This week I’ve been kicking myself on more occasions than I can count.
It started when I arrived in Puerto Plata, to find the lovely apartment I had booked on Airbnb did not look nearly as lovely as it appeared in the pictures.
The apartment was cheaply furnished, lacked natural light, the mattress was brutally uncomfortable, the shower leaked incessantly (a torturous drip-drip-drip you could hear from the bedroom), and the walls were so thin the deafening symphony of motoconchos zipping by, of colmados playing loud music next door, and of people yelling in the streets could be heard from every room.
If I was only staying there for a few nights I could deal with it. But for almost three weeks?! My whole body clenched at the thought.
When I was shown the rooftop (which was the only place that did look exactly as pictured), I noticed an apartment up there whose door-length shutters were wide open. Sunlight streamed into the all-white, tastefully decorated, and spacious living room. The host encouraged me to take a look if I wanted to, and as soon as I stepped inside I was overcome with the sense: now THIS is the place I came here for.
There was a big rectangular dining table that made for an ideal workspace, a renovated kitchen and bathroom, the shower didn’t drip, there was ample natural light in every room, the street noise didn’t come through nearly as loud, and as soon as I reached the bedroom, I sprawled across the king-size(!) bed like Goldilocks having finally found the mattress that felt just right.
When I asked if this apartment was available for the dates I had booked, the host confirmed that yes indeed it was, except it cost twice as much as my current room.
Let it be known that the reason I even decided to come to Puerto Plata for almost three weeks (aside from the international bachata festival happening here at the end of the month) was because the Airbnb listing for the initial (crappy) apartment was such a good deal money-wise. And yet here I was, ready to upgrade for twice the price because…I’m a classy lady goddamnit.
Without even hesitating (while also aware I’ve already far surpassed my housing budget for my month here in DR) I told my host, great! I’ll take it.
Within an hour I was unpacking my bags in that beautiful sun-kissed rooftop apartment, delighted to be a girl in a pretty room doing nothing but pretty girl things for the next few weeks.
Being here has given me the sense that I have my own space again. Space to write, dream, exercise, dance around, sing, work on my online business (more on that soon!), enjoy my morning coffee with a gorgeous mountain view, all while being fully immersed in the neighborhood soundscapes.
I feel like a bird perched on this rooftop watching the people in the streets below going about their daily lives.
As reluctant as I am to leave the comfort of my rooftop, I’ve ventured out a few times to explore the nearby beaches, a dance school I found on Google maps, and the historic city center.
Sadly all the beaches around here seem to be covered in tourists or trash.
The dance school has either closed, moved to another location, or is mysteriously tucked away in a building with no visible sign as is typical here in DR. More research only reveals ballet studios. Do I resort to going clubbing?
The city center is cute and small with your typical assortment of cafes, restaurants, and gift shops selling local chocolate, rum, and various touristy trinkets. There is an Amber museum showcasing the city’s amber production but when I pass by to check it out it looks very closed. And I don’t just mean closed for the day, I mean closed indefinitely.
I’m no longer saving any money being here this long, so why exactly am I here? To hang out in my comfy rooftop apartment and do things I would normally do back at home just with a change of scenery? Why does an annual bachata festival happen in a city where there doesn’t seem to be much bachata dancing? Did I plan this wrong?
While lounging on my rooftop porch one evening, I meet two Argentinian women (visiting from Brazil) also staying in this building. They work remotely and have been traveling around similar parts of the island. We exchange stories about our time in Las Terrenas, after which they tell me Puerto Plata doesn’t seem to have all that much going on.
I thought cool, that’s the feeling I’ve been getting (without even leaving my room much).
They tell me they’ve already been to Santo Domingo (the capital and largest city in DR), and mentioned having spent too much time there—longer than necessary in a city that’s supposedly very big, very dirty, and dangerous (depending on who you talk to). I tell them I’m only stopping through there for 2 nights on my way out and they tell me that should be the perfect amount of time.
When I tell them I came here mostly for dancing, they tell me there is likely far more dancing to be found in Santo Domingo than here in Puerto Plata.
I tell them I initially considered staying in Santo Domingo longer for exactly that reason, but ultimately decided on Puerto Plata because of the upcoming bachata festival, and the “steal” of an apartment I found here…which in the latter sense ended up stealing from me.
Side note: A few days later I hear from the woman whose book I read (that both affirmed and inspired this journey) when she responds to my message on Instagram saying the only teacher she still knows of in DR is in Santo Domingo. Of course. I kick myself for deciding not to spend more time there.
When I tell the Argentinian women I’m going to Puerto Rico after my two nights in Santo Domingo, they ask if I’m going by plane or by boat.
I didn’t even know you could go by boat!
Once again kicking myself because had I known I would have totally chosen that option over my non-refundable airfare. Not to mention, it would have required little more than a simple Google search had I not been in a frantic last-minute rush to get a ticket to Puerto Rico after realizing (while checking in for my flight to DR the night before leaving) that I needed proof of exit just to enter the country.
