Personal Narrative: My Trip To The Dominican Republic

I looked out the large windows at the rain soaked landscape, watching as I saw a world with major hills for the first time. The bus, which was sticky with heat, came to a stop in front of a hotel with the trademark Hispanic blue and yellows. My feet lifted themselves off of the large bus as I made way down. I followed close behind my parents up to the front desk, dragging my luggage behind me. They offered us drinks, a Caribbean hotel custom I would later find common. After doing the normal routines one does at a hotel, we made it to our rooms and it finally hit me. My first trip out of the United States of America was to Dominican Republic and I was excited. After getting settled me and my parents decided to head straight to the beach (I later found out that it was actually a bay). We walked through a collection of burnt British people, pasty white men, and speedo bound Europeans. Once passed the crowd we made it to the beach which was, surprisingly, almost empty. We walked to the shore together; we quickly

It was almost comical until I was told what it was. It was an area for cockfights which is more common in Dominica Republic. At 11 years old I was somewhat distraught that most countries did not have a ban on animal cruelty. Though my sadness was short lived as they brought us to an area where we can buy souvenirs. They were not the normal souvenirs you see at the store, these were made by the people in that town as a way to make extra money. My parents bought me a stone owl and lion statues and two small traditional carnival masks. The horned masks were made from cardboard, newspaper, glue, and was finished with splattered paint and a gloss. The short excursion was over and we made our way back to the hotel. We cruised along the road and passed by a man slaughtering a pig to sell. The screech the pig released rang within my eye and caused one of the young women to cry with