travelchaos – Romancing the Herd

Some vacations are relaxing. Some are romantic. And some involve a random couple who attach themselves to strangers with the determination of deep‑sea barnacles and the social awareness of a Roomba stuck under a couch.

I genuinely enjoy meeting people on vacation — chatting by the pool, sharing a drink, maybe joining an excursion if the vibe is right.

What I was not prepared for was a full‑scale social adoption by a couple I’d known for less than 24 hours.

Kathy and Frank were a lovely couple and we enjoyed spending time with them.

Looking back, I think we were all operating under different assumptions.

David and I thought we were on a couples vacation.

They thought we were on a group tour.

We first met by the pool and casually chatted. Somehow, they decided we were now traveling as a foursome.

We attempted evasive maneuvers worthy of a CIA extraction.

After a few days, David leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’re swingers?”

I just laughed. “I don’t care how they swing — I just want my vacation back.”

The Escape — Or So We Thought

Midweek, David and I thought we’d finally escaped. We slipped away to a small German restaurant near the resort, one of those quirky little places that seemed completely out of place in the Caribbean.

White stucco walls, tropical palms, cold beer, schnitzel, and sauerbraten just a short walk from the beach.

It felt like we’d stumbled into a tiny corner of Bavaria that had somehow washed ashore in Puerto Plata.

We sat down and exhaled like two fugitives who’d just crossed the border.

For fifteen minutes, it was peaceful.

Then David froze. He didn’t even turn his head — just whispered:

“Dear God… we’re being hunted.”

I looked up, and there they were, marching toward us like cheerful little barnacles in flip‑flops.

Not only did they show up. Not only did they request the table next to ours. They pushed the tables together like we were attending a family reunion.

I wanted to slide under the table, but instead… I ordered more wine.

They chatted away, blissfully unaware, and then asked with total sincerity:

“So what are we all doing tomorrow?”

David winced. I took a gulp of wine. Neither of us answered.

Escape on Horseback

I thought for sure we’d lose them on the horseback ride.

But there they were, strolling down the beach toward us like invited guests.

David and I exchanged a look that said, “How is this happening?!”

The ride itself was peaceful — dark, petite horses, a quiet beach, and lunch at a little hut serving conch and fried plantains.

But then came donkey polo.

The Rebellious Little Asses

I booked donkey polo thinking, “Okay, THIS is where we finally shake them. No one willingly signs up for donkey polo.”

Wrong.

They showed up. Again.

But this time… the universe intervened.

We were led to a row of donkeys, and I inspected them like I was choosing a rental car. I finally picked ChaCha, an absolutely adorable little girl with a jaunty hat and big innocent eyes—but beneath that cute exterior lived the spirit of a caffeinated squirrel. Sweet, yes. Predictable? Absolutely not.

Kathy and Frank picked two male donkeys, both of whom entered a state of spiritual stillness. They refused to move. Not one step. Both riders sat there with their legs sticking straight out, looking like malfunctioning Ken and Barbie dolls while their donkeys stared into the void.

I steered ChaCha over to David. He motioned toward Kathy and Frank’s frozen donkeys and said, “What’s going on over there?”

I shrugged. “That’s Siesta and Señor Nada. They’ve opted out.”

At one point, I glanced back and caught a scene straight out of a comedy sketch. Frank was kicking Senor Nada, desperately trying to convince him to move.

Not today, José.

The donkey planted all four feet, lowered his head, and made it abundantly clear that today was not the day.

Then, with the impeccable timing of a seasoned entertainer, the donkey launched a powerful buck.

For a split second, all I saw were Frank’s feet soaring into the air, flapping like laundry caught in a Caribbean breeze.

Meanwhile, little ChaCha was completely unhinged — zig‑zagging across the field like she’d had three espressos and a personal vendetta. David was photographing, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe…

For the first time all week, we escaped for nearly thirty glorious minutes.

Their donkeys had joined the resistance.

New Year’s Eve

On the final night, the concierge booked us a table at a restaurant a few doors down for a festive New Year’s Eve party.

You guessed it — they showed up and were seated at the table next to us.

I hadn’t packed for a New Year’s Eve party, so I wore what I had: a simple, long black cotton tank dress and a Christmas sweater. Not exactly gala attire, but appropriate for the venue.

The Final Straw

When I look back on that trip now, I think the most beautiful sight wasn’t the beach, the excursions, or even the sunsets.

It was an empty chair.

A quiet place to sit, listen to the waves, and enjoy time with my husband.

I suspect we were simply traveling for different reasons.

Some couples travel to see new places. Some travel to meet new people. We traveled because we genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

When I tell this story now, people inevitably ask the same question:

“Why didn’t you just tell them to go away?”

Believe me, we tried.

David was six-foot-four, confident, intelligent, and we were both perfectly capable of being blunt when the situation required it.

Yet somehow these two possessed a level of social persistence that defied all known laws of human interaction. They were getting our bookings directly from the concierge.