The kicking-myself-saga continues when I reach out to a dance teacher in Cabarete (a kite-surfing beach town an hour east of Puerto Plata) who was recommended to me by one of my dance instructors in Las Terrenas. I find her contact info online after stumbling across her website researching dance studios on my second day here.
Her school has a notable social media presence (which is rare for most businesses here in DR let alone dance studios), and on top of that she leads group dance excursions around the island (and even Cuba!) throughout the year.
I reach out to her to schedule a private lesson. She tells me she isn’t available for private lessons until February because she’s getting ready to lead her signature group dance excursion around the island in a few days. I then remember two American women I met in Las Terrenas who mentioned going on a dance excursion and realize this is the one they were talking about. They told me one of the stops was the bachata festival in Puerto Plata, so I imagine I’ll see them all there.
I end up taking a private lesson with another instructor from her school, followed by two group classes—one led by her. Her class is my favorite, and I kick myself for not having researched and found her (very Google-able) studio sooner.
And by sooner I mean months ago when I was still living in Virginia, researching a little (but not too much!), because I wanted the journey to mostly unfold spontaneously.
Was I resistant to planning more in advance because I wanted to be whisked away in some divinely synchronistic sequence and rewarded by the “universe” for how big of a leap into the unknown I was making?
It sounds silly to admit but yeah, I think so.
Things unfold so much more magically when you surrender to the journey! The whimsical part of me sincerely believes this. I want to surrender to the journey! Is that really so foolish?
By not planning more in advance, I knew I was jumping into far more uncertainty. And I wanted it that way. I wanted to see how things would unfold—in ways far greater than I could imagine and orchestrate on my own.
And also, how amazing could this trip to DR have been had I signed up for her excursion? I would have danced my way around the island more thoroughly—and made friends doing the same thing way more easily—than I’ve been able to so far on my own.
So this week I’ve been asking myself—to plan or not to plan?
If some combination of both is ideal, what’s the sweet spot?
In the instances I did plan, the reality didn’t turn out quite as I expected—or I simply didn’t plan well. And in the instances I did not plan, I missed out on some epic opportunities.
So yes, I’m kicking myself constantly this week as I realize I could have had a more authentic? substantive? immersive? or simply just better? experience than the one I’m having had I planned this trip more in advance.
And at the same time, planning—as one of my business mentors says—is like crafting a comedy sketch with God.
How often do things actually go as planned?
How often do you book something because it’s advertised a certain way, only to arrive and be disappointed by the real experience?
How often do you need more information—like taking a live dance class with someone to see if you even like their style of instruction—before dropping $2k on a guided dance tour with them several months in advance?
Planning creates expectations—especially if you’re required to put money down. Whereas not planning creates space for…pretty much anything to happen relative to how open? focused? clear in your desire but also detached from it? you are.
Have I not been open enough because I’m prioritizing my safety at the expense of sheer adventure?
Have I not been focused solely enough on dancing because I’ve also been focused on learning Spanish, adjusting to a new pace of life, taking care of myself and moving slow so I don’t burn out too quickly, and mapping out my new business plan?
Have I not been clear enough in my desire because I have so many desires bubbling up inside of me simultaneously? Or because I’ve been too busy riding around on my high-horse trying not to be a tourist when I should just accept that I am one and own it?
I guess the real truth is uncertainty accompanies every scenario—both planned and unplanned.
And perhaps more than bachata or merengue or salsa, the real dance I’m here to learn—that we’re all here to learn wherever we are—is the one with uncertainty.
So no, I don’t actually believe I’m doing it “wrong” even if it feels that way sometimes, because fundamentally there is no “right” either.
Just like I tell anyone who asks if I’m here on vacation—no, this is just my life now.
And if this really is just my life now, every day isn’t meant to feel like an exciting adventure or a mission to fit in as many novel activities as possible.
There will inevitably be quieter, more mundane periods where I spend my days very similarly to how I would spend them back where I’m from.
But it is a practice, to constantly return to the faith that my journey—as it is, not as I think it should be—is unfolding exactly as it’s meant to. Even when I learn I could have planned something better, or I have a disappointing experience, or it appears like I’ve missed some perfectly aligned opportunity.
It’s a practice to remember that even when the timing feels off, I—and you reading this—are still always on time.
Speaking of time, I have ten days left in Dominican Republic. Will I have bachata-d myself out by then? Will I come to learn bachata is more popular among foreigners who discover it in touristy beach towns than among locals who grew up with this music and dance right where it all began?
Next week I’ll be dishing all about the international bachata festival and probably also about my visit to Santo Domingo—which I am avidly researching and planning now because there are a few touristy things I wish to do and see in the brief time I have there.
I also plan on sharing what I’ve learned and observed about Dominican Republic and its culture once I conclude my time here. It feels disrespectful not to dedicate a whole post to this beautiful and complex country without burying it in my probably-too-romantic-for-her-own-good-girl tales.
Sending lots of love and reminding you not to eat the stress and suffering your algorithm feeds you <3
ah, the lessons & skills you're learning through this uncertainty & more will add up to so much as you get farther and farther into this journey! at the very base level of everything, you took the risk to go out and do all of this learning & exploration, and that is a very wild & cool thing!
looking forward to more! 💙