travel

#DogsoftheDR

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A pair of stray dogs enjoy the beach in Las Terrenas, Dominican Republic.

In June 2013, Tovin and I spent 10 days traveling around the Dominican Republic by Chevy Aveo and our sometimes flawed sense of direction. Everywhere we went, we met dogs. Some were strays, some had owners, some reveled in our attention, some ignored us completely.

We documented the animals we met, Instagrammed them under the hashtag #dogsofthedr, and now, we share them with you. Enjoy. And don’t forget to pet a stray.

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Tonta, chief greeter at Tubagua Eco Plantation, overlooks the lush hills along the Ruta Panorámica.

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The pint-sized mascot of Vacabar in Cabarete, Chica.

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Fetch on Playa Las Ballenas in Las Terrenas.

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Rico, a four-month-old great dane, lives at cliffside restaurant El Cabito.

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A dog sleeps on Playa Encuentro in Cabarete.

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Muchacha, Las Galeras

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Las Galeras, Dominican Republic

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One-eyed beach bum, Las Terrenas

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Las Terrenas, Dominican Republic

Falling for a new place, one run at a time

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Playa Rincon in Las Galeras, Dominican Republic.

Playa Rincon in Las Galeras, Dominican Republic.

I fall in love with sneakers on. Not in a kinky shoes-on-in-the-bedroom way. As a relatively recent convert to the cult of running, I find that I see  places differently when I lace up my Mizuno Wave Riders, take a quick look at Google Maps, and head out for a run. I see more. I see differently. And it’s not just the sweat pouring into my eyes that changes the view.

My first experience in travel running (as opposed to running travel, when you go somewhere in order to run), was in Hanoi, Vietnam. I parlayed vicious jet lag and an Old Quarter hotel into early morning jogs around Hoan Kiem Lake. While fruit and vegetable vendors unloaded their wares from bamboo baskets and the neighborhood’s winding side streets sprung to life, I cued up Regina Spektor for slow loops around the central Hanoi lake in perfectly crisp November weather. And far from being alone, I had company in the form of elderly Vietnamese exercise groups who gaped openly at the white girl trotting in circles while they wielded fans and swords in graceful arcs or did aerobics to directions broadcast over loud speakers. By day three, the stares had turned to smiles, waves or total ambivalence. I had become part of the landscape. It was fabulous.

When I returned a year later, it was to the suburbs of Hanoi, where my runs took me through tiny villages on the edge of the ever-expanding city. Just a few blocks from major roads and massive high-rises, people seemed to be holding onto small-town lives. Getting lost on their narrow streets among motorbikes and uniformed school kids (with zero ability to ask for directions) was one of the highlights of my visit.

Just this month I was reminded why I always make room for running shoes in my suitcase, when I laced up for a few miles in Las Galeras, Dominican Republic. A fishing town quite literally at the end of the road on the Samaná Peninsula (park when the pavement ends and get a whole grilled fish from the tía who runs the show at the beachside restaurant), Las Galeras is still relatively free from megaresorts that dominate the country’s more trafficked locales thanks in large part to its distance from just about everywhere. Between dining cliffside and snorkeling over sea urchins the size of basketballs and sunny in front of clear Caribbean waters, I snuck in a morning run.

Playa Fronton, a snorkeling and scuba diving location, in Las Galeras, Dominican Republic.

Playa Fronton, a snorkeling and scuba diving location, in Las Galeras, Dominican Republic.

I started roadside, passing small hotels and private homes set amid lush tropical landscaping. When the street stopped, a woman manning a small snack stand pointed me up, away from the beach and along a cratered dirt road that narrowed and grew more cratered as it climbed. I passed a construction site, a bed and breakfast and a private home where a woman sang to kids running in the yard. The road disintegrated into dirt and rocks, and a lone motorbike picked through the mess, moving at about my same speed. The vegetation grew thicker and the whine of insects filled the thick air. I started to wonder just how far I was planning to go.

At the top of the hill, the beach just barely visible below, I rounded a curve to find a trio of horses blocking my way. They were healthy, well cared for and free to wander. But they didn’t run. They just stood and stared back as I approached. And then in the grass just off the path, I saw why they stared: a small caramel-colored foal lay in the grass next to its mother.

I turned around shortly after, soaked in sweat, my legs turning to jelly and so elated that the rest of the run passed by in a flash. I didn’t put my running shoes back on the rest of the trip. But it didn’t matter. In four miles I’d fallen in love.

Sunset in the DR

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For seven days, Tovin and I waited for a Dominican sunset. You know, sun melting into the liquid horizon, clouds painting the sky, the kind of moment best appreciated to the tune of lapping waves with an ice-cold Presidente or heavily garnished cocktail in hand. For six nights we were thwarted.

The rainy season’s rolling clouds and sun would put on a show by day, but come evening, banks of heavy cumulo-somethings would take over. From the beaches of Samana Peninsula we’d shrug, Not today, I guess.

Then, on Day Seven, perched on a hill in the tiny town of Tubagua along the rustic Ruta Panoramica “highway,” we were rewarded for our patience. As we sat reading and chatting in our eco plantation’s open-walled restaurant, the Dominican sky finally put on the show we’d been hoping to see. Even without the waves or beer, it was perfect.

The 5 best places I visited in 2012

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A pineapple vendor sits on her boat at a floating market in the Mekong Delta.

