WPT Boot Camp - Day Two

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III

David's Journal

December 1st – Day 2.

Flight at 10.15am: Heathrow to Paris.

At 8.15 am, I experience my first surprise of the day when it transpires that my travelling companion, a life-long friend that I have prised away from his wife to serve as my relaxation consultant, has a higher class ticket than me. It is only for the connection to Paris but I now regret posting the thoughts that Eurolinx is a shadowy organisation with a sideline in international charlie trafficking. I have to be careful.

Flight at 1.50pm: Paris to Punta Cana.

We reunite at the airport and I pretend to have hurt pride. I can’t maintain it for long as my excitement has now turned up to 11. When we board we discover the plane is rather old and does not have TVs mounted on the back of the seats. That’s ok - it gives me a chance to read Anthony Holden’s ‘Bigger Deal’ and marvel at the amount of drunken French people onboard.

The book is a sequel to my favourite poker tome, predictably titled ‘Big Deal’. In the original Holden, biographer, opera critic and poker player, takes a year away from writing to try his hand at the international Hold ‘em circuit. It is insightful, well-written and was published in 1990. The sequel is a worthy attempt to recreate the brilliance of the original and, as so much has changed in the world of poker, it should be a useful companion piece.

Unfortunately Holden, a man whose writing I greatly admire, now comes across as a little jaded. He dislikes the increasing amount of razzamatazz (point taken) and, I think, feels like a man out of place. It is still far better than most poker writing and I gained a lot from it but it is cava to the original’s champagne.

5.45pm Land at Punta Cana

After schlepping along the side of the runway, we are obliged to adopt cheesy poses as two women, who remain beautiful despite being dressed in what appears to be fruit salad, stand next to us at a threshold into the airport. Apparently, it is a pre-customs custom and we will be able to purchase the image at the end of our trip.

We collect our bags and file out to the exit where I spot a cab-driver holding a WPT sign. Superb. We pull out of the airport. We have travelled for about five minutes when the driver receives a mobile phone call and stops the cab. He gets out and gestures we should do the same.

A combination of tiredness and stranger-danger leads me to conclude that we are about to be ambushed. Christ, I think, it ends here - on a dirt track in the Caribbean. This will be my last memory: the brightest moon I have ever seen.... the song of crickets.... and accompanied by a friend whose qualities include loyalty, generosity and flatulence.

‘I think we will be ok’ he says, utilising his secondary way of breaking a silence. The driver goes to the boot and pulls out some kind of iron bar. I try to concentrate on the star Orion as a way to navigate a way through my fear.

‘Look, look’ says the driver, brandishing the bar.

His cab has a flat tyre.

The ‘iron bar’ is a jack and he sets about changing the tyre. My friend releases a hearty laugh and I allow myself to relax to such an extent that I am only moderately concerned by the extremely hairy drive to the resort.

7.45 pm. Check into the Bavaro Princess Resort.

We are blown away by the luxurious lobby and resolve to try the piano bar as soon as we have unpacked. At the check-in desk the two friendly male workers greet us and pull out a large bottle of something labelled ‘Mama Juana’. Two shot glasses appear in front of us and bottle is uncorked. To our untrained eyes, it seems to hold a stash of marijuana leaves soaked in a syrupy liquid.

Again, I think of the drug references. I wonder if I have been set up to recreate Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo classic ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’, a seminal text that combines mind melting hallucinogenics and experiences at the felt. ‘Fear and Self-pity in the Piano Bar’ is my working title.

After some persistence, we manage to persuade the staff that we are not ready to experiment with drugs, at least not while our underpants are still in transit. We are allowed to leave. I later learned that Mama Juana is concocted from rum, red wine and honey. The ‘marijuana leaves’ are herbs and tree bark. Locals claim it has similar effects to Viagra.

8.30pm. Suite 3124

We are unpacked, enjoying the complimentary bottles of beer from the mini-bar and perusing the schedule for the boot-camp. It transpires that tomorrow is a free day so I will have to endure the soul-warming sunshine and the lagoon-like pools at the resort. Tricky, I think, as I clink bottles with my relaxation consultant and sip ice cold beer.