Clarity

Trip-report Jamaica Day 2*
Day 2 – 4/13/2011*
written 4/25/2011*

That first morning Daisy woke me way before I was ready leave the world of dreams. My head was hurting from too many “make-my-day” cocktails, She shook me awake pointing out the window.*

Daisy: “Do you hear that! Listen...*

Screams like those from a vicious cat came in through the window with the cool morning breeze.*

Me:”Yeah, what about it ? ..that's just a peacock, babe. The thing from the NBC-logo, the big bird with the big...,with the tail feather, the thing...””*

Daisy (indignant): ”Yes I know what a peacock is, thank you . I'm going to the beach, (expectantly) wanna come?”*

My eyes rolled around in their burning sockets. Lifting my head I felt sharp pain.*

Me:”Uh..I'll have a glass of water...”*

She brought me a filled glass from the bathroom. Her camera cradled in her hand she observed each gulp patiently until I finish.*

Daisy: “So? Are you coming?”*

Markus: “Well if you, ...if I am needed. The street, ... the crossing,.. can you cross?...”*

My eyes fell shut between each attempt of forming a sentence.*

Daisy:”Yeah I think I can manage to cross the street with two guards standing by. Get some rest, I'll be right back.”*

I mumbled a few more muffled apologies and fell back to sleep before she reached the door.*

The next time I wake up, I feel like a thousand bucks. The clock beside the bed flashes 11:30 and I find Daisy deep asleep on my arm. My back is in pain, from having laid down too long, but I am used to ignoring that. The feeling of having slept my full is pumping endorphins through my brain.*

Golden light is filling the room through the Palm frond shaded windows.*

I stretch and yawn a lions “Good Morning”, waking her up with a loud deep-throated “Uuuuhuuuuwooooaaaaaaahhhhhuh!”. She looks at me face hidden below the blanket with only her eyes peering out. I can tell she is smiling.*

I made some Blue Mountain Coffee, brushed my teeth and got into my bathing suit. I quickly ran across the street and grabbed a pack of smokes at the gift shop, where I meet Kenneil for the first time behind the counter. I can see his urge to communicate, but I stubbornly refuse unnecessary conversation before my first coffee. Back in our room I woke her once again by waving a big mug off fresh brewed coffee under her nose.*





We had a few cigarettes on the veranda. The weather was absolutely fantastic,Antillean Palm Swifts swooped through the air, easily identified by their bat-like appearance. Every once in a while a peacock paraded down the paved garden path, looking more like a pompous Hotel guest than a pet.*

Daisy: ”I could sit here for ever with you and identify birds and chat like this.”*

I feel like the luckiest man on the planet, when she says stuff like that.*



We grabbed some towels at the front desk and walked down the path to the beach with giddy excitement. Through the Seagrape (Coccoloba Ubifera) and almond trees the water beckons with its fabulous turquoise color and sunlight reflecting like myriads of brilliant diamonds dancing on it's surface.*

As we passed by the porch of the bar we heard our names coming from the Speaker system. “I now would like to extend a special welcome to my new friends Mr. and Mrs ****.” I turned around and saw Kenneill with a microphone. He had remembered my name from the credit card I handed him earlier. I waved amused and appreciative, but not pausing to delay contact with the water for one second. Daisy was already ten feet ahead.*

We threw our towels and Ziploc bags with lotion and such on a beach chair and bounced into the clear sparkling water. A school of juvenile permit fish immediately surrounded us, observing our every move with fearless curiosity. No snorkel necessary.*



(Video stillshot of Daisy's first steps into the ocean)*

We splashed around until hunger drew us to the buffet.*

Everything was still covered with shrink wrap. Daisy wasn't sure what to do. She stood there and looked longingly at the treasure seemingly out of reach behind a micrometer of plastic. Finally a merciful cook figured out what troubled her and while muttering a thousand unnecessary apologies freed the food from it's protective seal.*

We loaded our plates with reckless abandon and were led to a table by the staff. Davia was our waitress. We found out later that she is part of an intern program and works tirelessly for long hours without any pay. You can tell she is quiet, nervous, and extraordinarily shy, but there is a definite sweetness behind her shy demeanor. She asked us a list of questions that sounded very rehearsed but again, there was such sincerity in her action, that you can't help but like her.

