Discovering the Dominican

I married the smartest woman alive. Tina’s genius move? Getting hitched in February during the dead of a Canadian winter, which means every anniversary gives us an excuse to flee south. Cuba in 2016 for the wedding itself, Ecuador with good friends in 2017, and now 2018 was bringing us to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic with my long-time brother-from-another-mother Glen. Smart woman, that one.

This marked another first for me – my inaugural trip to the Dominican Republic. Geography clearly wasn’t my strong suit in my thirties. I knew Haiti existed, but discovering they shared an island? That blew my mind. I’d just assumed the DR was another small Caribbean dot. Then again, when you’re not traveling and have zero plans to travel, why bother looking this stuff up? Tina fixed that problem years ago, thank goodness.

When Anniversary Planning Meets Resort Reality

February 2018 found us boarding a plane bound for Punta Cana. The Riu Republica had just opened – a brand-new, five-star, adults-only resort that Tina discovered during one of her marathon deal-hunting sessions. The “adults-only” part sold me immediately. Nothing against kids, but after decades of family gatherings where small humans scream at frequencies that shouldn’t be possible, the thought of a child-free beach sounded like paradise.

We arrived to discover exactly what 1,300 rooms looks like. Massive. This place was genuinely massive. Eight pools plus a splash water world. So many restaurants and bars we couldn’t hit them all in a week. The beach stretched forever in both directions.

Our third-floor room overlooked two pools and came with a welcome package that made us feel properly special – fresh flowers, wine, gift basket, the works. The room itself looked magazine-ready. Tastefully appointed with that new-resort smell that hadn’t been replaced yet by the faint scent of sunscreen and regret that permeates older properties. Glen’s flight was coming in later that evening, which gave us time to change into beach gear and claim our spot on the sand.

The walk to the beach tested my aging knees. When a resort boasts about size, what they’re really saying is “hope you packed comfortable shoes.” We didn’t mind. The beach bar appeared like a mirage about halfway there, and we filled our insulated cups before completing the journey. Seconds later we were horizontal on loungers, properly equipped with cold beverages and reading material.

Adults-Only Adventures: Actually Relaxing

That first afternoon delivered exactly what I’d hoped for from an adults-only resort—no screaming, no crying, no small humans launching themselves off nearby loungers onto my abdomen. Just the sound of waves, pages turning, and ice cubes settling in drinks. My batteries started recharging immediately.

I half-read my book while also half-napping in that perfect state where you’re aware enough to not drool but relaxed enough to not care if you do. The Caribbean sun worked its magic. The steady rhythm of waves provided the soundtrack. This was precisely why Tina’s winter wedding strategy was brilliant.

We headed back as evening approached, arriving at the central lobby just as Glen finished check-in. The reunion involved back-slapping, probably too-loud laughter, and the kind of comfortable banter that comes from decades of friendship. We grabbed dinner at one of the restaurants, caught up properly, swapped travel horror stories, and set expectations for the week.

Glen’s almost twenty years younger than me, which means we’re at different life stages with different priorities and wildly different definitions of “fun.” But we’d worked out a system years ago: check in daily, compare notes, maybe share a meal or two, but otherwise do our own thing. It’s kept the friendship strong. That night we made plans to meet for breakfast before going our separate ways.

Beach Life and Battery Recharging

As expected, day two followed the pattern of most all-inclusive arrivals. We became beached whales. Literally just lying there, occasionally rolling into the ocean, consuming food and drinks, then returning to horizontal positions. For me, this recharge period is non-negotiable. Two full days of doing absolutely nothing before I can even consider “activities.”

My better half understands this about me. She’s learned that pushing for adventure before I’ve completed my sloth phase just results in grumpy responses and passive-aggressive sighing. So she brought her music, claimed her lounger, and let me transform into a sun-worshipping sea creature for forty-eight blissful hours.

That second evening brought us to the resort’s theater. The Riu Republica invested serious money in entertainment, and it showed. Top-shelf performers, professional production values, genuinely impressive shows. We’ve stayed at plenty of resorts over the years where “entertainment” meant someone with a keyboard who learned three songs that morning. This wasn’t that. We settled in with nightcaps afterward, already plotting the next day’s adventure.

Dune Buggy Disasters: Dust, Caves, Drama

Our pre-booked excursion promised dune buggy rides through countryside, cave exploration, and beach time. The vendors were pushing handkerchiefs hard before departure. Being the magnificent cheapskate I am, I kept refusing. Tina, demonstrating once again why she’s the smartest woman alive, bought us each one anyway.

