My Story: How I Caught The Travel Bug

Once the travel bug bites there is no known antidote, and I know that I shall be happily infected until the end of my life.

Michael Palin

Catching The Travel Bug

“How I caught the travel bug” is actually a very personal and very long story, that I’ve always wanted to share.

I often wonder if it’s worth the time and effort telling my story.

But, at this point in my life and with the birth of my son, I am even more motivated to continue sharing my stories in this online journal or so-called “Travel Blog”

I am sure in the future he would like to hear my story because it will have directly affected his.

Now, I don’t really know how I caught the “Travel Bug” or if that is even a thing or what you call it.  As far back as I can remember, I’ve loved to explore and have always been curious to learn new things.

I would often get in trouble for taking the long walk home from school, going through the woods, or taking the high road (literally a higher road parallel to the one I was directed to use).  

On so many occasions, I wandered off the path my mom instructed me to take home and I still don’t know why I couldn’t follow those simple instructions.

I wonder now if it is some genetic mutation in my DNA because my mom traveled with me while I was in her womb.

Okay, that may be a little extreme, but who really knows?

I’d like to share with you a little bit more about my past and how this passion for traveling has shaped me and continues to motivate me.

I believe it’s a passion that has enriched my life, in so many ways.  I hope that maybe this will cause you to reflect on your own passions and inspire you to prioritize them and not put them off.

As soon as I learned to ride a bike which was pretty late, it opened up a new world for me and every day was a new adventure.  

My passion for travel started early and it still continues to motivate me.  I think it should be a priority for everyone on this planet to leave their home country for an extended stay in a different culture at least once before the age of 30.

Childhood Travel Bug Experiences and Family Influence

I was born and raised in the United States of America, but because my parents are from the beautiful little island of Jamaica, I spent many summers and Easter vacations (Spring Breaks) in Jamaica.

My elders and cousins raised me with Jamaican culture at home and I assimilated to American culture in New Jersey for most of my early years and later South Florida beginning in the early ’80s.  

The drastic differences in the lifestyle that I knew in the U.S. compared to rural Jamaica, I think fostered a passion for traveling and learning about other ways of life.

I was naturally curious and loved exploring so much.

In those formative years, I attended a Catholic School in New Jersey.

It was my first week of 3rd grade when I shared my project on what “What I Did Last Summer” in front of the entire class.  

With a mildly tattered tourist map of Jamaica, I explained to my bewildered classmates about a faraway island called Jamaica.

Keep in mind this was sometime in the late 70’s.  In my class, I shared about my relatives whom I lived with for the summer like Aunt Ine and Mas Doogie (short for Dougal).  

Uncle Doogie had a large black and white school bus that was converted for public transportation and that’s how he would make a living during the day.

I spent most of the days that summer with my Aunt Ine, and I would play with the children ( pickney) next door.

One time one of the kids, called me a Junkanoo or John Crow, I can’t recall exactly.

Maybe it was both? Both terms are equally as insulting!

I told my Aunt Ine that they were calling me names and she just laughed out loud!

Imagine, I am in my 50’s now and I still remember her reaction. Aunt Ine had a loud contagious laugh that I will never forget.

Writing Early and Identifying with my Heritage

At this time in the 1970s as far as I can remember my Uncle Joe lived in Annotto Bay, my Uncle Desmond and Aunt Carmen lived in Kingston, and Uncle “Fuzzy” lived up in the mountains of St. Mary.

My uncles drove me to many places all over the island from Ocho Rios to Spanish Town.  

When I was with Uncle Joe I had to keep a journal and he would verbally test me on what new things I learned about the island.

I do not remember if it was Uncle Joe or my mother that encouraged me to write the journal.  I am guessing that maybe they recognized my interest in reading and writing, and were probably encouraging me to write about my experiences.  

I was only 7 years old on that particular trip, so I am not really sure.

Well, I wasn’t always so proud of my heritage or I just didn’t realize that I should be proud. 

My pre-teen years my family lived in a neighborhood mixed with Haitian, Jamaican and African-American families mostly.

The main prejudice I learned about here was between cultures where Jamaican and Haitian kids were called “refugees” and “boat people” by the African-American kids.

It was the early 80’s and the influx of people from the Caribbean was on the rise.

After nearly 2 years in that area we moved to a predominantly “White” South Florida suburb where I spent the rest of my teen years before leaving for college.

In this more affluent neighborhood I never mentioned to my friends that I was Jamaican.  Somehow the subject rarely ever came up, unless they would hear my parents speak then they would ask me where my parents came from because to them, they had funny accents.  

Funny, that I wasn’t even aware that my parents, spoke differently until my friends pointed it out. Sometimes I’d get a little defensive, insisting that they sounded just like everyone else.

During those years, I didn’t want any of my American friends to know my family was from another country. It was just another source for teasing.

Side Note:

For example, my father was a farmer at heart and he was always in the yard planting, grooming, and cultivating all sorts of plants from Callaloo to Scotch Bonnet peppers and many types of fruit trees.
One particular mango tree was planted in the front yard, in the same area my friends and I would play football. It was two-hand touch on the pavement and tackle in the grass. Now that baby Mango tree was sacred, and it almost got plowed down numerous times by a bunch of rambunctious teenagers.
When my father witnessed us playing near that fragile mango tree he shouted

“This is no playground!”

and we all scattered.