The fact that she and many others work so very hard and without any compensation should be remembered by everyone that visits an AI. I found a disappointing air of entitlement and reluctance to give tips among AI-guests. If my research is correct, a typical employee at a resort makes no more than 50 USD (gross) per week. Therefore just a small amount, relatively insignificant to the Hotel-guest (say 50 Jah per meal or cocktail provided), can make a big difference. I understand that at Negril.com I am not talking to the right audience for this message. You all are the sweetest people. But if I can change just one person's perspective, it was worth writing this.**One-Love!*

Our stomachs filled we sauntered over to the bar, grabbed a lazy Red Stripe and sat down in yet another reed chair. On the patio Keneill had recruited a few samples of reluctant hotel guests of all ages. Music was playing from a laptop. Microphone in hand Kenneil was directing the tiny crowed in awkward contortions that resembled budding dance moves. We especially observed a British couple, probably in their fifties, with special interest. They were performing with such enthusiasm that without other clues I would have guessed them to be exactly 16.*

I held back until the song playing was over. When a new song came up I couldn't help but join the ridiculous spectacle, my wife shaking her head in amusement.*

Kenneil: “O.K. For this song I want you all to swing your hip to the right and say: '1 Cent', left '5 Cents', backwards: '10 Cents', forward: 'Dollar!'”*



The crowed was bumping and bobbing in all directions. Hand movements where added and the whole thing climaxed in big mass of people, ...well.... “doing” the air ...doggie style ...hard... until we finally all collapsed into a laughing heap.*

Kenneil enjoying the result of his exercise to no end, honed in on two pretty Long Islanders and their Mom and worked his charm. The British couple joined in and I called Daisy over, since she had been wanting to talk to others, but was to shy to make an approach.*





We all gathered in a jolly circle and conversed. However, the Long Island Mom had to bring God and Politics into the mix. I made it worse by taking the bait. Before I knew it I was choking on everything I wanted to say, but dared not. That's when Daisy really shines. With just a measured touch on my bucking shoulder and the perfect off-subject question put to the circle, she can disarm a whole army. She does it with such elegance, most people – including myself - don't even notice, they've just been schooled by a peace warrior*

We find that the British folk, who have already befriended another wonderful British couple, are just our cup of tea, pardon the pun. We decided secretly that we will definitely hang out with them tonight, whether they like it or not.*

They encourage us to take a walk on the beach, not so much by saying it was cake-walk to navigate past the many vendors, but more by their own unconcerned jovial disposition.*

So we check our expedition supplies, secure the proper equipment and march over to Ralston, our security guard, as we had been instructed to do. Like good little children we told our protector where we are headed. He nodded, with a smile that didn't hide all of his bemusement at our sincere adoration of him.*

Holding both of Daisy's hands to get her full attention Ralston advised: ”So it's very easy: you don't have to buy anything you don't want. Don't promise to come back later, when you don't feel like doing that, they will remember you, and most importantly, don't let anyone put anything in your hand, if you don't plan to buy it.” We nod severely, like a freshmen Hogwarts students after an instruction from Dumbledore.*

And off we go...*

Not an INCH past the fence to neighboring Alfred's we are approach by an enthusiastic:”Ya-man!”*

Daisy and me in chorus:”Ya-man!” (We really liked hearing ourselves say that)*

Vendor to Daisy: “What's your name?”.*

Daisy:”Daisy.”*

Vendor: “Nooo way, that's mi aunties name. And what's your name?”*

Me: ”Markus”*

Vendor:”That's mi name! Ya! Really-man: Marcus! You can ask anyone,!” He pointed indistinctly at witnesses hidden everywhere in the beach shrubbery.*

