Dispatch from Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic:

I’d like to impart a vital travel tip when visiting the Dominican Republic: while some sections are tourist-friendly, for the most part it’s a desperately poor Third World country with roaming flocks of ultra-violent bandits who would much rather cut out your tongue than sell you a puka-shell necklace. Inadvertently stray too far from your cozy Punta Cana resort after sucking down a couple-twelve Mai Tais, and you could easily find yourself bound and gagged in the trunk of an ‘82 Celica praying someone back home gives enough of a shit about you to fork over ransom money.

Yet aside from the prospect of kidnapping, dismemberment by machete and finding out your family are dicks, the DR is a fabulous place to visit.

First off, about half the players in our National Pastime hail from this diminutive Caribbean island. That alone is reason enough to make the journey. Get an autographed baseball from every athletic-looking kid you meet down here, and odds are there’ll be a future Hall of Famer somewhere in the mix. We’re talking cash-money on eBay, my friends. Which reminds me—go get ‘em, Pepe Ortega! I’m pulling for ya, kid.

Click here to read the rest of the column on Playboy.com