I travel whenever I am afforded the opportunity. Good for the mind, good for the soul, travel can teach a great deal about life. It makes plain the common elements of man. It can reveal the colorful fancy of culture. Sometimes, as was the case with my year 2000 trip to Cozumel, it can expose the intricate and delicate fabric of the heart. All of its fear, all of its hope, all of its simple dreaming.
Looking back, the trip evokes so many differing images, snapshots filled alternately by peaceful remembrance of that tranquil island, and by the haunting revisiting of a near-death experience there. These memories are complex for me now, and I focus more on sorting and categorizing them, searching them for meaning, than I do simply recalling them.
My friend Justin was the mastermind behind the trip that was to become, we were quite sure, the “time of our lives.” Eight of us would depart for the Caribbean, our itentions being simple…to take over the island. With the proper respect and reverence due, of course, no matter where the road may take you. But there could be no mistake. With this eclectic and so very hungry for fun crew, we would get what we had coming. Deliverance. Release from the mundane, colorless, dreary repetition of daily life. We would take a stand, stake our claim, and for at least a brief moment, consume all of life’s offerings.
So on the second day of the new millienium, Justin, Jenny, Scratch, Tony, Jessica, Corey, Travis and I arrived in “The Land of the Swallows.” Instantly transported into a world that held no boundaries for us and required nothing of our time. Continue reading