Michele with one L attends flights from Miami to Dominica. Think Mrs. Doubtfire with a slightly better wig. Perhaps in a previous career she worked prison intake or maybe border control, or possibly she ran the high profile, repeat traffic violation wing of the DMV. Let’s just say that now that she is adorned with attendant wings, she is highly engaged in her job.
Smokin Hot Love Biscuit’s travel guitar rode comfortably in the front closet on the first leg of our trip from Raleigh to Miami, but not on Michele with one L’s flight. Nope, not on her watch. That’s not what that compartment is designed to carry so into the overhead bin with the guitar and any passengers that might be so brave as to smart off about her regulation interpretation. She also had us power off all devices, including hearing aids. (Not really, but I would keep my hair tucked around my ears if I were you.)
After studying Michele with one L for the three-hour flight, I decided to try to make chatty as we began our descent into Dominica.
“What a beautiful place to fly into.”
“It used to be better when the airline only went in from San Juan. With direct daily flights from Miami, this place is being overrun by tourists. They spoil everything.”
“Oh.”
I am dressed in On Cloud sneakers, white jeans, a pink tee with flamingos on the front, and a brown straw Wallaroo beach hat. I am carrying a Bagallini for heaven’s sake. If you google tourist, my face will pop up in Wikipedia. I smiled brightly at Michele with one L, hoping that she will catch the irony of her statement. She doesn’t.
We deboarded and Michele with one L headed back north to Miami, safe from the likes of people like SHLB and me, and our ten-year anny trip officially began.
Growing up on a farm, with an address of rural route two, I had a limited view of the world. I commuted to and from school on yellow bus number five, where Anna Ruth operated a lunch money scam like the miniature mob boss that she was. It was a long ride and I kept a low profile, using that time to dream about what else might be out there beyond the hinged bus window that often got stuck in the down position.
Most of what I imagined came from books that I checked out from Carthage Public Library, Marlon Perkins’ Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, and the once a year viewing of The Wizard of Oz. I knew that wilder beasts, flying monkeys, and other big things were waiting beyond the boundaries of Moore County, it just took me a while to discover them first hand.
My upbringing might shed light on why traveling is a surreal experience for me. I am pinch-myself-excited just to be wherever I get to go. SHLB is tolerant, but I did detect a slight eyeroll when I asked our Dominican driver, Randell, to please identify the animal to our right. It was a cow.
Opposite from Michele with one L, Randell was warm and welcoming. A native, he talked with ease about his beautiful country, about the hardship of recovering from Hurricane Maria, and then being hit by Covid. He was kind to answer our questions (there were also dogs and horses,) and stop for us to take photos of the breathtaking landscape. Randell explained that Dominica, the nature island, is a small place and that “all of the persons know all of the persons.”
“Just like where we live,” said SHLB. “In the US, we say errbody know errbody.” Randell laughed so hard. His eyes were liquid kindness.
There was a sign, “side of road failing ahead,” which translates into English as the shoulder and edge of pavement are crumbling hard and fast over a cliff into the angry sea. There’s no speed limit on the narrow roads of Dominica and the drivers use their horns in announcement. Beep, beep went the greeting that there is someone plunging directly at you from the other direction. This isn’t road rage, yet a constant game of friendly, vehicular chicken. It was both fascinating and scary as hell.
Randell told us about the transport business and how good his boss is to the people that work for the company. His seven-year-old daughter, Amelia is happy to be back in school for grade two. He was open, radiating pride – not is an arrogant way – but in a way of self-respect. It’s a quality I admire.
At our resort, we met Brianna, our host for the week. Right from the start, we were fast friends, advancing to going steady on our first date. She spoke in second hand. She lived five minutes from work. It would take us 60 minutes to do yoga and 90 minutes to get to Titou Gorge. She would be back to help us with our itinerary in 25 minutes. It was endearing. I wanted to put her in my suitcase and bring her home.
Jillett drove us to dinner on the night of our anniversary. Beep, beep with his mini van horn through the village streets of Portsmouth. When he learned we were celebrating, he relayed his personal desire to get married.