A pineapple vendor sits on her boat at a floating market in the Mekong Delta.


I love the start of the New Year, when the calendar stretches out like a blank page free from the restrictions of plans and obligations that start cluttering it up and pushing all the fun and possibility out. Right now you can still dream of taking off to Brazil for a month or kayaking to secret campgrounds or learning to scuba dive in Sinai. For the first weeks of January, anything is possible. It’s magical.

That feeling got me thinking about the places I saw and the trips I took last year. Some were the stuff of wild New Year’s dreams, others were weekend trips that wowed with unsuspected charms. All are worth your time. So here, in no particular order, are the best places I visited in 2012.

IMG_2436-edit1. Mekong River Delta, Vietnam I spent last New Year’s Eve in Vietnam, visiting my parents who were spending six months in Hanoi, teaching classes and generally discovering the hilarity of living in a place where your best efforts at verbal communication are met with confused laughter. My three-week trip took me north to the Chinese border on an overnight train, to the terraced emerald hills of Sapa, where we trekked with local native women to see tribal villages, and to the glittering boulevards of Ho Chi Minh City decked in Chanel and Dior. From there, we took off on a two-day tour of the Mekong River Delta, a network of wide waterways and chugging streams where everything is overgrown and tremendously alive. We biked down winding island paths, drank fresh sugar cane juice and sputtered about a floating market filled with fruit and vegetable vendors shouting their wares from metal hulled skiffs. Life moves a little slower on the water. Wonderfully so.

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2. The Narrows at Zion National Park I’m currently big toenail-less thanks to this scenic hike through Southern Utah’s breathtaking national park. I’ve been wanting to hike the Narrows since my first
visit to Zion a year and a half ago. While my friends tackled a 12-hour trip through the Subway that weekend, I spent a few hours solo, hiking the Narrows from the bottom up. Crowds pour into the watery slot canyon from Zion’s main drag, boulder hopping and wading back and forth across the Virgin River, moving upstream and thinning out as the water level and mileage rises. This year we came back with a group of friends and a backcountry permit to do the Narrows the right way: top down over two days with a night camping in the canyon in the middle. And despite the throbbing in my toes from too-small rental shoes and a backpack weighed down with crap I should’ve left home, this is one of the best hikes I’ve ever done. Every bend in the river reveals steep sloping walls, framing views far too pretty for pictures. I can’t wait to do the Narrows again—in a different pair of boots.

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Dark and cloudy beachscape on Vashon Island

3. Vashon Island Tovin and I spent a weekend at a friend’s beachfront home on this large island in the Puget Sound just off the coast of Seattle, and it wasn’t nearly long enough. Yes, there’s an adorable Downtown, tons of beachy and cliffy coastline and waters begging to be kayaked, but my favorite Vashon activity was a sunny run past the island’s small family farms. Folks here operate on the honor system, leaving fresh produce and eggs roadside with a note showing the day’s price. Even though I didn’t pocket any veggies, I loved exploring this sweet, Northwest escape.

4. Boston Okay, maybe it’s cheating to put my hometown on this list, but when you haven’t been home in over a year, there is something so remarkably comforting about trampling familiar soil, hopping on the same train you’ve always taken (even if it’s the Green Line) and hitting a favorite childhood diner for lunch. Plus, Boston is really fucking cool. Whether you grew up there or not. And of course, it helps to have amazing friends who show you the new hot spots. A few highlights: Island Creek Oyster Bar (get the biscuit, trust me), The Hawthorne (get a few expertly crafted cocktails while you wait for your table at Island Creek), JM Curley (Downtown gastropub), Regal Beagle (ask the bartender for the off-menu cocktail with a full egg in it). And don’t forget to drink water before bed.

5. Portland, Oregon Despite the rain and the gray, I can’t wait to return to Portland after an all-too-quick visit for a college friend’s wedding. Breweries! Chic shops! Book stores! Food trucks! Flea markets! Epic brunches with overly enthusiastic waiters! Yeah, I think Portland is my kind town—even if it makes my hair frizz.

I drank this …

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Mmm. I love unidentified alcohol infused with snakes and served with a ladle.

There have been a few moments in my life during which I’ve considered that if I died at that exact instant (or shortly thereafter) no one would feel very bad for me.

I imagine myself reading the story about the American studying abroad who decides to hitchhike home from the bars at 3 a.m. and ends up dead in a ditch. “What an idiot,” I’d say. And then I’d realize: That idiot is me.

Generally, this kind of realization—wow! I’m doing something pretty foolish—does nothing to deter me from continuing. I keep hitchhiking/talking to strangers/eating weird food/running through strange villages without a cellphone … or a map, and things work out just fine. Which is what I was banking on when our guide offered me a shot from this glass jug somewhere in the Mekong Delta in Vietnam.

The liquid was rice wine and marinating in the jar were a variety of snakes and a raven, wings-spread, with a snake clasped in its beak. Drinking bird/snake-infused wine has never been on my bucket list, especially on islands miles from the nearest stomach pump, but when our guide started ladling out shots (and when I looked at my fellow travelers and realized we were all about to drink this), I took a deep breath and down the hatch! It, of course, tasted like shit. Or rather, rubbing alcohol with a hint of serpent. But yeah, I survived.

And when I got back to Hanoi, I bought small bottles of snake/scorpion wine for all my friends. So far no one’s had a sip. Wimps.