When I looked through the trip photos later, one thing became painfully obvious: this couple had somehow woven themselves into our entire vacation. They appear in nearly every picture.

Even photos that were clearly intended to be romantic shots of David and me feature an unexpected guest lurking in the background like an enthusiastic meerkat.

Before we left, they made an attempt to organize another vacation together.

David and I smiled politely, wished them well, and climbed into our taxi for the airport.

In a photo album, our Dominican Republic vacation lives on — permanently photobombed by the friendliest human barnacles ever to cling their way through the Caribbean.

Some things, apparently, are forever.

Part of the Riding on Vacation Series

View overlooking the Sandy Cove at Coconut Creek Hotel

Barbados was a long-standing bucket-list island, so we finally booked a stay at Coconut Creek in St. James, a small cliff-top hotel on Barbados’ west coast.

A staircase wound down to the beach below, where sailboats rested on the sand waiting for the day’s first drift into the calm Caribbean water.

The hotel had a cricket-themed bar—a reminder that in Barbados, cricket wasn’t just a sport. It was part of the culture.

It was at Coconut Creek that we met a lovely woman named Alice. Every summer, she left Britain behind and went island-hopping through Barbados, Tobago, and Antigua.

Alice spoke about the islands with the confidence of someone who had explored the Caribbean for years. She described each one in detail, carefully explaining their differences and charms. More importantly, she made it clear that these weren’t simply places she enjoyed visiting—they were, in her opinion, the three best islands in the Caribbean.

At the time, we listened politely and tucked her recommendations away.

The Beach

The sandy cove had its own rhythm — warm sand and the fading footprints of early morning beach walks.

The Cricket Club

Cricket was everywhere in Barbados, so it wasn’t surprising that Coconut Creek had its own Cricketeers Bar.

One afternoon, while enjoying a Red Stripe, David struck up a conversation with Kevin, the bartender, about cricket. It quickly became apparent that he knew far more than the average tourist.

When Kevin learned about David’s cricket accomplishments in Wales, his eyes widened. He immediately reached across the bar to shake his hand and promptly served him another Red Stripe.

In Barbados, that was apparently the cricket equivalent of being recognized by royalty.

A small pair of trophy bats still hang on my wall. They remind me of the athlete David was, and the path he never got to finish.

Life changes direction in ways we never expect. An illness ended his professional cricket career, but he went on to earn his PhD in Physics.

A single moment can change everything you once took for granted.

The Beach Ride

Every island we visited had its own personality, and Barbados was no different.

We booked a beach trail ride with a local stable and took a taxi across the island.

The guide was an American named Chuck, and I was paired with a palomino named Nugget.

The ride itself was incredible—a beautiful stretch of deserted beach where the horses walked through the sand and surf at a relaxed pace.

Everything about it felt peaceful and sun-washed, the kind of experience that makes you wonder why you don’t simply stay in the islands forever.

After the ride, Chuck offered us a ride back to the hotel.

I climbed into his car still floating somewhere between beach bliss and heat exhaustion when I noticed pills.

Everywhere.

In the cup holders.

On the floorboards.

Rolling across the console during turns like loose change.

The vehicle looked less like transportation and more like a pharmaceutical scavenger hunt.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of David seated in the back seat.

“What are all these pills?” He asked.

Chuck never blinked.

“Uppers, downers … help yourself.”

I considered this generous offer for exactly one second.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a hard pass.”

He offered no further explanation.

We asked no further questions.

We simply continued toward the hotel while assorted mystery tablets migrated around the car like tiny tourists.

Machete Dude

Barbados seemed determined to keep me slightly on edge.

When I got out of Chuck’s vehicle, I made the mistake of stopping to photograph a colorful roadside fruit cart.

I captured one quick photo, but the vendor turned just as I was about to snap a second shot.

Before I could lower the camera, he waved the machete and began enthusiastically explaining—with dramatic hand gestures—that photographs apparently required payment.

At that point, I decided the fruit cart no longer needed documenting.

I consider that one of my better travel decisions.

Island Treasures

I always looked for unique art while traveling through the Caribbean, and Barbados did not disappoint.

I wandered into a small studio filled with beautiful hand‑dyed batiks, each one more vibrant than the last.

I purchased three batiks, and this colorful fish still hangs on my wall today — a little burst of island color that never lost its magic.

The Island and I had Words

Barbados was lovely.

The beaches were beautiful. The people were welcoming.

But everywhere I turned, some new form of chaos seemed to be waiting.

At some point, I concluded that Barbados and I simply weren’t in sync.

The island was trying very hard to provide a relaxing Caribbean vacation.

The Final Verdict: Barbados failed to make the repeat list.

We mutually agreed to give it a few years and see other people.

Part of the Riding on Vacation Series

Romancing the Herd

Tag: travelchaos

Dominican Republic: Human Barnacles and Rebellious Little Asses

Barbados — The Beach Ride and the Pharmaceutical Taxi