in downtown Puerto Plata.  (If I didn’t mention it before, when you drive in Puerto Plata, a major city, you not only have to watch for people, big trucks, cars, motorconchos, you also have to watch out for horse drawn wagons, or people riding on horses.)  Tristan and Tessa each shared a horse with a guide, while Dan and I rode alone.  My horse desperately wanted to be the lead horse, while Dan’s horse had trouble keeping up.  In fact, as we were getting our horses, one of the stable guides kept pointed to Dan’s horse and giving a no signal, but that one was the last one available.  We crossed a river as we headed out, and Dan’s horse almost went down.  Not a good start!  The ride to the falls was about an hour, and the view was incredible. We passed some beautiful, expensive looking homes and ranches gracing hillsides with amazing views. 

These were obviously owned by well to do Dominicans.   Dan’s horse was really lagging.  Every once in a while he would get this small burst of speed and try to overtake us, but then run out of steam.  The guides kept looking at the horse and talking to themselves in spanish.  I was afraid they were saying “Dead horse walking”.   We would come back from the falls and find “Horse no more.”  

Once we got to the entrance to the falls, it was a short walk, on foot, over a suspension bridge to the falls themselves.  This gave the horses a chance to rest.    It was pretty, but I guess I was expecting something more.  Since this was supposed to be the better of the two falls, I guess I thought it would be a taller falls, but it was nice.  We spent a few minutes enjoying the view, and a cold drink.  Our guide was anxious to get back, so we didn’t stay too long.  We came back to find Dan’s horse still alive where we left him. That was a good thing.  The rest did the horse some good as he was more animated on the way back.  Dan would come racing up from the back of the pack yelling “Left” as he came along side of us, but my horse would have no part of letting him get in front.  He would soon slow down and bring up the rear.  A while later the kids and I would hear “Left Left” as Dan would come charging up again.  We laughed all the way back to the ranch.  Even though we were sore, and soaked with rain, by the time we got there, we had a great time!

The next morning we had a really good breakfast at the hotel.  The kids and I took another horseback ride from an elderly man who had brought some horses to the hotel.  Dan stayed back at in the room for this one.  We rode the horses on a tour through town, seeing some really nice houses on wide boulevards to shacks on narrow dirt roads.  It was quite the tour.  A majority of the houses were well kept, modest, smaller homes, with ornately carved mahagony front doors.  Most houses had their front doors open and inside we could see gleaming tile floors.  Dominicans really seem to take pride in their homes, and we often saw people sweeping off their driveways or the streets and gutters in front of their houses.  Flowers and flowering plants were in abundance with spectacular fuchsia colored blossoms.   We rode by a school that was just getting out.  The children were so cute in their uniforms.  Here, the younger kids went to school from 8am to noon and older kids from 1pm to 4pm.  They use the same school and same classrooms and it works.  This cuts down on the need for two separate schools.  I wonder if that would ever work in the US?

 That afternoon we headed back home, after a quick stop in Santiago at Pizza Hut.  Sometimes you need a little bit of home. 

Very sad day today.  We had originally planned to leave early that morning for the mountains, but couldn’t get the energy up.  We were sitting in the cockpit when Ramon came up and told us about Patrick.  Last night, not too long after he left work, Patrick had a heart attack and died.  He was 46 years old.  We were in shock.  We had to have Ramon repeat it about 3 times as we kept thinking we must be missing something in the translation, but we weren’t.  The wake and funeral were that day, and he was offering to take us.  We said of course, please give us a few minutes to get ready.  I couldn’t believe he passed away last night and they were going to bury him today.  We hurriedly got dressed, not knowing how casual or formal to get.  Wilfredo, the operations manager, went with us to be our translator.  I was still not sure if we were going to a visitation, or the funeral or what.  I couldn’t seem to grasp the fact of just seeing him yesterday, and today he would be buried.

