Gentrifying the surf? The Dominican Republic surf town with lessons for the world

Playtime on the beaches of the Dominican Republic’s north coast is an addiction like no other. I first felt this pull during my summer of rematriation to Cabarete, a town known for its optimal year-round conditions for water sports along three main beaches on the coast—Encuentro Beach for surfing, Kite Beach for kitesurfing, and Cabarete Beach for windsurfing and sailing.

My first surf class at Encuentro Beach was both thrilling and nurturing for my inner child. Even as a beginner, the ocean has an effect that many surfers (infinitely better than myself) have described as a spiritual experience.

In my case, it also provided a connection to my birthright.

But even before that first session was over, the social reality of these shores was brought to my attention by my instructor, a native to the north coast, when he mentioned that throughout his years of teaching, he rarely receives students like myself: A Dominican woman.

My rose-tinted lenses did not stay on for long. It’s true; I didn’t see anyone like me. This is no new sensation. I immigrated to the US as a child and I am well-acquainted with the alienating situations that leave immigrants feeling othered. But I didn’t expect to experience this in my birth country.

Fast forward a pandemic or so later, and the World Tourism Organization recognized the Dominican Republic for its speedy recovery in tourism (number one, in fact). Not only has tourism recovered, but it has surpassed pre-pandemic records. The Ministry of Tourism boasts that in the first five months of 2022 the DR welcomed more than six million passengers through its airports.

Under President Luis Abinader, the government administration has made huge efforts to encourage the tourism industry, making a recent projection of $3.5 billion US dollars in foreign investments for 2022.

The narrative being fed to Dominicans is that tourism is a catch-all solution to the economic development of the country. For affluent foreigners, it’s being pushed as the wise, versatile investment option—rivaling even the tax incentives of our neighbors in Puerto Rico.

Looking down the streets of Cabarete, the real-life implications of these tired narratives is abundant. Villas, hotels, and gated residential neighborhoods line the coast. But across the street, you’ll find large shanty-like neighborhoods like Callejon de la Loma and La Cienega; neighborhoods of patched-up housing that falls under poverty levels; lacking sidewalks, consistent water and power, and devoid of urban planning.

I’ve lived through gentrification in my childhood neighborhood of Bushwick in Brooklyn, New York, and I recognized the early signs of the displacement it causes upon arrival to Cabarete. You see it in the abundant yoga studios (and the spiritual bypassing that comes with it), expensive waffle houses and smoothie cafés—all of which would fit right in if dropped into a corner block of Williamsburg.

A couple of months ago, while searching for a rental home in Cabarete, a door was shut in my face after being told by a property owner in Callejon de la Loma that they only rent to visitors—and only rent short-term.

Paola Fix, born and raised in Cabarete, is an up-and-coming surfer and kitesurfer, has also noticed the drastic changes in development and the housing problems it has created for natives.

“I got my first taste of the negative side of gentrification when I was looking for an affordable home in a Facebook group,” Fix says. “I was ridiculed for my budget. I was offended by the foreigner because they didn’t take into consideration the average pay of a local here and what they can afford, making me feel like I am not able to afford a place to live in my own hometown, therefore, feeling nothing but pushed out.”

From the luxurious promises of the W Cabarete—a project in Cabarete Beach submerged in legal battles with activists fighting to uphold the local building regulations—to the similar battle against the privatization of Playa Encuentro and the booming real estate industry with little to no restrictions for foreign buyers, tourism in Cabarete has grown at the expense of natives.

More often than not, Cabarete feels like a distortion, a town in limbo with self-esteem issues as it tries to grasp onto the coveted visitor while brushing aside Dominican heritage.

And all the while, the minimum monthly salary in the tourism sector is a mere RD$9,500 Pesos (USD$170). In contrast, according to Banco Central, the most basic market basket in the country costs USD$436.20. Paradise and exclusivity for visitors; displacement and poverty for natives.

