We decided to go on an adventure for the day. Ian, Glenn (our fast friend and the fashion professor for the week), and I piled into a little white rental, “Picanto.” I drove east with abandonment. I don’t know how many miles an hour in kilometers down the two-lane highway of endless green I was going, because I do not know the conversion, but with slow moving motor-bikes on the road’s side, it felt quite fast. The tourist town of Bávaro, with its bobbing boats anchored practically on the beach and its beckoning salesmen, has the best fried fish and tostones I will probably ever have. It took some effort and a conversation with a fisherman to find the place, away from the beach and up the stairs. It is always a good sign you are with the locals when you don’t need a menu and there are family photos on the wall. Glenn is a former local and alum of the design school turned New Yorker, so on the drive back we stopped at a private beach in Cap Cana he knew of and enjoyed a nice swim in the Caribbean Sea.