Vendor: “Here, look at these beautiful shells. Beautiful!” he handed one to Daisy. “Ah and this one, beautiful, huh?” Hands her another one.*

Daisy: “Oh, no, no!” she tried to hand them back in desperate protest, but he had already turned his back to her and pushed another half broken shell into my hand. I inspect it, feigning courteous interest.*

Daisy: ”They are really very beautiful, but we really don't want to buy them.”*

Vendor: “ No, no, it's a gift. Just keep them!”*

Daisy;”No, no I couldn't possibly!”*

Vendor: “No problem. No problem”*

He turned to me.” But listen man, for me, another Marcus,...” He turned back to her, “ ..and in honor of mi Auntie,Daisy- can you please buy me a beer, just one beer?”*

He held his index finger up close to my nose to emphasize the singularity of his request.*

We look at each other.*

Me: “Ok, how much do you need for a beer?”*

Vendor: “500 JA”*

Me: “500!!!!? Are you serious!”*

Vendor:”350”.*

Daisy pulled out a few hundred Ja, and handed it to him. “There you are”.*

He thanks her, hugs her tightly: ”One love, man. One love!”*

We both look back in shame towards the Grand Pineapple, hoping Ralston hadn't observed us. But of course he is standing just a few feet away, making sure, nothing too bad is happening. We waved guiltily at him, he waved back and shook his head with an amused smile.*

We continue our walk down the Negril shore with our new shells in hand..*

Looking down the beach I could already see another vendor approaching...*

I hope he's selling cigarettes..

Day 2 – Part 2*
April 13th 2011*

Back to Negril:




So when we left off, we were holding onto our our unwittingly received sea-shells and looking down the 7-Mile stretch of beach in Negril.,,*

It was a beautiful day, with a pleasant breeze. We had two needs. One was to find a guy with a clear bag full of cigarettes, who Ralston had promised would only charge about 600 JA per pack. The other one was overcome the psychological walls holding us back from escaping the protective hotel zone between Ralston on one side, and the road crossing guards on the other.*

We had stepped beyond Alfred's fence and received less than stellar marks for our effort so far.*

The point to be proven was, that it could be done without either spending money you didn't want to spend and without offending any one during the process. We had just enough money left to purchase one pack of cigarettes and the estimated cost of 500 JA left in our pockets.*

As I saw the next vendor approaching, with sad eyes and a rather shy “Ya-man!”, I knew we were in trouble. No way this guy wasn't going to melt our hearts. So I turned to drastic measures.*

Me: “We didn't bring any money, ok Honey? Just say we don't have money”*

Daisy: “ But, but, ….”*

Me: “ Just go along! We gotta get this down.”*

The tall figure approached. He held a ziplock bag with white cubes up in the air.*

Vendor: “I got some pineapple for you! Sugar Cain!”*

Me: “Sorry man, we didn't bring any money for this walk, we were just enjoying the beach.”*

Vendor: “Oh!”*

He made the saddest face I have ever seen, but he did not protest. Why did it have to be him? I WANT to give him money. I want to give him all my money!*

Oh and look: NOW There is the cigarette guy approaching! Figures. He waved at us.*

I waved back to the cigarette vendor incapable of coming up with a solution to this tangle. The lengthy guy with the pineapple-chunks said a few more words to Daisy in a low, defeated voice. Then dropped his shoulders and moved up a few feet on the beach from where he watched us.*

The cigarette guy approached as if he had been waiting his turn at attempting his transaction. Behind him it looked a bit like there was a line forming.*

The merchandise in the bag looked so very good to me after the hefty sum I had paid at the gift shop earlier. But this was impossible now. I could not pull out 500 JA after what I had just said to the disappointed fellow that was still standing behind us. What now?*

Daisy: “ Ahh, I am sorry, we don't have any money on us!”*

Me: “But we do need some smokes....”*

Vendor: “Where are you staying?”*

Uhoh... there is that “don't-answer-that” question again! Oh well, I want this guy to find me plus I'm wearing a bracelet with the name of our hotel. It's pointless to lie about it.*

