EL MUNDO KING

The day starts interesting to say the least. I wake at 3:19am to an unhappy tummy. I am worried it is a repeat of Bulgaria—a first day blood sugar crash—so try quietly forcing some snacks into my stomach while Mom sleeps. Turns out, I just need to throw up a little. By just after 4:00, I am back in bed sleeping like a baby until my 5:45am alarm tells me it’s time to get up and surf. Mom asks, “Is it a surf day or is it a rest day?” “A surf day” I groggily respond. This is much to her surprise, but I am pulling a Joelle today (totally rallying despite unfortunately timed sickness).

Downstairs, our fellow surf camp attendees are getting ready, and we meet everyone–Bree, Megan, Parker, Niki, and the surf instructors (Luciano, Sebastian, and Jeffrey). Promptly at 6:45am, the taxi arrives, and we all pile in, looking at the beautiful oranges in the sky as the sun rises. It is a short drive, via a dirt and pothole filled road off the main road, to the surf beach—Playa Encuentro. It is relatively empty when we arrive but full of surf boards. We each get our boards and head to the beach, where we meet another one of our surf instructors, Henry. We start with a brief overview and some paddling and standing on land. Then, it is into the waves! The instructors start by pushing us into them. After a few tries, I am up and remembering the feeling from years ago. The last time I surfed may have been 2018. They don’t let us get comfortable though. Next thing I know, we are paddling into our own waves. The instructors give us pointers on which ones to catch, and it is really a trial and error game. By some miracle, I actually manage to catch and stand up on two by myself. Woohoo!! Don't let that deceive you though, I got hit by many waves. Wiped by the time two hours are up, we bring the boards back in and return to Swell for breakfast.

When we arrive, breakfast home-cooked by a Dominican woman is ready for us. She made Mom and I a plate of veggies instead of omelets, and there are fruit and crepes. Yum! It is a lot of food. We chat with our fellow Swell attendees and start to get to know everyone, including someone we hadn’t met yet–Karmyn. Niki and Karmyn are retuning to Swell after being here earlier this year; they enjoyed it so much that they wanted to come back!

Most of the group is brave and return to the beach for the second surf session. This one is a practice session, rather than a lesson. The instructors are there, but you are more on your own. Wanting to pace myself and give myself the best chance of making it through the week, I opt to sit this one out and stick to two surf hours, not four, today. Mom and I read a bit and then head to lunch across the street. It is a Mexican place, Gorditos, recommended by T. We grab a table outside, and thinking we order inside, I head inside, only to realize that is not in fact what you do. Oops. A waitress comes to take our order, and we are joined by a family with two young kids. We get to chatting and discover he is from Australia and she is from Brazil. He took a year to travel the U.S. and has been to 47 states—far more than me! They now have two adorable kids—one 18 months and another maybe 5 years old. At some point in that conversation, the restaurant owner comes over, says hello, and asks “are you staying at Swell?” “How do you know that?” “I can just tell.” Apparently something about me is typical for a Swell Surf Camp attendee. The owner is from the Massachusetts but says she can’t claim the U.S. anymore because she has been here for 14 years and lived in Santo Domingo and Mexico before that. And, of course, she immediately knows T when we tell her who sent us. When our food arrives, she stops by again. She immediately notices our lack of sauces and asks, “are you vegan?” She is super observant and quickly brings us some vegan sauces to try—both delicious. With a little time before our next activity, we head to Mom and Cathy’s favorite place from last time they were here—Vagamundo. On the way, a woman driving by stops her car, yells hello at me, only to get really confused and drive off once I turn around. I am not the person she thought she recognized. Vagamundo has yummy waffles and, best of all, a great vibe with lots of outdoor seating, greenery, and fans for us to enjoy.

It is time for our next activity! We walk to T’s place to meet her and Parker. On the way, I spot a snake on the sidewalk. No bueno. That put a kick in my step. And it seems to have made an appearance just for me because T says she has never seen one here. T’s friend and taxi driver picks us up and drives us to the neighboring town—Sosúa. Here, there is a very unique place. Honestly, I don’t even know how to describe it, and this sort of thing is usually Joelle’s job (I miss my sister). I’ll do the best I can, but it is sort of a “you have to see it” type of place.

The Mundo King Art Museum. This castle —a castle of cosmic rein—was built by a German man, Rolf Schulz, who passed away in 2018. From what I understand, he was not wealthy enough to build a castle in Germany, so he moved to the Dominican

and built this castle as a safe place for aliens to land and communicate. Rolf believes he has seen, or at least smelled extraterrestrials, and his neighbors think he is crazy. Despite there never being electricity, Rolf lived and died here. Another man, who helped Rolf put all this together, lived with him and still lives here today, collecting some pesos as guests enter. The architecture of the castle itself is quite impressive, with passageways down into the dark “dungeons” and up in various directions to all the wings. It is seven stories with gorgeous views. Every space is filled with art—sculptures and paintings—some of which are his collection and some of which are his own works. There is a lot of Haitian art, and there is a lot of extraterritorial-influenced art. There is no information on any of the pieces and many leave you wondering what you are looking at. The museum has one copy of one magazine article about the place. That is it. T tells the man who currently lives there and helped Rolf that they need to go through everything together and write down what each piece is because, right now, it all lives only in his brain. Many items are already deteriorating in the open air and wasps buzz around with their nests dotting the ceilings. I can only hope it somehow gets preserved. It really is quite amazing and certainly unique, although the local Dominicans believe it to be spooky. I included some pictures, but like I said, you really need to see it. Amazon Prime has a documentary on him if you want to learn more—The Mundo King.

After making it through the Mundo King, we stop for a drink at a restaurant down the street—Hispanioia Diners Club, originally home of refugees from Nazi Germany. We enjoy more stunning views before getting picked up by T’s friend and taxi driver.

Back at Swell, we discuss dinner options with the others, and Sebastian, one of the surf instructors who lives at Swell, offers two options: Ojos or Mojitos. Seeing as they are next door to one another, we make our way over and leave the decision making to later. On our walk, we see three Dominican men on our street outside their car, taking “fit pics.” When we approach they quickly get back in their car and then drive slowly next to us, talking to and totally hitting on Mom. Not uncommon here, I have to say. We have been whistled and honked at numerous times. The restaurants are right on the beach, with outdoor seating spilling onto the beach. Everything is popping, and there is lots of green to celebrate St. Patrick’s day. Ojos is too busy to seat our party of seven, so we go to Mojitos. Two in our group, Bree and Megan, came here for lunch and warn us about the slow service, which Sebastian explains is standard in the Dominican. Seeing as dinner takes several hours, they seem to be correct, at least for Mojitos on St. Patrick’s Day. The conversation is a series of shouting over the loud music, but we start to get to know each other a little more. Somewhere in all of this, the topic of age comes up. Karmyn asks me directly: “Hannah, how old are you?” Honestly, I do have to think about it for a second, and then I respond “24.” This sends a shock around the table. Karmyn says she wasn’t sure and it could have gone either way—younger or about that. Sebastian, though, is in shock: “What? I clocked you in high school.” Another jumps in saying she thought I was end of high school, maybe 18. I’m used to it; actually, I get it a lot. The fact that I teach high school and am not in high school often gives folks a double take. Around the table, we have a good mix: 20-32(ish) years old from Boston, Maryland, Nebraska, Australia, and Canada.  It is fun to hear peoples’ stories.

Finishing dinner, we all hit a wall and head back to Swell to get some sleep before another day of surf camp starts bright and early.

Proof that I did it: