My First Trip to Hell

Because sometimes wanderlust begins in the strangest places

People often ask me: What’s your earliest travel memory? When did you first know you wanted to see the world?

For me, the answer is unusual: my first trip to Hell.

I must have been about five or six when we took a school trip to Grand Cayman. I was already familiar with the islands—my grandmother lived there for many years, working as a seamstress. But the memory that stayed with me wasn’t beaches or family gatherings. It was standing in a place called Hell.

I can still picture it: jagged black rock formations stretching out like something from another planet, with devil imagery scattered throughout. Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. I was fascinated.

As a child growing up in a religious context, Hell had always been described as a punishment, a story from the Bible. But here it was in real life. My six-year-old brain was stunned: Hell wasn’t just made up by theologians—it was a place you could visit.

Looking back, I realize why it struck me so deeply:

• Hell made abstract ideas feel tangible.

• It blurred the line between myth and geography.

And it planted an early seed of wanderlust: if this existed, what else might be out there?

These days, when I see pictures of Hell, I can’t help but find it a little underwhelming. Maybe because my child’s imagination made it larger, scarier, and more dramatic than it actually is. Or maybe because wonder looks different through grown-up eyes.

For those who haven’t been, Hell is simply a rock formation in the West Bay district of Grand Cayman. Still worth a trip—but perhaps more meaningful to adults than to children.

That visit to Hell, ironically, was what sparked my desire to travel. If there could be a real-life Hell on Earth, then surely there were countless other places just as surprising.

The journey that began in Hell has kept me wandering ever since.

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