Me: “At the Grand Pineapple!”*

Vendor: ”Ok I'll walk with you!”*

I looked down the 5 more miles of beach ahead of us. We were never going to make it down there at this rate!*

Me: “No really, we have to, I mean... we don't have to... but you know, ...we WANT get down the beach, ...like a little further, ...actually, like a lot further.”*

Vendor: ”But the pineapple is just down there”, he pointed behind us*

Me: “No seriously, maybe later this evening, how long are you open?, ...I mean uuuuuh...here?”*

Strange concept, needing to buy stuff , but there is no store, no location, no opening times posted. Just that specific dude on the beach. “ Can we find you around 6 pm?”*

Vendor: “Noo, I got to go, I don't come here in the evening. Here, what do you smoke?”*

Me: “Camels, I guess.”*

He pushed a pack of camels into my hand. “ Here You take it now. You pay me tomorrow.”*

Daisy: “No we couldn't. No really, this isn't right!”*

Vendor: “ What is your name?”*

Daisy: “ That's my husband Markus and I am Daisy!”*

Vendor: “Very Good Names. You can just take this pack of cigarettes. You find me another day. No problem.”*

Me: “What's your name?”*

Vendor: ”Cheap Charlie”*

Me: “Ahh, Chief Charly!, Cool”*

Vendor: “No Cheap! Cheap Charlie!” He pointed down to his shirt. In big black text it read: “cigarettes! Cigarettes! CHEAP CHEAP CHEAP!”*

Me: “ Ok, Cool! Nice meeting you Chief Charlie! I'm glad your cheap!”*

This is going well I thought. The vendors close by had been watching and turned around, apparently not interested in any credit transaction. I packed our pack of smokes and happily trotted onwards down the beach Daisy in tow.*

I started looking for shells on the beach. I bent down at every little smooth surface standing out from the sand. This caused Daisy to walk ahead and out of ear shot, while still talking. She didn't like that very much. So she instructed me to yell: “BENDING DOWN FOR A SHELL!” Every time I slowed down. We must have made a very funny parade.*

(here is a short silent video clip of the two of us on the beach)*



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amRj6iapYxg*



Finally we reached the grouping of vendors stations, midway down the beach. Daisy had read about some of these vendors in detail on Negril.com and was very intrigued.*

We browsed a little around the vendor craft stands. We took down some names and pre-negotiated some prices for later purchases. This is an activity I can truly recommend. If you want to look for something you really do want to buy, this is the way to go. I think it's easier on the vendors as well as on yourself. Daisy had been eager to ditch the ziplock bag she had been using to carry around her toiletries in and wanted to pick up a nice Bob Marley bag. Without the pressure of an immediate sale, we easily negotiated a rate perfectly acceptable to us and the vendor. We agreed to come back later with some money to pick it up.*

we are Greenhorns and need the crutches.*

We marched a little further to see Coco La Palm where we would move to in only a few days. We made sure “For Real”-Bar really existed and turned around. An abundance of shells in hand.*

We headed back down the beach to the Grand Pineapple..*

(Part 2 - Daisy's perspective - with more pictures coming up...)



To be continued

Ralston was there to greet us when we returned from our first walk down the beach. He was sitting with our new British friends. We'll just call them “Hilary and Earl Grey”.

“How did it go?”, Ralston asked looking at the shells we were holding in amusement “Nice shells”




(That's Ralston!)

I laughed. “It went... well. We're getting it down. We'll be Negril pros in no time” I thought about all the people we had encountered during our walk and had to smile. Negril is definitely not boring, not by any means.

My only concern was finding cheap charlie again tomorrow. It's a seven mile stretch of beach! How are we going to find him again?

“Glad to hear it” Ralston said “Well, you're in for a treat tonight. It's BBQ beach party night. There is going to be a live show a lot of good food. They're starting to prepare now”

I saw that they were setting up tables in the sand and draping white tablecloths over them.

