Cabarete is easy to skip over in the guidebook, if you're not a kite surfer, wind surfer, regular old surfer, or extreme sports junkie in general. Being none of these things, Beth and I were fine bypassing the little surf haven on the north coast en route to Puerto Plata. Were it not for the modern miracle that is couchsurfing, we'd never have given it a second thought, which looking back would have been a shame. Cabarete is full of folks from all over the world that come for the waves, and has a very southern California sort of feel. Lots of surf shacks, bars, restaurants, resorts, and such along the main strip, and life on a more normal level happens on the outskirts. There is a huge Norwegian population due to a study program established several years ago, and a very international flair altogether.
On our way out of Puerto Plata, we just happened to stop at an internet cafe. Waiting in Beth's inbox was a response from a couchsurfing host named Obdulio saying of course we could come and stay for a day or two, come on over! Luckily, neither Beth nor I are the type to stick to a strict itinerary, so changing up the game plan unexpectedly was fine by us. Forty five minutes later we were cruising along in a crowded guagua (Dominican short bus, basically) ready to make some new friends. We were picked up by Obdulio and his friend Omar, in some very surfer dude-ish SUV, and driven home to be introduced to all the surfer dude friends. Seriously, when we walked in the door there were five muscle-bound guys (and five ridiculously large, rambunctious, loveable dogs) standing around in board shorts and bare feet talking about that morning's waves. As a girl who has always lived in landlocked states and has minimal experience with riptides, curls, and long vs. short boards, this was a whole new world. Luckily these guys backed up the relaxed, chill attitude surfers are known for, and welcomed us right away. We spent the first afternoon sitting out on their balcony drinking communal Brahma beer and shooting the shit. Great way to spend an afternoon! Then Obdulio's, girlfriend Anne Grethe, a lovely Norwegian woman who coordinates the Norwegian study program, arrived and we all sat down to our first dinner and introduced our new friends to a dice game we're obsessed with. What a lovely mixed family we were. It was gnarly, in that good sort of way.
That's when "Surfer Dude" entered my consciousness. He'd been there all along of course, but in the sea of rippling abs, long locks and graphic prints, he'd been lost in the mix until now. It first occurred to me Surfer Dude was flirting when he suggested winner of the dice game gets a kiss from Lindsey. Surfer Dude lives the life part of me imagines for myself. He is slightly advanced in years (say closer my parents' age than my own), lived the high life working on the international fashion scene for a number of years, fell in love with surfing, moved to a tiny town on a tiny island, built his own modest little house and will spend the rest of his days in the sand. Sounds pretty amazing to me, and honestly, pretty seductive as well. I appreciate that sort of spirit in people. So, Surfer Dude and I established a sweet little vacationship. After several lovely days of getting up early to sit on the beach and watch him ride waves, strolling together in the surf, etc, something curious happened. Surfer Dude barged into the bedroom one afternoon as I was stepping out of the shower. Naturally I was not expecting him to simply smile, grab the few belongings he kept at Obdulio and Anne Grethe's home, and walk out the door. His abruptness was surprising and a little unnerving, and I just hoped he'd come back soon. I didn't have a good feeling.
After a few hours, and then a few more, I found out why Surfer Dude had walked out...and why he probably wouldn't turn up again. Disappointingly, but maybe not surprisingly, Surfer Dude was into cocaine, owed our host some money, and was presumedly on his way to meet up with his dealer who was coming into town that afternoon. Part of me was shocked that I can encounter women everyday in my job who are dependent on various substances, and yet I can't see that same dependence in someone I've become fairly intimate with, and the other part of me was just plain shocked. Not only that, I was insulted. I hated the fact I could be ditched so easily for a fucking drug. Yes, believe me, I understand (to an extent at least) addiction. I understand that it takes over, trumps your relationships, I understand all of that. However, this was too close to home, and I was still a woman scorned. Never before had addiction been such an intimate issue, and this was someone I'd only known a few days! Nothing more than a simple vacationship! I had read a bit on the Dominican drug situation, and knew there were drugs along the north coast, especially in communities like Cabarete and Cabrera, but I was not expecting to encounter them in any way, shape or form. To find that a person I'd developed a certain degree of respect for and interest in was also involved in that community was sad, disappointing, and actually a little embarrassing. Without writing a great diatribe about my views on self control, self respect, privilege, oppression and addiction, suffice it to say I am confident I am too scared, to lucky and too anal to find myself in the same situation. I'm not sure it's fair to project my views about illicit drugs onto others, but I had imagined Surfer Dude was too good for that, too balanced and healthy and happy. On top of that, I should have been able to see something in him. Was I fooled so easily?
It was a startling reminder of my job, our organization's purpose, and the great need for addictions counseling all over the globe. Surfer Dude was not like a typical Empowerment Program participant at all. He was extremely well-educated, worldly, well-traveled, comfortably wealthy, and seemingly the picture of health and ease. I was not expecting an addict to look and act like this, which is maybe why it was all the more disappointing. I was also not supposed to be attracted to someone who does coke! It was impossible now to not look back on the days we spent together and see him as an addict in disguise, which I know is unfair. How many times have I told a potential volunteer in an orientation that we refer to women at Empowerment as participants rather than putting a title like "addict" on them. Plus, Surfer Dude really was a genuinely good guy. He was sweet, funny, charming, gentle, interesting and I wish I could have spent more time with him. I know I cannot simply refer to him as an addict, it's dehumanizing and he's more than that. I need to let go of my own hang ups and realize, fully realize this time, that addiction has many faces and this is just one. It's not a surprise I couldn't see that side of him, that wasn't what he was going to show me, and it's not who he really is. Hopefully, he'll realize that too.
Surfer Dude never came around again after that, and we left Cabarete three days later. I spent those three days thinking about all I've learned about addiction while working with The Empowerment Program. I think even little experiences like this help make me better at my job. Being able to put a new face to addiction, and having a more personal experience with it (if only in a small way), will make me a better grant writer and a better advocate. Although I don't expect to have contact with Surfer Dude again, I hope he has reasons and motivations to move beyond whatever it is that is holding him back. I was an easy relationship to sacrifice, maybe the next won't be.
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