Visibility is restricted on airplanes.
I look outside the small porthole and see parts of our plane, but mostly see clouds, Mother Nature’s sunscreens. Sometimes the clouds are white as your grandfather’s hair while other times they are puffed up like a boxer’s bruised right eye. Clouds take fantastic shapes, and, at this moment, look suspiciously like the mushrooms growing in my back yard this last Spring.
The terra firma of the Dominican Republic fills my porthole as we fly over and begin our descent. Instructions for landing are given over a sound system in Spanish and English. We are thanked for our compliance, urged to take all our belongings with us, go through Customs, enjoy our trip and fly United again.
This island is large, with plenty of water, and grows cocoa, tobacco, sugarcane, coffee, rice, beans, bananas,potatoes,corn,cattle,pigs, chickens, eggs, and plenty of fish. I see Dominican Republic stickers on clusters of bananas sold in my local grocery. The island is the size of Georgia and is one of the largest of the Caribbean islands, behind Cuba and Jamaica.
Setting down with a bump, on a wet runway, this ninth Scotttreks trek, has begun.
I’m not going to beaches and all-inclusive resorts.
I’ll be stepping back into history into the Unesco certified Colonial Zone in Santo Domingo where Spain established a beachhead in the New World.
I’ll spend my time in one little neighborhood, one of the oldest neighborhoods in this country.
Landing, my notebook is almost empty, waiting to be filled.
Some of what fills Scotttreks is by my choice; but the rest is up to fate and the travel God’s.