Beach Walking

Beach walking is a major recreational activity in Punta Cana. The miles long, uninterrupted beach comprised of soft white sand draw you into beach walking. At any moment in time, dozens of people are walking along our beach.

There are two styles of beach walkers. The most common type strolls along the beach soaking up the sun, the sights the smells and may occasionally jump into the ocean. The vast majority of strollers are couples, many hand-in-hand. Strollers are already relaxed into the rhythms of the island. There is no destination, no concern of time or place, only feeling and being.

The second style of beach walker exercises. They are motoring down the beach not unaware of their surroundings but willing to settle for a fast forward version of the people and other sights around them. For them aerobics trump aesthetics. This is not a put down of this form of beach walking, not at all. These people would otherwise be at a track, running path or on a treadmill if they were not here. For them, this comes down to doing what they will be doing in a tropical surrounding. The sun, sand and people still magnify and enhance the experience 10 fold.

The exercise walker is a distant cousin of the beach runner. In my youth before the impact of too many pounds dragged across too many miles took this joy away from me. I typically was at a beach a year from my late twenties to late thirties and called myself an avid beach runner. For a boy from the Midwest, running on a long beach in the dead of winter was a slice of heaven.

Beach running brings together beautiful environment and freedom. You are in shorts, no shirt and your feet are bare. The freedom is hard to describe beyond the lack of constraints of shoes. Maybe it is being in this otherworldly place that makes each stride feel freer than running on a path. I am sure that it as much psychological as physical.

On the best beaches the sand is smooth. You run but it is almost as if you are gliding, moving effortlessly, feeling the warm of the sun, playing in and out of the waves and seeing the sunlight shimmer on the thin layer of salt water as it rolls back to the ocean. Because the sand nearest the ocean can be hard, I would play with the timing of the waves as I ran. You want to hit the next step just after the water has washed over the sand softening it just enough. There is always the soft sand further away from the water but this takes effort and reduces speed, therefore nullifying much of the experience.

(By the way, the art of beach running has no room for people running in socks and running shoes who happen to be on the beach. I have nothing to say other than these people should immediately seek serious psychological counseling. The urgency is that it may take many years to relieve them of their deep seated problems.)

 

Back to beach walking. In our week in Punta Cana we experienced both types of beach walking. My wife’s stroll pace is faster than my exercise pace. Some walks were together and others alone. When alone I could stroll and she could motor. Together we strollecised. The third style of beach walking.

International Ping Pong

My wife is good and my son very good at this sport. He beats all of his friends most of the time with a variety of spin, quickness and, when appropriate, a well placed slam. So imagine his joy when we discovered that this resort had a daily tournament.

Who knew however that the caliber of play at a resort lunchtime tournament would be so high and have so many countries represented. As we were watching the warm-ups, we first came upon The Russian. The Russian was a woman in her early to mid-sixties who claimed to have been a seven time Russian/Soviet champion. She was of average height, almost as wide as tall and to be generous I will call her stocky. She reminded me of the images of Soviet and east German women participating in the Olympics in the 1970s and early 1980s.  She had quick hands and an iron will. We would see her from time to time carrying the case holding her personal paddles. Only one time during her stay did my son D see her without her paddle. More on that later.

There was a Russian male in the tournament—as there were many at the resort. There were the typical Canadians and New York New Jersey contingent. For a boy from Evanston, IL, NY/NY were close to being foreign countries.

Two of the best were a father and son originally thought to be French but later discovered to be French speaking Swiss. The boy, about age 14, was in a special ping pong club back home. Both father and son were excellent competition.

Thinking that all I was missing was a typical resort tournament I had retired to my lounge chair, sunshine and my book. It was only later that I found out that D beat the Swiss boy in a closely fought final. I was told that there had been several outstanding matches. The Swiss boy had beaten his father in the semis.

The remainder of the week brought more exciting ping pong. One day D was handily beaten by Swiss dad but another he won the tourney again.

Watching became a highlight of the day. Who would have expected to find Russians, Swiss, Canadians and Americans battling it out— just for fun?

 

PS. My son saw the Russian without her paddle. Topless on the beach. A scary sight says he. Maybe her way of intimidating other players.

 

 

A Good Family Day

Dateline Sunday, December 28, 2008. Punta Cana, The Dominican Republic.

First real day of family vacation having spent all yesterday on planes and buses, arriving at night rather than in the light of day as expected. Fortunately, despite a night spent in two “queen” beds the size of singles— my wife and I were cramped while my son was comfortable in his own bed—we had a very nice day.

