I was sitting here trying to decide what aspect of my vacation I wanted to talk about. So many things, so little space. Ya know.

Punta Cana is a resort village on the very Eastern tip of the Dominican Republic. Melissa and I stayed at the Iberostar Punta Cana, an incredible 5-star resort on the grounds of the Iberostar Bavarro. This property holds three resorts altogether - Bavarro, Dominicana, and Punta Cana.

Four restaurants basically provide food around the clock. Three free-form swimming pools. A mile of pristine beach with powder-soft white sand and private cabanas to lounge in. A dozen flamingos to gawk at. A live band every night (oddly enough, playing the 70’s song “Feelings” in Spanish…). A discotheque to enjoy when your jones for Britney gets overwhelming. Five bars… need I say more about that? A casino to get screwed in - in Spanish, nonetheless. A shopping area to get perpetually sweet-talked by the most suave Latino men you’ve ever met. More palm trees than I’ve ever seen in my life.

But let’s get down to nuts and bolts here. There are two words best used to describe my overall vacation experience:

SPEEDOS and BOOBIES

This resort boasts a 70% European tourist demographic. Apparently, in Europe, most men have not figured out that it is tragically impolite to be able to see clear outlines of … everything they have to offer. I have never in my life seen so many 60-year-old overweight men in tiny Speedos. Thank God.

Most interesting was one older French gentleman, who wore his cobalt-blue Speedo just barely halfway up his not-so-beautiful butt. It barely covered all it needed to in the front, and the back of it was hideous. He seemed unconcerned.

The part of the full Dominican beach experience that proved me to be a Midwestern conservative was the topless-beach thing. A large portion of the women (*ahem*) chose to bare nearly-all while worshipping the blazing sun. It took me three days to quit goggling all over the place.

The thing I found the strangest was the amount of women showing their ta-tas who were travelling with significant others. If my boyfriend or whatever decided to sunbathe naked, I’d have an issue. I’ll admit it.

And then, little kids were walking by these women, and I was so pathetically uncomfortable for them. (Of course, they didn’t seem to care…) But what really made me laugh were the American males. You could spot one of them from miles off. They were the ones openly staring at the ta-tas of the sun worshippers. They cracked me up.

I did not want to leave. Well, okay, until this morning, when suddenly I was homesick for the following:

• 
  Mountain Dew - Oh God, give me a Mountain Dew! The Cokes down there tasted like diet - ugh!
  


• 
  My CDs


• My bed and my own pillows


• My car - I am a driving machine


• My bathrooms - any one of the three - so the water didn’t smell like a sewer and the shower didn’t back up


• Mtv


• English - or whatever chopped-to-hell version of it Americans speak. It gets a bit overwhelming to be at dinner and have Germans to your left, French to your right, Russians walking by, and a Dominican waitress ask in Spanish something regarding your drink preference - and I only knew that because she would gesture to the glasses on the table! I learned quickly how to say “Dos Coca-Colas y dos agua, por favor.” Sounds rather elementary, but I get seriously flustered when someone says something directly to me that absolutely refuses to register as recognizable in my brain.


• Central Standard Time - we were two hours ahead of our time zone, and I got used to thinking I was sooo cool going to bed at 1am every night - when it was only 11pm!


• Simple lack of continuous revelation from God - (another story, another entry)


• And last, but most completely in the forefront of my mind - Justin and Max. I missed both my guys, for completely different reasons.

More later. It’s late.

Happy to be back in St. Louie,

michelle