I was sitting by our pool in Connecticut and reading Frommer's Budget Travel Magazine when I spotted an ad for an all-inclusive resort in Punta Cana, Domincan Republic. It was mid summer of 2000 and I was scoping out somewhere for our usual October vacation. We had already been to Haiti and knew that the island was beautiful, and the resort (The Melia Caribe-Tropical) was running a great special to entice American travel as most of their fall vacationers were European with few American visitors. So, I called Liberty Travel and booked the trip for that October
That weekend I ran down to the office and picked up our tickets and travel itinerary. In our family, due to the fact that there are so many of us traveling in different directions at the same time (my husband's uncle owns an operates an incentive travel business that takes him and other family members all across the globe) that we just e-mail our itineraries to each other so everyone knows where everyone is. As I as scanning the itinerary into the computer I noticed a small but slightly disturbing fact about the third leg of the trip. As usual, we would be flying from Bradley International Airport in Connecticut. The first leg would take us to Miami, and from there to San Juan, Puerto Rico. So far so good... regular American Airlines jets. Third leg from San Juan to Punta Cana was also American Airlines but followed by the word "express". Probably no big deal but decided to run it by my husband Michael. He told me I had booked us on a turbo plane for that leg of the trip. I thought he was just messing with me as he knew I was deathly afraid of flying on any small aircraft. Really funny, but I wasn't going to fall for that this time. A long time ago, my sister had flown from Bradley to Wilkes-Barre, PA for a wedding on a turbo prop and refused to fly home. My dad had to go get her so I thought, not funny but it won't happen to me.
Guess what. We we sitting in the Airport in San Juan and our flight was called. We had all our luggage as we had to go through customs and immigration. A bus pulled up and we all got on. They drove us across the tarmac and lo and behold, stopped right before a small plane that could not possible hold more that 40 people. As we got on, my knees were knocking, I was breaking into sweats, both hot and cold and gave my husband "the look." I guess he had been telling me the truth all along. So, no alcohol available, just had to climb on board and make the best of it. As the plane took off, the noise inside was incredible. I just hoped that if we had to jump overboard that the water would at least be warm. We were flying at a pretty low altitude and able to see people on their boats and on the beaches. As we approached the airport, I had become transfixed with the colors of the Caribbean and had almost forgotten that I was at the brink of my virtual death. Suddenly, out of the blue I saw the most beautiful sight. The airport. Yes, the airport. At first I didn't think it was the airport as all we could see was the thatched roof. We landed and walked towards the building with a thatched roof and no exterior walls. It was as beautiful inside as out, with local art and people who were so friendly and happ to help.
Moral of this diatribe? Just get on the plane and don't miss whats waiting for you on the other side. Experience life.
No comments:
Post a Comment