The order of things is not important to the story. The weather was warm, low 80s, but quite overcast. We were just happy to be out of the frigid, snow covered Midwest. We started the day by lounging at the pool and reading. We struck up a conversation with a family from NY for awhile. Our son hung out with us. We had breakfast. Our son D after sleeping later had gone to breakfast on his own and commented that he did not like eating alone and wanted to eat with us from now on (a parent’s dream with a 17 year old). Not even the occasional brief shower dampened the spirit of the first day of vacation.

We checked out the activities by the pool and a ping pong tournament was beginning. My wife and son are the talented players in our family and they competed. I went back to my book. My mistake. They came back to the lounges all excited. D had won the day’s tournament against some highly talented, international competition. The finals were a close match won by D 16 to 14. (More on the quality of the vacation’s ping pong in a later post.

My wife did the water aerobics, D and I went for a swim at his invitation—I know that things would change once he met some kids but I will take all the time he will give me. Late in the afternoon, my wife and I went for a long walk on the beach. Punta Cana has one of these many mile long continuous beaches. It is great for long walks on white sand.

The day ended with dinner at the Japanese restaurant, think Benihana’s,  The food was good and the service entertaining. D had a beer with dinner. Not a common occurrence.

I have saved the best for last. If you read this blog regularly you know that I love to SCUBA dive. For 6 or 7 years now we have been at resorts that have a free demonstration in the pool where guests can don the gear and feel the experience of breathing underwater. For 6 or 7 years now D has refused to participate. ALL I ASK is that he try it in the pool. I am not the athlete that his mom is so I cannot compete with him in ping pong, tennis, golf or any other son/parent sport. I have been hoping that SCUBA would be something we could enjoy together.

Once again he refused. I cajoled. He refused. I begged. He refused. I bribed. The opportunity to experience alcohol in some reasonable quantity finally won him over—much to the chagrin of my wife who feels I am leading him down a slippery slope. Too bad. I had nothing else.

The resort instructor was at first hard to find and then to understand. Spanish, not English is the primary language here. D put on the wetsuit, tanks and mask. He received instruction on when and how to fill and then release air from his BC and how to breathe through the regulator. He was without weights or fins so the experience was incomplete but down and away he went. He swam around the pool for awhile getting used to breathing underwater. I felt joys as I watched the bubbles.

He was then taught 2 basic skills. First, how to clear your mask if it fills with water and then how to retrieve the regulator if it gets out of your mouth. He mastered both which added to his confidence. I tried to let the instructor do most of the talking but was able to share my knowledge when his explanations were not enough.

Bottom line.  He liked it!!! This is not the time or place to have him take lessons. Too bad, I would have liked to strike while the moment was hot. No matter, this was a monumental step.

I am already planning our trip when he will get certified and we can dive together.

One very fine family day. Few things make me happier.

Auspicious Beginning

Heading for an island in the Caribbean. Slowly, very slowly.

Got to the airport 2 and a half hours before the flight as requested by the United in order to get things moving on time. Spent some time in the airport lounge and then headed for the gate.

The plane boarded on time. We found our seats and settled in for the remaining 40 minutes until flight time…or so United said.

So how did I spent the next 2 hours? Sitting in the same seat. With the plane still at the same gate. Just sitting. If you want to get the general feeling of what we were going through find a hard chair, place it about 3 inches from a wall. Sit down. Count to 1,000.Repeat. OK that is enough to get the gist.

Once again United discovers new and novel ways to delay a flight. The pilot announces that he is a replacement pilot. Since he is going out of the country and flying back the next day he had hoped for a room to sleep in. United had been working on it for 5 hours to this point. The plane was going nowhere until the pilot has a room. Over an hour goes by after this announcement. We are still sitting. The pilot comes on a few times with updates mainly saying that the United is working on it, that it is hard to get a “cheap” room during high season and that he is sorry. So are we.

Lots of kids on this flight. The natives begin to get restless. More time goes by.

Finally a room for the pilots. At last we can leave. Right. Uh, not yet. It seems as if 3 pieces of luggage still needed to be loaded onto the plane. Another 30 minutes.  Pilot comes on. Learns that it was really 60 pieces of luggage. But now we are ready to go.

Well, not quite right. The jetway is stuck. Not to worry, mechanics from the City of Chicago—which instead of the airlines operates select jetways including B18— are on the way The jetway gets repaired and pulls back from the plane.

AWAY WE GO.  Right into a line of 15 planes.

Stay tuned. I am sure the rest of the week will be much better. I don’t have to fly again until next Saturday.