But what does any of this mean for the average traveler? Maybe you’re an aspiring water person, an athlete or someone wanting to get away from your day-to-day routine. And perhaps you’re not even interested in a luxury vacation. Regardless, even if you’re not headed to Cabarete but towards another developing area with wonderful shores, you’d do well to keep these dynamics in mind.

Many people believe that you’re helping the local economy just by visiting and spending your hard-earned money. That’s true if your money goes directly into the hands of natives. And with the push for foreign investments, that’s become increasingly harder.

If you originate from an English-speaking country, you will be catered to and coddled like no one else. From restaurants with English-speaking staff to road signs, names of beaches and establishments all in English, Cabarete often feels like a distortion, a town in limbo with self-esteem issues as it tries to grasp onto the coveted visitor while brushing aside Dominican heritage.

Spanish is the official language of the Dominican Republic, but some restaurants in Cabarete don’t even have a Spanish menu. You may be thinking to yourself: What’s the problem? While it may be convenient for visitors, this omission is a symptom of a larger disease that will seep into the development of the north coast until many aspects of daily life are watered down, lacking the substance and flavor that many tourists look for in the first place.

Let’s examine Kite Beach. To begin with, its name is in English—and the Spanish translation isn’t commonly used or interchangeable like Encuentro Beach and Cabarete Beach. Even worse, at the hands of foreign business owners, there’s no public beach access here. This is a direct violation of the constitution of the Dominican Republic which guarantees that 60 meters of all Dominican shores are public dominion. And of the businesses that line the waterfront of Kite Beach that are verifiable on a Google Maps search, only three are owned and run by native Dominicans: Cabarete Kite Point, Optimal KiteSurfing School and Mesa Taina.

Jose Armando Mieses, a surf guide for Carambola Surf House and former kitesurfing instructor, has witnessed the development of Kite Beach and the pay disparity that results from a power imbalance with foreign surf schools and businesses.

“I was an instructor for 15 years at Kite Beach and helped achieve the regularization of the payment of the instructors at Kitexcite at the Kite Beach Hotel,” he says. “Before, they used to pay $10 dollars to a Dominican instructor for a kite session. To a foreigner, they’d first bring them here from their country of origin, pay for their stay here and pay $25 dollars per hour. I led a big fight to change that… they offered to pay only me and I told them it was not a personal issue but a problem for all of us.”

Mieses is part of the team of activists including filmmaker Ivan Herrerra and journalist Ricardo Ripoll who advocated for the recent naming of Cabarete as Surf and Wind City, an effort that they hope will guide Cabarete towards a more professional international spot for watersports. They have also led the efforts of a movement called #EncuentroLibre to prevent the privatization of Encuentro Beach.

At Kite Beach, Mieses acknowledges that a fight to liberate and create public access is complex and best handled through a legal route. While a few young people, such as Adeuri Corniel from the Optimal Kitesurfing School, have achieved success with Kite Beach as their playground, the potential athletes and instructors who follow in their footsteps are in an environment where speaking out against inequality can drastically limit their access and resources.

“They give them candy, they eat it, but they keep the whole piñata,” says Mieses, describing the relationship between natives and foreign business owners. “They won’t rebel against this because this is the source of their daily bread. The moment they rebel, without [a] union, they will lose access, they will not be able to enter.”

What can you do as a visitor to Kite Beach? Your economic power gives you a unique voice. Simply and radically put, only support native-owned businesses. Yes, it will limit your options, but it ensures your own money is not used for the exploitation of our natural resources.

Quite possibly the biggest gap in watersports is the lack of women and girls, both in the water, in the schools and in competitions. It’s what bothers me the most whenever I venture out on the water. Why aren’t there more native women practising watersports in Cabarete?

It’s important as newcomers that we get into the habit of questioning the negative stories that are shared about the natives of a place. Unfortunately, you may find yourself on the receiving end of narratives that the DR is dangerous outside resorts and gated communities, and it’s important to ask who benefits from spreading this misinformation.