“I saw a girl walking down the road, and I thought, she is the one I want,” he said. “And then I go home, and I find her on the Facebook.” Her name is Curly. He has been taking his time, not rushing anything, doing it right. He made her a fruit basket and took flowers to her work. “When I was younger, I might have told the little lies, the white ones, to build myself,” Jillett said. “But then you have to drop your head if you see that person again. It’s not like that with Curly. I just have this feeling that she’s the one.”
I do too, Jillett. Keep doing the right thing, my friend.
One morning, I rose to watch the sunrise. It’s my thing – early mornings and coffee with SHLB. In the distance, I could make see the faint outline of a cruise ship. “Damn tourists,” I thought. “They spoil everything.” Within thirty-six hours, I have become protective and judgey about an island that I just met. That’s Emily with one L.
Aubrey, the Bostonian, whose father was from Dominica, left the states to start a sustainable farm. He teaches yoga as his side hustle. He sells produce to resorts and when he covers his costs, he gives the rest to the people in his neighborhood, dropping greens and vegetables on porches, gifting his bounty to those around him.
We got to know Ryan, who owns the transport company. Well read, articulate, and smart, he and SHLB discussed Putin and the Ukraine. He had insight on oil and foreign exchange. Ryan has traveled to neighboring islands by ferry but never been on a plane. “Someday,” he promises. He will come to North Carolina.
We hiked and swam in water that at fifty-five degrees, the locals call “refreshing.” I debated this detail but did it anyways.
We met Chef Charles who taught us about eating a balanced meal of fresh fruit and vegetables. Charles has been in Dominica for ten months. He is from Dubai. Come June he hopes to bring his wife and two children to live with him. Zoom and Facetime help with the loneliness.
Our last adventure was Extreme Dominica Can-yoning. They emphasize the last syllable, making it sound exotic, can-YOUN-ing. The sport involves rappelling in a gorge down waterfalls. There’s some rock climbing and swimming and, vertical dropping down forty feet of boulders. They said it was better to sign the waiver without reading the fine print. Truth.
Our guides were Junior and Jeffrey. They both lived in nearby villages. Jeffrey could have been Morgan Freeman’s twin. He had a booming voice and sang, “What a Wonderful World” to distract me from being afraid on our first rappel. How can fear win over Louis Armstrong lyrics?
Standing on ancient rocks in the middle of Titou Gorge, Jeffrey told us how he has arrived at a state of what he calls “resonance.” He is working on keeping good and evil at equidistance, understanding the balance of his universe. It was a philosophical conversation deep in the rain forest and it touched me. He’s going to leave his life as a waterfall guide as it’s time for him to move from the water back to farming – back to the earth.
Jeffrey was as agile and confident on ledges and rocks as I was clunky and clingy, yet are akin in our thinking, similar in our places in life’s stages. Jeffrey represented to me that at our inner core, we are far more alike than different.
This last part was so magical, it doesn’t even feel real. In a tiny changing room, at the hot springs bath house, I found a tiny pendant in the corner. Unaccompanied by any chain, it had started to oxidize from the environment. It sat quiet and waiting for me on the floorboards. I traveled to Dominica and God spoke to me with an old, rugged cross on Good Friday. Smiling through tears, I tucked it into the safety pouch of my Baggallini, grateful for what I know to be true no matter my longitude and latitude coordinates – be it Carthage or Dominica – we are human and God’s grace rights ALL. Two Ls.
Emily with one L, when I see a new post, I pull up a chair and prepare to be thoroughly entertained. No one can spin a tale that flickers with campfire quality quite like you. This could be a great story for The Moth!
I continue to have such pride in you. The writing is wonderful, but even better is the learning that you DO all the things mentioned. I know from whence you come. I continue to have such pride in you!
Love ya Em, with 1 heart. Green
As one of David’s players spoke one day, “I love it, I do dearly, dearly love it.” He was referring to the game of football which isn’t David’s favorite game. But everyone loved Andy like everyone loves Emily! Thanks again for the heartfelt words. I think this might be my favorite!