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Cabarete is a two-wheeled motoconch rice burner of a beach town complete with large expat population, intermittent blackouts, and every adventure excursion imaginable. You want to be on the beach to avoid the noxious engine fumes of carretera 5.

Took a walk along the beach after arriving hoping for a precious me moment of surfy-starry silence, you know, where I’d kick back and contemplate and all would all make sense in the simplest, organic assault of nature, kind of way (no effort on my part being key)…only the moment is preempted by the house-thumping decadence of the bars and discotecas behind me. Maybe some other day. So I settled for a pizza place and a Grande Presidente, por favor, and gave half the pizza to some starving Norweigian kids learning Spanish in Cabarete for three months. Later walked down to the beach party but could only stomach a few minutes before wandering back to the hotel to sleep in cold air.

Today I got the game plan together and booked the 44km mountain bike ride through El Choco. Contemplated renting a motorbike to check out the coast but decided instead to stay here since it was noon already. Inquired about the kite surfing at the place next to the hotel and decided to give a beginner lesson (2hrs) a go. Knowing of course that kite surfing was a difficult thing one couldn’t possibly master in 2 hrs didn’t stop me from daydreaming about all the jumps and rad anti-gravity moves I would bust out as soon as the instructor tossed up the kite, or dropped me out of a helicopter, or however it was going to work. They would be simply shocked at my natural talent, as would I, realizing that I have finally found the thing I was put on the planet to do. Of course, I would have to quit my job and move to Cabarete to become an instructor myself, so I checked out the prices of condos and houses, even a restaurant (side business, insurance in case of injury) on the way back from getting a chocolate milk and a big water. Of course, I may get *so* good even for a man in his thirties, that I become a Tony Hawk of the sport, and get my own clothing line and video games.

Trying not to seem too overexcited at my obvious destiny, I met with Natalie who is from Germany and worked at Sandals for three years and we gathered the gear stuff and made for the beach. Needless to say that after she had demonstrated the kite flying part (of course I’ve flown a kite, that’s kid stuff, right?) I proceeded to nearly decapitate a group of children, Natalie herself, and then crash it on a fence, where some drunk dominican dude was sleeping. Shortly after, she moved me to the smaller, shorter kite, as some children are moved to the smaller, shorter bus. After guiding me on the technique (like boxing she kept saying, not a steering wheel) I began to calm down and “feel” the wind. Its very zen indeed, and after 45 minutes I was starting to get it. “Figure eight above your head,” she said. Still, we did not leave the beach for this lesson number one.