The moment the airplane lurches into the air is normally the most exciting part of the trip for me. It's at that moment that the adventure truly begins. At that point the trip is grotesquely bloated with an anything-can-happen type of energy. Who knows where I'll go, who I'll meet, what I'll see and do. It's like the rush of a gambler at a craps table the moment the dice leave his hand. It's the excitement of not knowing what will happen next.
But as the plane takes off this time, the feeling of excitement isn't there. It's replaced with fear and dread. Unlike other trips, this time I'm not afraid of getting mugged, kidnapped of killed. This time I'm deathly afraid that I might just be bored. This trip isn't like the others. I'm not headed to a destination that I've researched for months or dreamed of for years. This is a trip of convenience, a trip I'm taking because I have two days off and it has been more than a month since the last time my passport was stamped. I'm on this plane because it was the first ticket out of town. When it comes to travel, I'm like a junkie. I'm on this flight because I need a fix.
I'm headed to Boca Chica, D.R. From what I gather, It's a sleepy beach town filled with all inclusive resorts and miles of sandy beaches. If there is a hell, I'm certain I just described it. I can't imagine a more tedious, a more nauseating scene than an all inclusive beach resort filled with fat westerners gorging themselves and baking in the sun. Please God, don't let this trip be boring. Please God, let me have my fix.
Day 1, 1:14am
(I found this written in barely legible, large handwriting in my notebook the next day.) 1,000 words and 100 pictures wouldn't begin to describe my night in the Dominican Republic. I only hope I can remember it in the morning.
To Be Continued.....