Although Cabarete is a renowned watersports capital, its beaches lack lifeguards. One plan is to engage the younger generation: InspireDR and The Mariposa DR Foundation are two non-profit organizations that provide free afterschool programming, summer camps and aquatic education—InspireDR focuses on boys and young men, while the Mariposa Foundation focuses on girls and young women.

It’s something Carlos Jambrina, a head instructor at Aquatics Training Cabarete (ATC) run by InspireDR, is all too aware of. Through a partnership with Happy Dolphins, a Dominican-led foundation that focuses on providing lifesaving certifications, all InspireDR instructors are certified lifeguards and lifesaving instructors.

“The idea is to offer our boys more options for development, from basic knowledge of how to observe the ocean and identifying risks, to job opportunities,” says Jambrina. “Our boys have different interests in the world of watersports and the community has been very receptive to our programming.”

Quite possibly the biggest gap in watersports is the lack of women and girls—in the water, in the schools and in competitions. It’s what bothers me the most whenever I venture out on the water. Why aren’t there more native women practicing watersports in Cabarete?

“This is a question that’s always frustrated me,” Paola Fix says. “It upsets me that there aren’t more native Dominican girls in the water with me. I was chosen to participate in an Olympic qualifying event by the current surfing federation, which is huge, with no training, no sponsors, no real support but purely because I was one of the only other Dominican native girls that surf at a decent—not even professional or semi—level.”

“Surprisingly most native women don’t even know how to swim,” she continues. “But even for the ones who do, the sport is kind of expensive. Full kite equipment can cost you USD$1,000-2,000, then you need to learn how to swim and pay [for] the lessons! And you’re earning $250 a month—impossible!”

The Mariposa DR Foundation is driven by the knowledge that the areas of Cabarete with heavy segregation lead to underserved women and girls and their programs work towards breaking cycles of poverty through access to education. The Foundation notes that out of more than 200 girls who have joined Mariposa, only one percent knew how to swim. There were quite a few that had never even seen the ocean, even though they grew up across the street in the neighborhood of La Cienega. Again, the closest beach for watersports, Kite Beach, does not have public entry.

Pamela Cuadros, the Artistic Director and Surfing Program Director at Mariposa, has noticed a drastic change in girls who are empowered through their aquatic program. “Surfing and any other sport is a boost of self-esteem and self-improvement,” Cuadros says. “Every day, they try harder to improve themselves, they care more about their own diet and mental health. At the same time, they appreciate our Mother Earth more, in gratitude for the playground it offers them. At Mariposa, we use the phrase ‘the ocean is our classroom.’”

As a visitor, you don’t need to reinvent the wheel. Find the organizations and advocates doing right by the community and lend your support. You can volunteer, spread the word, sponsor an athlete, or donate to help fund this important work.

Without these community organizations and activists, the natives of Cabarete and the youth of tomorrow would not have fair access to what is a birthright and to what they are being strategically excluded and erased from by systems of power. It’s a welcome sight whenever I’m in Encuentro to notice the group of Mariposa and InspireDR students running and stretching before a surf session.

In short, you can fuel inequality or support liberation for all. There’s a lot we can do. Carlos Jambrina’s biggest tip in Cabarete is to be mindful of the lack of warning and information signs at our shores. “There is very little signage here, so it’s not as safe as other places in the world with more regulations,” Jambrina says. “Here, one arrives at the beach and does not know which are the designated areas for water sports. You don’t know where there are rip currents and you don’t know where there are stalls of rescues. There are no lifeguards either.”

Do not abuse the lack of ‘localism’ present on the beaches of the north coast. You may be surprised to find that our beaches don’t have a culture that worships ‘local’ surfers—it’s a highlight for many visitors. Unlike, for example, in Hawaii—where surfing and watersports are an ancestral Indigenous practice—watersports have developed on the north coast through the presence of tourism. We don’t know for sure if our Taino ancestors surfed because colonization interrupted and distorted our practices.

It is unlikely that you will be faced with a situation where classic territorial and intimidation tactics are used to discourage newcomers. That’s why it’s up to travelers to respect their fellow surfers, get to know the waves, and follow proper etiquette.

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