Once again the Mexican has stolen the Frenchman's sleeping bag in the middle of the night. How this happens, we're not sure. I suspect it happens when they're cuddling, but both deny any claims. It is more fodder for jokes.
Captains log, star date day three, February, twenty sixteen. Again we woke to the sound of waves crashing outside our window. Cracking open the shutters I see the beautiful glassy faces of overhead swell smiling back at me. Good morning Chuck!
Beautiful waves break over a perfect reef in my dreams. Quickly the serenity of my slumber is shocked into reality by one of our car alarms having a seizure at six a.m.. Just when I think it has finally turned off, it turns back on. The contrast of the waves to the blaring alarm is enough to scratch your eyes out. After the 3rd ride around the decibel-screaming world, it finally stops.
Groggy eyed passengers rise from their slumber. Swollen eyed from too much rum and too many tall stories around the campfire till far too late. The sun is warm and feels fantastic against the skin. Philip sits off alone by the ocean facing into the sun on what turns out to be his morning ritual of intentions for the day. Like most of us, it revolves around the three W's: wind, water and waves.
It's 8:41am and my mate Oliver Dadswell from Eye Fly Films is twenty one minutes late for picking me up to go join Ian Alldredge and the BWS crew for a week long kite surf adventure along the north coast of the Dominican Republic. Twenty one minutes late in Cabarete is about as on time as you can get according to island time. So we're right on time.