The “dune buggy” turned out to be a glorified go-kart that could seat two uncomfortably. Loud. Bumpy. Zero suspension. We joined a train of similar vehicles churning up dust clouds that would make a sandstorm jealous. The handkerchief became a legitimate survival tool. I nearly coughed myself to death despite it. Glen, wisely, had opted for pool time.

Eventually we stopped at “caves” that turned out to be slightly large holes in the ground. The walking tour took maybe ten minutes through a shallow cavern that failed to impress. Then back on the loud, bumpy, dust-generating machines for the beach portion.

Fortunately, the beach redeemed the whole experience. Low tide, beautiful strip of sand, cold water, photo opportunities. We rested, hydrated, took pictures, and laughed about the “cave.” The ride back remained loud and dusty, but we’d survived. By the time we returned to the resort, I could taste that cold beer like it was already in my hand.

After showers that felt better than they had any right to, we cleaned up for dinner and evening entertainment. Once again, the quality impressed us. We started making it routine – good seats for the nightly shows became part of the plan.

Pool Politics: When Young People Attack

Glen popped up throughout the week for meals, drinks, occasional entertainment. But being a young, single guy at an adults-only tropical resort meant he had other priorities. We understood. We’d been young once too, though apparently it was so long ago I could barely remember it.

Day three or four – they blur together at all-inclusives – we skipped the beach for pool time. Tina wanted to catch the scheduled pool entertainment. I got excited about the swim-up bar situation.

Here’s something I learned: resort energy shifts as the day progresses. Morning brings families and couples. Afternoon introduces groups of friends. By late afternoon, you’re watching the twentysomethings slowly transform into entertainment themselves.

I’m still young enough at heart to enjoy splashing around, singing along to music, even participating in the occasional pool game when my better half drags me in. But I learned my alcohol limits years ago, which means I can enjoy without suffering or embarrassing myself. More importantly, I remember the things I’m doing.

As afternoon rolled into evening, we watched easily a hundred young people in various pools reach what I’ll delicately call “total shitfaced” status. Public vomiting. Visible urination. The kind of chaos that makes you grateful you’re old enough to know better. Adults-only doesn’t mean mature-only, apparently.

Dinner provided a welcome escape. We ate inside, enjoying performers in the courtyard, chatting with them afterward. Glen insisted on buying us anniversary dinner that night – his treat. More catching up, more laughs, special coffees that cost too much. I appreciated having a friend who’d fly to the DR just to help us celebrate.

Foam Parties and Water Slides: Observing from Safety

The next day introduced me to foam parties. They bring a machine that creates mountains of suds, then blast them across the pool with a giant fan. Music pumps. People drink. Chaos ensues. Everyone gets covered in foam so thick you can’t see the actual pool anymore.

Meanwhile, from the sidelines, I watched and shook my head. The curmudgeon in me was strong that day.

We transitioned to the splash world where Tina and Glen had an excellent time on the water slides while I played photographer. I enjoy pools just fine, but water slides present certain risks for a man of my size and age. Specifically, the risk of getting wedged in an enclosed corkscrew turn, requiring emergency response teams, making the evening news, having them extract me with a winch attached to one of those glorified go-karts, losing my swimsuit in the process, and providing entertainment for everyone back home who watches the footage on loop.

I’ll pass, thanks.

The rest of our stay maintained its pleasant rhythm. Beach time. Pool time. Exceptional dining. Stellar entertainment every single night. The Riu Republica delivered on every promise. The staff worked their tails off to keep 1,300 rooms worth of guests happy, and they succeeded. The food quality never dipped. The service never faltered.

Dominican Decisions: Dare the Destination

This week gave us everything we wanted from a Punta Cana vacation. Anniversary celebration? Check. Time away from Canadian winter? Double check. Reunion with Glen in a tropical paradise? Triple check. Batteries recharged? Absolutely.

The Dominican Republic earned its spot on our return-visit list. The Riu brand proved itself worthy. We’ve stayed at other Rius since then, and the consistency impresses us every time. They understand resort hospitality.

But beyond the resort, the Dominican Republic itself deserves credit. Every local we encountered – on property and off – showed genuine friendliness. They were happy to help, happy to chat, happy to share their country with visitors. That kind of hospitality makes destinations memorable long after you’ve forgotten which pool bar was which.

If you’re ready to experience your own Punta Cana vacation, whether for an anniversary or just because winter is terrible and beaches are great, Boarding Pass Travel can help you navigate the overwhelming number of resort options. We particularly excel at matching people to the right property for their travel style – whether you need adults-only peace or group-friendly chaos.

The Dominican Republic waits for you with open arms, cold drinks, and entertainment that might involve foam. Dare the Dominican. You won’t regret it.