Funny thing about car crashes. They always seem to unfold so slowly, like honest-to-god Hollywood slow-mo, except you can’t really do anything… At least that’s been my experience.
First of all, Jackie and I are OK. A little banged up, a little sore, but OK. I have bruised ribs and a sore lower back. Jackie has some bruises and stitches in her lower back. It could’ve been worse.
So there we were, coming back to Punta Cana from a tour of Santo Domingo, a three-and-a-half hour bus ride to the oldest capital in the Americas (a standard historical trip, the likes of which I always seem to prefer, and, if normalcy had prevailed, about which you’d now be reading while viewing the standard site-seeing photos), and all seemed well. We’d already shared our joke about crazy Dominican drivers and how our driver was just as crazy yet safe, ha-ha-ha. We’d seen the sites, stopped for the midway home final pee and shopping break, and were settling in for one more hour before the resort. Jackie and I were seated comfortably in the middle of the bus where I wouldn’t have to witness the insane-o local driving techniques. On the drive to, we’d seen an identical tour bus on its side in the ditch near a small town, and shared a meaningful yet dismissive glance. That stuff happens to other people…
From behind we heard the wail of approaching sirens – ambulance or police. I glance up and thought, I hope that little car coming at us can finish passing that other truck (passing seems like a drunken dare in the DR, and all the roads are two-lane…). But the little car seemed to panic, couldn’t get out of our lane, and our own bus-driver attempted to swerve to avoid impact. Continue reading →