Nothing energizes me more than landing in a new place. The more foreign in custom, language, and race, the better. New things! I really can’t explain it, but I have no fear of new environments. The weirder, the more excited and creative I become.
I’ve been in some amazing places, the list is very long. But the first most amazing place that comes to mind is Haiti. It’s not the place to take the perfect date, by any means, but it is different and when I was there my skills were needed. I spent the most rewarding months in my life in Haiti after the earthquake in 2010. I met the most amazing people, saw the weirdest shit go down, and helped save some lives. Not bad for a working vacation.
Deep in the Yucatan: Under a clear, black sky punctured with sparkling diamonds, a river of them off to one side—the Milky Way, on a moonless night at the top of a lone Mayan pyramid rising above the Yucatan jungle. Lying on my back looking skyward, I felt like I was levitating in deep space.
Isla Alto Velo: A sweet little place, not much more than a coquina sand spit with a rise on one end, about 25 nautical miles off the SW coast of Hispaniola. The rocky coves are ice-blue and rich in shellfish. Just offshore, the waters are boiling with Marlin, King, Mack, Perch, Snapper, Bonita, Pompano, Blue, Blue Runners, Drum, Grouper, Mahi, Redfish and every kind of bait fish known to man. There is adequate rainfall, good grass, fertile soil and a cluster of Mango, Papaya and Guava trees near a cave on the north side of the steep 350 foot rise. A fisherman told me that there was fresh water about twenty feet below the surface near the center of the island. It’s only about 150 acres of land in the middle of warm ocean, with no other land on the horizon, even at the top of the rise. You could raise goats and chickens here. I saw no recent evidence of humans here and spent four days in this little piece of quiet paradise.
Last year, while wending my way through the shallows of the nearly deserted southern Bahama chain called the Raggedies, I met up with some swimming pigs. They swam over to the boat from a nearby island hunting for food. Evidently, they’ve learned that sailors are soft-hearted types and will throw them food if they knock on the hull with their hoofs. They even went after my line when I hooked a nice, sleek Cobia. Freaked me out. Charming little bastards, though. They had no fear of water or man.
Travel is my cure for the ennui one feels from being too long in the halter and trace.