I noticed something else that caught my eye to the left of me.

There was a man making crafts out of wood with an exact o blade. I saw a beautiful butterfly for sale on a tree stump. I was drawn to it and I had to walk over to get a closer look.



“Uh oh..”, Markus laughed with Ralston. “there she goes again...”

I reached out and ran my finger lightly over the beautiful carving. I felt an instant attraction to it. I love butterflies. Not many people know this but I have a secret tattoo of an eastern tiger swallowtail below my bellybutton. For me, Butterflies always have represented transformation and freedom. The fact that he created this out of a piece of wood on the Negril beach gave it a new level of meaning...

I asked the vendor how much it was, He said “35 US dollars”.

Out of our budget range, so I smiled sadly and said “It's beautiful...”

Markus pulled me away. “Alright, Come on. Lets head back to the room and get the money for that bag you wanted. FOCUS”

We went back to our hotel room on the Garden side. I looked at the pool in the distance. That long trek down the beach had left us all sweaty. We decided to take a quick dip. I climbed onto the blow up pool toy and Markus pulled me around the pool while I held on laughing. We splashed around for a while. Afterwords we played around with the oversized chess set while peacocks watched on the sideline.



We realized it was getting late, already 4:30...(It's easy to get sidetracked and lose all sense of time when in Negril) so we grabbed our cash from the room and headed back to the beach to buy the Jamaican handbag

“I'll go ahead and buy it. You should probably stay here. Otherwise we'll end up buying everything from everyone on the beach”

He headed off down down the beach and I watched him walk until I could no longer see him..


I turned back to the ocean and stepped into the warm water.. I watched the sunshine glitter on the calm swells.. it was so relaxing and beautiful in that peaceful moment of reflection.



I realized that we had reached our official 24 hours in Jamaica point. I felt a change already.. the way my shoulders were relaxed now..a calmness washed over me. I didn't want to ever leave.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

“Hey there”

I turned around and a young good-looking Jamaican was standing on the shore. He smiled.

I waved politely.

“Come on out, can I speak with you for a moment?”

I figured he was going to sell me something, but I didn't mind chatting for a moment. I stepped out of the ocean. I was surprised that he actually had a more.. um, romantic proposition...

I never know how to respond to compliments. I mumbled an embarrassed thank you. I told him I was married.

“Where are you from?”

“San Francisco”, I told him.

“are you here in Negril alone?”

“No, I'm waiting for my husband”

He smiled, took my hand and said “Ah well, Enjoy Jamaica.. You're beautiful”

And then he walked off, He turned around one more time to smile and continued on his way.

I looked over at Ralston and he had been watching the whole encounter like a protective older brother. He sees everything. I gave him a reassuring wave and he returned to his post.

That encounter left me flattered for a while but then I noticed Markus wasn't returning and started to worry. I couldn't even see him. Where was he? I stood there with the water lapping over my knees and scanned the shore for him.

15 minutes later, I could finally see him approaching in the distance. I felt relief..



“Well I made it and I only gave away four cigarettes...Oh, and bought this bracelet.. “ He held out his wrist to show it off. “I also promised another vendor that I'd come back before we left Negril to buy souvenirs for co-workers. I think I did pretty well though.. considering”

I smiled. He handed me my new handbag and I hugged him.

The sun would be setting soon and the staff of the Grand Pineapple were almost finished setting up the tables for the outside BBQ party. We grabbed another Red stripe and then headed over to the table tennis area for a quick battle.


After a fun and competitive battle of Ping Pong..we head over to our familiar reed chairs to watch our second Negril sunset. It was stunning..Every sunset in Jamaica was unique.







After the sunset and the sky darkened, the food was brought out and the fire on the BBQ was lit. The delicious smell of Jerk chicken drifted over the beach. The food was set up in Kayak boats and it all looked amazing. I couldn't have created a more idyllic dinner arrangement in my imagination.