Our driver let us out at a small nondescript building in Puerto Plata.  Except for the ambulance outside, there was nothing to indicate that this was a funeral home.  I am not even sure it was a funeral home per say, maybe just a place they have for the viewing.  The small, gray cement, one story building had an open front to the street, with a door that rolled up.  Directly inside were white plastic chairs, like patio chairs, that a few people were sitting on. Pablo greeted us here.  He was very upset.  We talked to him for a few minutes.  As I looked around at the concrete floor, the plain walls, the plastic chairs, I couldn’t help contrasting it to a funeral home in the States.  I wasn’t looking at it from a judgemental point of view, more as an observer.  In the US, most if not all funeral homes are relatively dark: dark carpet, dark lighting, dark wood.  It’s meant for containment, containment of emotions, containment of grief,  til sometimes it becomes overwhelming and you just want to get out in the air.  Here, the air was all around you, we were right off a street, and while you may think that made it distracting, it really didn’t.  The warm air coming through the open front, the sounds of cars and people passing, the feel of outside, was somehow comforting, as if life, like grief didn’t need to be contained here.  They flowed together. 

Pablo led us into a room, almost like a hallway with people sitting on either side.  I assumed this was where the immediate family was sitting.  We made brief eye contact as we passed them, and Pablo led us through a door to the  small viewing room.  At the end of the room were three large wreaths of flowers with words of sympathy written in spanish.  A guest book for signing was near the door, and along the wall were benches for sitting.  There in the middle of the room, was Patrick’s casket.   The casket seemed heavy, with a older, worn feel about it. A good feel and you knew this was made by hand somewhere, not churned out in a factory.   It was hand varnished, and on the lid, near the bottom of the casket was a gold cross and an engraved plate. The casket was closed, but built into the lid was a viewing window, so you could see Patrick’s face through a glass frame.  Dan and I went up to the casket, but we had the kids stay on the benches.  They could remember Patrick how they last saw him.  There was an older man sitting near the casket and I asked Pablo if that was Patrick’s father and he said no, his parents had passed away awhile back.  Even though Patrick was born in the Dominican Republic and raised here, he like his brother and sister had moved to the States for awhile.  Patrick  himself told me he had been married and lived in several cities in the US before getting a divorce and moving back to the DR.  According to Pablo, Patrick’s brother and sister would be flying in for the funeral which was going to be at 5:30 that day.  

Patrick’s girlfriend came in briefly while we were in the room and then walked out again.  She was with Patrick when he died.  Our Ocean World taxi driver came in and he was crying.  Pablo was crying.  We were crying.  It was interesting to see these men showing so much emotion for a friend. We finished our goodbyes to Patrick.  I signed the guest book on the way out.  As we passed by, I stopped to talk to Patrick’s girlfriend, Angie.  We had never met, but she knew who we were from the kids.  She told us how happy Patrick was about the birthday cards the kids had made for him.  She said he had “They made these for me.  Can you believe it?”  She was keeping the cards as a memento. 

Later that evening we had our own version of a wake for Patrick, like we did for my uncle who had passed away a few days ago.  We went around the table and each person said what they would remember most about Patrick.  Dan said he would remember how happy he was.  Tristan remembered how Patrick couldn’t stop eating the brownies I had made for him.  Tessa remembered how much he loved the picture she drew of him driving the golfcart.  What I will remember most about Patrick, is how after such a short time of knowing him, he inspired us to do nice things, to notice smiles, to make brownies, to draw pictures, in short, to enjoy life more.   What a gift!

Patrick picked us up on the golfcart to take us to our new rental car.  He was still talking about how much he enjoyed his birthday cards.  I asked him if he had a good birthday and he said, “Much better than I expected!”  That is a great birthday to have, one that is much better than expected!!

Our new rental car is much nicer!  It is newer and all the windows work (except for Tessa’s).  It’s also 4 wheel drive which we think we will need when we go to the mountains.  We headed to Cabarete.  We were desperate for books and found out there is a bookstore there.  When we found it, after much searching, we discovered it was a used bookstore.  Oh well.  We at least found some books and we’re happy!  No more rereading the same books!!!!