Sent to my email box by Cleef
------------------------------
Casa de Campo?s Polo Grounds and Ocean Kayaking
La Romana, Dominican Republic
3.24.04
Having been inundated with their horse hockey golf shirts, sweatshirts, hats and every other conceivable logo-ized item that can grab someone?s attention ? and deep pockets ? Polo was something I felt quite familiar with. Having spent enough time around Harvard (parking cars, not attending classes mind you) and their gaudy river ritual of the Charles Regatta every fall, I?d seen enough of the flipped up and starched collars to make me gag. It wasn?t enough that they?d load the Charles riversides with their white tents, champagne flutes, and white linens, they even went so far as to put up a large sign of the strapping horseman and his mallet, and went ahead and lit it.
I?d never wear the stuff mind you, but it was impossible to escape its reach growing up around a sampling of those that feel the need to wear their income on their sleeves. So on a recent trip to the Punta Cana and the east coast of the island, my friends and I (?The Gang That Couldn?t Shoot Straight?) stopped in at Casa de Campo to take advantage of a friends ?casa en de campo? splitting our trip to ?Far East? in half.
As we navigated the guardhouse flashing the necessary credentials for entry, and then various repaving projects ? one guy shoveling, 8 others leaning on the shovels in the middle of the road ? we jettisoned across a median lawn and back onto the entrance road. It was as if Boss Hogg and Roscoe P. Coltraine were there to stop our progress and the General Lee would not be halted.
It was clear our expedition leader was getting a little goofy with the wheel once we were inside the Campo, so we decided to stop and stretch the legs and take in the expansive land of the 7,000-acre mini-metropolis.
We pulled into a huge expanse of lawn rowed on one side with a long row of trees separating the Polo Club from the gaming grounds, when suddenly a full-fledge game broke out.
Inexplicably, our fearless expedition leader decided to jump back in and drive General Lee even closer to take in the action. In no time our presence was duly noted as we?d taken refuge behind the goal as the teams engaged in a penalty shot. Not much for smooth entrances, we plied on and took refuge with the rest of the fandom on the sidelines.
Having never taken in such an event, it was immediately compelling to watch these athletes - riding even more athletic and beautiful animals ? do what I?ve seen on the chest of shirts for so long. The high-speed congregations of horse, man, mallet and ball were likely the same now as in the Mughal dynasty in the 15th century. How much can something so medieval and simplistic really evolve into the slam-dunking, chest pounding end zone celebrating sports of today? Not much I?d guess by the looks of it. Simply put, it looks like hockey on horses and grass instead of skates and ice, although those with more knowledge would likely not concur.
Nonetheless, the trivial details of its origin were of no mind to us. But for clarity, the mallets and balls were originally made from bamboo cane. The bamboo cane would be cut and set to season for 6 months before being shaped and assembled by hand. The balls were also made from bamboo but the roots. They would cut the root in two and hand shape the balls with chisels and then left to season for 3 months. After, the finishing touches and perfect sphere were accomplished with sandpaper, before being painted with two coats of a chalk-based paint, dried and then a final application of synthetic white enamel (http://www.indiapolo.com). These balls were clearly a hard but light plastic, but we weren?t concerned, we were there to soak in the sights, feel the warm breeze off the ocean and keep Luke Duke from killing us all before the weekend had begun.
The few breaks in the action were an out of bounds ball, a penalty shot and perhaps an off-sides. Dressed in full gringo attire, sans the galloping horse and flipped up collars, our presence didn?t elicit any interested parties so we were left to decipher the game on our own. The action was simply fascinating to take in.
The high speeds and wailing action of the mallet were interesting enough; the rules of the game didn?t matter, a great experience indeed.
Set off to the back were some runs for the horses that are presumably used to stretch the horses out in between competition.
We were witness to 11 goals in our short time there, but the prevailing mood was that with our game stopping parking job it was less than likely we would be welcomed to the white linens and flutes of champagne post-party, so we bid adieu and began our search for ocean access.
Tucked into a little turnoff we found our target, simple ocean access with no intrusions on anyone. At once we unloaded our kayak and made a break to storm the beach. It wasn?t Normandy mind you, but with two to carry the boat, and two more to haul the nectar of frozen Presidente - and oars - we were geared to liberate ourselves.
The conditions were perfect for ocean paddling and in no time we were skirting the coral reef walls and taking in the marvelous sights that are offered from ocean level.
The calm ocean offered conditions to net some dinner as these two were, and also to be able to drink a beer while paddling. What more could you ask for?
How about a gorgeous sunset? That will always do!