(amazing cook!)

We piled up our plates and headed to a table right on the sand next to the shore. The Jerk chicken was delicious..



It was all so perfect and beautiful, I expected camera men to jump out of the bushes any minute.

The live band began to play..

I took some video footage that I will post later


I went up to get more food and we passed our new British friends, Hilary and Earl's table. They waved us over.

“How's your first full day of Negril going?”, They asked.

“Amazing! So what is there to do for nightlife around here tonight? Any suggestions?”, I asked.

“We're going to a little shack bar tonight down the street. It's called the English Rose. Come with us! ”, Hilary said. “Dawn and Dave are coming too.” She gestured to the other British couple at the table next to them.

They certainly didn't have to pull our leg. We were thrilled to be invited. We made plans to meet up after the live show and went back to our tables with our second helping.

An hour and a half later, we were blissfully full of food and drinks. Markus pulled me up close to the stage and we began dancing on the sand. Everyone joined in..

I can't remember the last time I danced on the sand.. we were lost in the moment and having the time of our life. I could see a change in Markus too. He was laughing, his hair blowing in the ocean breeze and totally in the moment. It's official, I could see it in his eyes.. he was in love with Jamaica as much as I was.

The band eventually came to a close with a final Bob Marley song.

We met up with Hilary, Earl, Dawn and Dave in the front of the Grand Pineapple. We were ready to embark on our first night out of the hotel. I was excited.

I was also admittedly nervous.. it was 10:30 at night and we were venturing out of the safe confines of our hotel into the darkness of the night in a foreign country with people we had only met hours earlier.. I had no idea what was in store for us.

To be continued by Markus tomorrow..

Negril Jamaica Trip Report
Day 2 Part 3



The BBQ Party at the GP was an absolute blast. The food was delicious and the live-music even better.

When the band closed with it's last song half of the Hotel's small population was dancing in the sand. Me and Daisy were completely melted into each other. When we opened our eyes after the bands last note, we were clapping in that dazed dreamlike state of mind, one with the Sand, the ocean air and everyone around us.

Our little Posse agreed to meet at the lobby 20 Minutes after the groovy sounds from the beach had disappeared into the darkness.

Hillary and Earl Grey uttered their last guilty notions about the suggested endeavor.

“Okay everyone..It's going to be ten minute walk and the shack was really just ...well, a shack,” they insisted

But what was a warning to them just fueled my appetite more. “It looks as though our Jamaican adventure is really beginning!”, I thought to myself.

You cannot walk the shoulders of Norman-Manley Boulevard without being honked at by every passing vehicle. It's as much a matter of courtesy, when it serves to alert you of passing traffic coming your way, as it is an advertisement for those countless vehicle owners, who offer transportation. So our conversations where interrupted by constant waving and head shaking as well, as many “No-No-Man!”

Earl Grey told us how they first found the “English Rose”.

They had been walking beach at night two days earlier (against all friendly advice). They reached a spot where the proper Hotels lining the Beach where replaced by abandoned Construction Sites. Finally getting a little scared they welcomed the sight of, ...let's call him “Mischief Rasta”.

Mischief Rasta offered help and showed them a little alley leading towards the safety of Norman-Manley Boulevard, where he meant to bring them to Bar-B-Barn to receive a drink in payment of his services. Our British friends however, having very much a mind of their own, had spotted the little establishment with the most inviting name “English Rose” and would not by any argument be deterred from having their drink THERE. That's how they ran in to the owner “Greeny” and his brethren Ikeey.

The walk was far shorter than ten minutes. About 150 feet passed Time Square we walked through a gap in a mash-fence,...and there it was in all it's glory..




A black shack, superbly disguised in the dark of the night. A little Box of a pub fashioned from corrugated iron and wood panels, with the words “English Rose” painted across its opening. The Avant-guard of the group was already inside and a lively discussion about who doesn't mind warm beer was in full heat. I was trailing with my video-equipment in hand and was greeted by Daisy screaming over the fairly loud music: ”MARKUS IS GERMAN, HE DOESN'T MIND WARM BEER!, right? You don't honey, right?”.

