I’ve posted this before. It’s a long one!
Dom Rep, January 2010. Several hours delay for reasons that are a whole other thread, but finally arrived at our hotel exhausted and went straight to bed. Got up next morning to torrential rain. We were all inclusive though, so off to the bar we went. Along with everyone else in the hotel. Spent the day getting pissed. The “entertainment team” just downed tools, made no effort to arrange anything at all, just played loud music, with the lyrics “if your scared mother fucker go to church” The increasingly drunk audience sang the chorus with gusto, leading the entertainment team to play it frequently. Following day, still raining, off to the bar again for another group mother fucker karaoke session. Third day same. Fourth day…. You get the idea. By now even the kids were singing along.
Day five dawns, which happened to be my birthday. We had planned a trip, but all trips were cancelled due to the weather, so off to the bar we went until around teatime, when we headed back to the room, singing the mother fucker song which we were now word perfect at. Gets into our lovely ground floor beachfront room and switch on the telly. There’s been an earthquake in Haiti and the Dom Rep was on a tsunami warning! We went back to the bar and told a few people then quite a crowd of us went to reception to ask what we should do. Blank looks and shrugs all round. So a contingency of us decided to head for higher ground (remember we’d all been drinking for five days solid) and headed over the road and squelched ankle deep in mud up the hill. Then, after an uneventful and tsunami less hour, squelched back down again.
The following day we wake up and hear just how awful the earthquake was. Hundreds of thousands killed. Most of the staff at the hotel had family in Haiti and were understandably frantic, many went home. And the ones that stayed did thier best but were obviously worried sick about what had happened. The sun came out, but we felt awful enjoying ourself with the terrible things that were going on just a few hundred miles away.
When it was finally time to go home (thank god), there was a baby on the plane that was screaming blue murder. Clearly ill. As we were taxiing to the runway some bloke said something to the effect of “shut that brat up” which the babies father took exception to and all hell let loose. We had to turn back and wait for the police to sort it all out.
Almost put me off holidays for life.