Cleef
------------------------------
Casa de Campo?s Polo Grounds and Ocean Kayaking
La Romana, Dominican Republic
3.24.04
Having been inundated with their horse hockey golf shirts, sweatshirts, hats and every other conceivable logo-ized item that can grab someone?s attention ? and deep pockets ? Polo was something I felt quite familiar with. Having spent enough time around Harvard (parking cars, not attending classes mind you) and their gaudy river ritual of the Charles Regatta every fall, I?d seen enough of the flipped up and starched collars to make me gag. It wasn?t enough that they?d load the Charles riversides with their white tents, champagne flutes, and white linens, they even went so far as to put up a large sign of the strapping horseman and his mallet, and went ahead and lit it.
I?d never wear the stuff mind you, but it was impossible to escape its reach growing up around a sampling of those that feel the need to wear their income on their sleeves. So on a recent trip to the Punta Cana and the east coast of the island, my friends and I (?The Gang That Couldn?t Shoot Straight?) stopped in at Casa de Campo to take advantage of a friends ?casa en de campo? splitting our trip to ?Far East? in half.
As we navigated the guardhouse flashing the necessary credentials for entry, and then various repaving projects ? one guy shoveling, 8 others leaning on the shovels in the middle of the road ? we jettisoned across a median lawn and back onto the entrance road. It was as if Boss Hogg and Roscoe P. Coltraine were there to stop our progress and the General Lee would not be halted.
It was clear our expedition leader was getting a little goofy with the wheel once we were inside the Campo, so we decided to stop and stretch the legs and take in the expansive land of the 7,000-acre mini-metropolis.
We pulled into a huge expanse of lawn rowed on one side with a long row of trees separating the Polo Club from the gaming grounds, when suddenly a full-fledge game broke out.
Inexplicably, our fearless expedition leader decided to jump back in and drive General Lee even closer to take in the action. In no time our presence was duly noted as we?d taken refuge behind the goal as the teams engaged in a penalty shot. Not much for smooth entrances, we plied on and took refuge with the rest of the fandom on the sidelines.
Having never taken in such an event, it was immediately compelling to watch these athletes - riding even more athletic and beautiful animals ? do what I?ve seen on the chest of shirts for so long. The high-speed congregations of horse, man, mallet and ball were likely the same now as in the Mughal dynasty in the 15th century. How much can something so medieval and simplistic really evolve into the slam-dunking, chest pounding end zone celebrating sports of today? Not much I?d guess by the looks of it. Simply put, it looks like hockey on horses and grass instead of skates and ice, although those with more knowledge would likely not concur.
Nonetheless, the trivial details of its origin were of no mind to us. But for clarity, the mallets and balls were originally made from bamboo cane. The bamboo cane would be cut and set to season for 6 months before being shaped and assembled by hand. The balls were also made from bamboo but the roots. They would cut the root in two and hand shape the balls with chisels and then left to season for 3 months. After, the finishing touches and perfect sphere were accomplished with sandpaper, before being painted with two coats of a chalk-based paint, dried and then a final application of synthetic white enamel (http://www.indiapolo.com). These balls were clearly a hard but light plastic, but we weren?t concerned, we were there to soak in the sights, feel the warm breeze off the ocean and keep Luke Duke from killing us all before the weekend had begun.
The few breaks in the action were an out of bounds ball, a penalty shot and perhaps an off-sides. Dressed in full gringo attire, sans the galloping horse and flipped up collars, our presence didn?t elicit any interested parties so we were left to decipher the game on our own. The action was simply fascinating to take in.
The high speeds and wailing action of the mallet were interesting enough; the rules of the game didn?t matter, a great experience indeed.
Set off to the back were some runs for the horses that are presumably used to stretch the horses out in between competition.
We were witness to 11 goals in our short time there, but the prevailing mood was that with our game stopping parking job it was less than likely we would be welcomed to the white linens and flutes of champagne post-party, so we bid adieu and began our search for ocean access.
Tucked into a little turnoff we found our target, simple ocean access with no intrusions on anyone. At once we unloaded our kayak and made a break to storm the beach. It wasn?t Normandy mind you, but with two to carry the boat, and two more to haul the nectar of frozen Presidente - and oars - we were geared to liberate ourselves.
The conditions were perfect for ocean paddling and in no time we were skirting the coral reef walls and taking in the marvelous sights that are offered from ocean level.
The calm ocean offered conditions to net some dinner as these two were, and also to be able to drink a beer while paddling. What more could you ask for?
How about a gorgeous sunset? That will always do!
Cleef