Greeny was behind the bar. He puffed away at the smoke between his teeth, while calmly sorting out the meaning of all the excited screams, that suddenly filled his hut.

Greeny: “So.. 6 Red Stripes, one red wine, and one Heineken?”
Someone: “No I think it's four Red Stripes and two Heineken”
Daisy: “Markus really doesn't mind warm beer, do you honey?”
Greeny: “I have three cold Red Stripe and six cold Heineken.”




I was finally handed an ice cold beer. Someone had taken all the warm ones. The group of 6 had completely overcrowded the shack and we now headed out the door to the “Biergarten”. Greeny sauntered out after us, still puffing away and brought any object that could conceivably serve as a seat Two folding tables where already in place.

The only local patron, a fellow named Clive, gave up his tree stump and helped with enthusiasm to get us all seated. Greeny sat down between me and Daisy and lively chatter ensued. We had a lovely conversation about life, love, sex and marriage, which would typically be so impossibly curbed when conducted in the States.



We conversed for several minutes until Berris Hammond's 'I Feel Good' came on and ended. Clive had been dancing with abandon, JB in Hand. On the last note of the song he screamed something inscrutable as if in Agony.

Greeny leaned leaned over to me and said: “Ah yeah, he likes this song.”.

As Clive was not ceasing with the ruckus of pleading screams, Greeny pushed out his cashed smoke in an ashtray and moved as if in slow motion back into the shack to press the back button on the Stereo. This was rewarded by delighted clapping and hopping by Clive.

On the second repetition the song had gotten our attention. Clive was inside the shack dancing with a refill on his JB& water, when we started to tentatively sing along with the chorus: “Feel Good, Feel Good!” As we made eye-contact and added more and more words to our sing-along, it drove Clive to almost Ecstasy.

Hilary and I finally couldn't hold back anymore and we joined him in the dancing.

There is something indescribable in this kind interaction with Jamaicans. It's like we had been separated by the iron-curtain between the Have and Have-not's outside the Hotel all day. Now that we were here, just dancing, just enjoying the same moment for the same reason, it was like every wall came down. No Dollars, no haggling, just being together.

Clive grabbed my hand tightly and we both looked up at the sky waving our hands and singing as loud as we could:”Go Baby, Go Baby, Go Baby, GO!!”

After the song played to the end, Clive let the next one come on without protest. He pulled me over to a tree. He held my hand to his heart and said: “I am a plumber. I work very hard all day. I want you to know, I don't want nothing from you. You understand? I am not selling anything. Nothing! Seriously, do you get my meaning?”

This unsolicited proclamation deeply stirred me. Not because I was relieved about this being “for real”. I mean we were all lethally drunk, how real was anything?

It just made me think about how many interactions are woefully impossibly, because the person you are facing does not have what they need. How can you ask anyone be “real” with you, if their overwhelming thoughts are circling on how to get what they need from you, before you leave them again. Be it food, a beer, clothing or what ever you might name. And the list of things we take for granted, which are a luxury to a Jamaican, is desperately long.

Pardon my Romanticism. My heart bleeds, because we are essentially all the same and someone else having less in opportunity or comfort makes me feel utterly uncertain about any and all of my “accomplishments” and “achievements”. It was handed to me on a plate and with that, I am not speaking for anyone else, really just me. It touches me personally.

Our conversation went on, we talked about Magic, without me knowing much to say, while my brain was trying to process. Eventually we were interrupted by the group, which fell into disarray when the third round caused the need in everyone to relieve themselves.

The English Rose has no bathroom. We tried to avoid a problem by going to the bathroom in the Hotel-Lobby, but to no avail.

Greeny saw no problem and suggested to wake up Ikeey who lives right behind the English Rose, so we could all use his bathroom. The whole group recoiled in complete embarrassment at the proposition, but finally it was established that no-one wanted to leave in account of their bladder. So the whole group marched into the darkness behind Greeny. I didn't feel an urge (yet!) and stayed behind with Clive.

