Maybe I could get used to this
A former vacation snob succumbs to the pleasures of the all-inclusive resort
Once I got over the guilt of being a thief, I became an excellent one.
I stole caviar. I stole champagne. I stole rides. I stole beer from the mini-fridge. I stole whole filet mignon steaks and I stole entrance into shows, bars, clubs and restaurants.
It took me about three days to figure out that I hadn’t actually transformed into a devastatingly clever criminal — I was just at an all-inclusive resort for the first time.
I simply could not get past my ingrained mindset of having to pay for what I consumed, from my morning cappuccinos to my daily margaritas at the swim-up bar. Even my seven-year-old daughter was stuck in the must-pay mindgame as she almost always asked, “Do we have to pay for this?” This included when receiving non-alcohol strawberry daiquiris, “free” popsicles and help-yourself ice cream.
By Day 4, however, we had sunk comfortably into the reality that we didn’t have to pay for a single thing, no matter the size or the number.
It was liberating. It was intoxicating. It was strange.
I must admit that I used to be an all-inclusive-vacation snob. I preferred to consider myself a “traveller” who searched for hidden restaurants, paid for entertainment and scoured cities for interesting people and places. I thought the resort experience was for the pampered and the unadventurous, or for spoiled spring-breakers.
But having spent seven ridiculously lavish and relaxing days at my first all-inclusive resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic — complete with a direct flight and diamond-club service — I can officially say that I’m converted. I no longer look down my nose at those who choose all the comforts of a resort.
I am now one of “them” and there’s no going back.
At first I was reluctant to indulge myself in the pool parties, the oceanside cabanas and the servitude of those who waited on me at Memories Splash Punta Cana.
I was especially reluctant to call Edwin.
Edwin told me to call him if I needed anything, but really, I was a self-sufficient woman with a child in tow and a nanny friend to help me out so I wasn’t about to bother our devoted resort concierge. I was sure Edwin had better things to do, like fetching other people’s towels and ensuring their constant happiness.
But that’s before I realized I had forgotten the battery for my camera. That would be the camera I would use to record this whole first-time all-inclusive experience.
I reluctantly called Edwin who promptly did some research, discovering that the only place to find the specialized battery was at a small camera shop in San Juan, 30 minutes away. Edwin made some calls, found out what time the shop was open and arranged for a cab the next morning.
What followed were three harrowing hours of wonderful Dominican interactions with my accommodating taxi driver Carlos. He eagerly drove me here and there, called friends, translated for me, and finally, secured me a borrowed battery from a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who was willing to sell me his personal battery and order a new one.
This off-resort experience led me to love the people of the Dominican Republic, but it also made me sink even deeper into the resort experience when I set my feet back in the walled sanctuary that offered me everything I’d ever desired (apart from a battery for my camera).
Each morning we’d wake to the hardest decision of the day — waterpark, ocean or pool? After foam parties in the pool, sandcastle building on the beach and water sliding in the Caribbean’s largest waterpark, we’d then have our second hardest decision of the day — which of our five or six eating options would we choose for supper? Would it be seafood, Mexican or Italian? Would it be inside, or outside? Would it be buffet or à la carte? Would it be beachside or poolside?
After our spectacular evening meals, then we’d encounter “big decision No. 3” — theatre, dancing or clubbing? With a child in tow, we most often chose dancing under the stars which included a team of resort activity directors who not only played kids games, but who also entertained the adults.
Walking home each evening as the palms swayed above and as the exhilarating beat of Dominican music swam through the warm night air, we knew we had reached some kind of paradise, even if it was a short-lived one that came at the expense of those who served us.
We took to tipping generously. We took to finding out about the living conditions of the 10 million people who call the Dominican Republic home. We took to getting to know our Dominican servers for the wise, open, hard-working and amazing people they were.
And so it was that my favourite resort activity was rising at 6 a.m. and walking through the sprawling Memories Splash resort that linked to the even swankier Royalton Resort. I saw workers in pools scrubbing the bottom with brooms. I met smiling maids with handfuls of hibiscus flowers to put on pillows. I joined a resort yoga instructor for a morning class. I chatted with groundskeepers who manicured the lush landscape and always greeted me with an, “Hola, como estas?”
I knew I was in a bubble. I knew I hadn’t met the real Dominican Republic.
But for once in my life, I didn’t worry about it. I simply sipped my “free” pina coladas and played with my daughter in the sand, waves and foam-party bubbles until the feeling went away.
I can’t say that every one of my future vacations will be all-inclusive ones. But I can safely say that I’m an all-inclusive convert — I drank the resort-life Kool-Aid and I’ll certainly be back with my whole family for more.
Save me a seat at the swim-up bar and strike my name off the “mostwanted” list because I’m no longer a thief, I’m simply a tourist in sunny Punta Cana.