For the rest of high school and even a few times many years later when friends wanted to tease me, I would hear that very infamous phrase in a horrible Jamaican accent!

It wasn’t till my parents sent me to England to spend the summer with family, where I began to develop a deeper pride in and connection to my Jamaican roots. 

Yeah, it took a trip to the U.K., not Jamaica!

Maybe I caught the Travel Bug in London in 1986…

In the summer of 1986, my parents sent me to London, England to spend the summer with my Uncle “Busha, Aunt Kayla, and my cousins Karla and Robbie.  

It was that summer, when I think I developed a greater appreciation for traveling and the excitement of it.

I was only fifteen years old and, my older cousin, Robbie, escorted me all over London late into the night, almost every night. 

Robbie shared with me some of the late-night cultures of places in South London, and the one place that I remember most and that always stood out to me was a place called Brixton.

Brixton

Brixton is a well-known African-Caribbean community, where many Jamaicans live.

Through the 80s and 90s, it developed a reputation for drugs, gun crime, and gang activity.  However, in recent years, it has seen some gentrification or regeneration, which has caused higher rents, making housing less affordable and an influx of wealthier residents with no connection to the diverse and multicultural community. 

The last time I was there was in 2008 and Robbie once again, showed me a great time at a few of the late-night reggae clubs there.

Music/Cultural Influences from Traveling

I can’t write about my travel experiences this time, without mentioning the effect that music has made on the experience. 

I am not sure this is the same for other travel junkies, like me, but for some reason, many of my travels have been paired with a soundtrack or narrative that practically seals the memories in, so they’re never forgotten. 

For me, I can almost always relate my particularly favorite songs with a unique place or experience.

Notting Hill Carnival and the Sleng Teng Riddim 1986

I experienced my first Carnival in Notting Hill that summer in London from another relative’s home on the same street where the entire parade passed through.

My distant relatives in Notting Hill had a loud sound system set up in front of their flat on the sidewalk and they were blasting Soca and Reggae Rhythms all afternoon but the one that stood out the most was the “Sleng Teng Riddim” (rhythm).

They played that Sleng Teng “riddim” repeatedly while manipulating the volume control at the same time to give it an offbeat staccato effect.  

With that loop, they could “toast” over or what we would call “rap” in the United States.

Seriously.  Little did I know how influential this style was or how legendary it would become over the years.

Here is an example of how deejays would “toast” over reggae rhythms featuring one of the greats of that time…Brigadier Jerry.  

(Sleng Teng Riddim begins at 1:40)

The summer of 1986 that I spent in England with my family was an extremely influential moment that sealed my love for traveling.

My Uncle Busha escorted me around typically during the day with my little cousin Karla to all of the famous landmarks of London, such as the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Parliament, Trafalgar Square, and more while making sure I got some historical trivia.  

At night, my older cousin Robbie showed me all of the nightlife of London, well as much as he could considering I was only 15 years old at the time. He would have me wear dress shirts and sport coats that kind of helped, since I was already about 6’1″ at that time.

I have many, many fond memories of that trip, but one highlight came before I boarded my return flight to Miami, and it was when my Uncle Busha recognized the reggae band Steel Pulse that was boarding the same flight with me and asked them if they would keep an eye on me.

I had no idea at that time who they were, but it was a memorable trip going through security and customs with a band of long-dreadlocked Rastafarians in the eighties.  They later became one of my favorite bands throughout my teen years, college, and even now.

Here is my favorite song from Steel Pulse and whenever I hear this song it helps my mood and makes me feel so much better.  

Try listening to it.  You’ll see what I mean.

A Missions Trip to Mexico – Inspiration and Compassion – 1993

I attended and graduated from Oral Roberts University in 1994. If you don’t know it’s a small Christian school in Tulsa, OK. It is a long story how I ended up going there, so if you’re curious, check out my other website Diverse Divinity.

The school was an interdenominational and evangelical school where some of the required curriculum included topics related to Christian faith. Although it was a Liberal Arts & Sciences University, all students were encouraged to participate in Community Outreaches and even Missionary trips outside of the United States.

I chose a few community outreaches, including volunteering at a Children’s Medical Center, a Saturday recreation camp for Native American orphans and Musical events in the inner cities of Tulsa.

I eventually decided to take a Fall Break to participate in a Missions trip to Juarez, Mexico.

Our Missions team worked in and stayed in an orphanage in Juarez, which was a border town and actually more dangerous than I realized at the time.

We spent hours painting and renovating parts of the orphanage and also playing with the children that lived there.

We also ventured into the city and some town squares where we performed a play called the Toymaker’s Dream, hence why I have make-up in many of the pics above.

We visited a juvenile detention center and an extremely impoverished town in the desert outside of Juarez.

That trip affected me in such a deep way partly, because it wasn’t a vacation or getaway.

It was a time for giving and supporting.

It was also a time for reflection and connection.

There is just way too much to explain here, but honestly this trip taught me that there is a need for compassion and respect for the people that live in the places that I travel.

This trip inspired me and showed me that the travel bug doesn’t always bite, but it can be as kind and delicate as a ladybug.

Surfing, Skateboarding and other Board Sports

Surf Trips Over The Years

 

Skateboarding Anywhere I Could

Snowboarding U.S. and Canada

Living with the Travel Bug