The Quiet Farewell to Paradise

Returning to Montreal was a shock to the senses. The city lay silent beneath a heavy blanket of snow—a stark contrast to the vibrant world we had just left behind in the Dominican Republic. Only days before, my eyes had been filled with endless greens of jungle and the shimmering blues of the sea. Already, I longed for that living landscape, where each morning awakened the senses and each evening dissolved gently into the horizon.

In those final days in paradise, time seemed to soften. We gathered with friends by the sea, sharing stories that lingered in the warm air, preserving moments we knew would sustain us through the winter months ahead. There was an unspoken promise between us—a quiet hope that we would return again next year, to the same shore, to the same circle of friendship, where laughter and presence mattered more than anything else.

One afternoon, we drove into the mountains to visit Peter and his father. Along the winding road toward Haciendas El Choco, I felt compelled to stop and capture the fleeting poetry of the landscape—the shifting light, the layered greens, and the quiet majesty that exists only in such untouched places.

Closer to home, while sitting with our neighbours beside the ocean, we noticed an extraordinary rock formation rising from the water, shaped unmistakably like a dragon. Its presence was both mythical and imposing. Climbing it became an act of courage, especially for Vicki, who, like me, feels the humbling power of the sea’s force. With Don’s steady support, she overcame her fear and ascended the dragon—a small but meaningful triumph, a reminder that courage often reveals itself in unexpected moments.

The Dragon of the sea at the beach in Perla Marina

Before Kevin returned to Montreal, we shared one last evening in Sosúa at a familiar local restaurant, a place we had come to know well during our stay. It was a lively, theatrical scene—an unmistakable rhythm of local life unfolding before us. We watched, amused and reflective, aware that we were witnessing something both foreign and deeply human: the quiet dance of connection, hope, and survival.

These final days were not an ending, but a gentle closing of a chapter—one filled with beauty, friendship, and the quiet certainty that paradise, once experienced, never truly leaves you.

Kevin & Sylvain Bailie's