After checking out, my mother and I tried to navigate our way to 
As the plane took off, I looked back at the island growing smaller as we climbed. This was an experience I needed to have. It was unfortunate that Aunt Myrtle had to pass away in order for me to finally recognize “home” in 
posted by Dre' @ 5/22/2006 11:48:00 PM
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We slept in on a glorious Sunday morning – our last day in paradise. I groggly welcomed family as most of my mother’s cousins stopped by the hotel to have some breakfast before we went off to Hellshire Beach, west of Kingston. Hellshire is about 14 miles away from 
clearly mark the road so we had no trouble finding our destination. That and we had a four car caravan. Hellshire is a Jamaican’s beach, not a tourist’s beach. People from 
escovitch fish - freshly caught fish fried and covered in a pepper sauce. My family chose this one shack in particular that looked vaguely familiar to me. It wasn’t the same shack that my father used to take me and my brother when we visited Hellshire with him, but a lot had changed in this place. Years ago, it wasn’t as 
crowded and overbearing. Today, you can’t go a foot without someone asking you about buying food, drinks, ganja/marijuana and/or other “services” offered. Comparisons aside, Hellshire was the most “authentic” part of 
water was warm, the food was intoxicating, the people albeit pushy were still hospitable and the familial atmosphere almost had me in tears. When we gathered for an impromptu family photo I realized that I needed this experience more than I ever knew. I needed to connect with this family. I needed to see where I came from. I needed to see 
Later on that night, we visited the house that my father was building for my family before he died. After his passing, we sold the plans, land and unfinished house seeing that his dream wasn’t exactly ours. Though seeing that house completed was a childhood
dream come true. It was stately and had one of the best views of 
remember visiting the building site years ago at dusk and staying until night fall. I saw every single light come on – from the adjacent hills of Portmore,the gleaming towers of New Kingston and the rotating control tower light of
posted by Dre' @ 5/21/2006 11:07:00 PM
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There are travelers (those who go to a place for the original experience) and non-travelers (those who go to places with someone else's idea of what they should see, do, taste, etc.) Why is it that most of the non-travelers I know are African-American? I'm out to change that and inspire African-Americans to experience their destination for all that it is, good and bad, or as I like to call it, "Backpacking while Black."
I'm the hero of the story He's written, but with a penchant for jumping into things before I think about it, but I like surprises. I'm married to the most beautiful woman in the world, who just happens to be Miss. Democratic Republic of Congo (in my eyes at least). We're Atlanta residents, but want to take His message all over the world. Like most people in the "Star of the South" I'm a transplant from the armpit...I mean Garden State, New Jersey, but I have a light Jersey accent. I'm a fierce Jamerican, but I take the best of both countries and make them my own. I...now we...also love to travel and know what...you don't need riches, time and a foreign language to do so. My wife would differ about the foreign language because she speaks four. But really, all you need is a sense of adventure, courage to do something different and a good supply of hand sanitizer. In all honesty...read the blogs! More of me...now us...will come out there.
