We rode to Playa Magallanes on horseback over a trail that passed through thick jungle and a stunning Caribbean coastline. We didn't intend on halting our journey so soon, but we asked our guides to continue without us. We were staying here.
Magallanes Beach is in a small cove on the outskirts of town. There was no fine white sand on this rough shoreline. A half-dozen trees provided shade and a pile of stacked chairs had a sign that read “For rent.” Beyond the “sandy” part of the beach was scattered trash and washed up piles of coral rock.
Magallanes is not a popular beach and for me that was part of the allure. We spotted two other people lounging quietly in the shade. A small group of Dominicans chilled in the water.
We rolled out our towels over a ground of dirt and sticks. Jenelle wandered around looking for conch shells.
I took off my shirt, slipped on water shoes, and donned a pair of goggles. I walked to the water and smoothly slid inside, slithering into the wet interior. It was clear and blue, the same color as larimar. I swam face-down, watching the white sand floor below me. Then I came up for air.
Magallanes Bay has a sandy strip down the middle where swimming is made easy. But on both sides of the strip are coral reefs where swimming is a bit more delicate.
After taking a few deep breaths I plunged again into the water and swam on the edge of the reef. Small fish swam in and out of the rocks, close enough I thought I could touch them. A small crab poked his head above a hole in the sand. Seaweed shimmied in the water at the whim of the current. Once again, I came up for air.
When I went down again I swam over the reef. Suddenly a garden of plants and rocks and bigger fish rose from the bottom. I fought hard to keep my body floating far enough above the reef so as not to touch. I passed bright red corals growing from the rocks.
For another twenty minutes I explored the bottom of the sea, taking note of anything of interest I could find. Then I walked up out of the water, dripping onto the sand. It didn't take long to dry off in the hot air. I replaced my shirt and shoes and we were ready to go.
But we didn't have far to go. We walked across the street to a wooden gate made of 2x4's and bamboo sticks. If I hadn't known better, I would have missed it.
I tried pushing open the gate, but it was blocked by a rock. I peeked inside and found a swarthy black man with a big smile and only one tooth. He came toward us.
“Are you open?” I asked in Spanish.
“Sí, sí.” He then call out his wife's name: “¡Tenemos clientes!”
We were ushered inside their “back yard” where we sat at a table—one of three set up. A dog lay asleep next to us while two ducks searched for bugs on the ground. On the other side of a bamboo fence stood a wooden shack. This was the family home.
The man's wife came with a red scarf over her hair and asked us if we wanted fish. I said yes, but that my wife wanted chicken. After taking our order, I saw her carry a slimy sea creature back to her shack.
There are some people in this world that love eating at fancy restaurants, whose skin would crawl at the thought of what we were now doing. Not me. I was in heaven. This was the quintessential dining experience!
Although our table had a fine red cloth draped over the top, it was still made of plastic and wobbled quite badly. The table sat on the dirt floor and above us a wooden overhang provided shelter in case of rain. We had the entire “restaurant” to ourselves.
While we waited for our food the husband attempted to fix their ramshackle gate. I couldn't tell what he was doing, but he kept pounding a nail into a piece of wood, then placing it up to the gate. He wore no shirt, but tied a piece of rope around this chest and used it as a tool belt.
At last our food came!
My fish came with head, fins and tail still intact. Jenelle had her chicken and in the middle was served a large plate of rice and another of tostones, which are fried plantains. I was told that this very combination was popular on the beaches of the Dominican Republic.
The fish was seasoned well, smoked and crispy on the outside. Inside was tender and moist. Using a fork I could easily scrape the flesh away from the bones. I ate the scales, meat and fins, but left the head, tail and bones. It was the best-tasting fish I ever had.
We added a couple dashes of salt to the fried plantains. They were good, too. Crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, with a hint of sweetness.
As we ate, a small green gecko climbed on the wall behind us. About that same time another dog joined us near the table, but the ducks had wandered off to another part of the yard.
I left as satisfied as I had ever been. I was in someone's backyard eating fish, just a stone's throw away from the Caribbean Sea. It was worth every Dominican peso spent! ♠
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