When Daisy came back her eyes were a lit. She kept talking about this Ikeey-person and how amazing it was, that he got up from his sleep to let them all have a go at his porcelain throne. She was profoundly touched by the meeting with him. She recounted every detail of his dwelling, and even though I barely remember anything she said, I had a picture in my head.

The whole group had returned much relieved

..and behind the last bathroom-goer , was the now famous Ikeey coming to join in the group.

He was a slender figure about 5'7''. A few gray hairs mingled in his curls and one his right eye was obviously completely blind. He sat down between me and Daisy and the two started a very quiet conversation.

Ikeey's demeanor was at first, extremely shy., but you could see how with every word their conversation became livelier. I watched them exchange gentle gestures and talk with their heads close together. Later she told me that Ikeey lost someone close only recently. She had talked about losing her brother. The bond they formed in this first conversation was quite deep.



It was way after midnight when the English Rose simply ran out of beers and wine of the desired brand. Our new favorite Britts where eager for their beds and we said our Good-byes with many promises to return.



As we marched home, giddy and drunk, a dog followed us. Hillary and Earl Grey called him their dog as he had apparently walked with them nearly everyday. I've seen a dog like him, something like a Dingo.

If I didn't know it was impossible, I would swear, Negril has only one stray dog, and that it was him, again and again, in everyone of my pictures that have dogs in it.

We dropped off our british friends at the GP and I followed Daisy, who was literally dragging me by the hand, further down the road towards “Roots Bamboo”. She heard music and she needed to see where it was coming from.

We passed many Cooks with Barrel-drum-BBQ offering Jerk. Soon we found ourselves surrounded by Taxis drivers, Cigarette-Vendors, Jerk-Chicken-Chefs and jewelery-crafters. A sure sign in Negril that you are in the right place.

We made a left into a group of buildings, through which music could be heard. Everyone here was Jamaican. We stood out like a sore thumb. A group of older gentlemen playing dominoes on a patio gave us directions through the labyrinth of bungalows, Daisy grabbed my hand tightly until we reached the Event Horizon of the concert: a tarp held up with string, that signified the line between inside and outside.

An energetic young man jumped out of no-where and blocked the entrance.

Man: “Five dollars each”

Me: “ oops, that's all we have left. We just wanted to hop in for a good-night beer.”

The guy looked to his left, where a few men where sitting each with a stack of bills in their hand. They nodded.

Man: “Alright, enjoy” and with that he opened a curtain to the Magic Kingdom.

The area was enclosed with tarp, the floor was the beach. The only Caucasian I could spot sported an impressive dread-lock mane and looked as if he had just published a adventure guide on back-packing through Central Mongolia.

The band however as if to invite us in was playing our song: “Go Baby, Go Baby, Go Baby, Go!”

We grabbed a last Red Stripe (as far as our wallet was concerned) then swayed a bit in the sand lost in the music.

When the beer was up, the concert was up. We had caught no more than the last song on the play list, but we happily joined the crowd to drunkenly stagger back to the street. The perpetually offered Taxi -rides no longer managed to irritated us. As we arrived back at Norman-Manley Blvd

New friends we had made on the walk from the curtain to here were urging us to join them at place called “XXX” across the street. A thick crowd of people was already forming at the entrance and it was obvious this was where the party would be next. Without feeling like party-poopers we just couldn't imagine the night ending with our non-existent money in the g-string of a stripper and excused ourselves from the jolly fun.

We reached back at the Hotel, which for the first time seemed stranger to us than the dirty shoulder of the road. I fell in to bed that night completely exhausted from experience. Daisy seemed no less strained and blessedly happy.

What a day. What a night!
We had a time!

To be continued in Day 3....

LOVING THIS!!! So happy you felt safe enough you could leave the compound. Do you think you will continue to go ALL inclusive?