About halway towards Negril, we stopped at a shop for supplies. Just as i was getting out of the van, Georgette from the backseat simply said: "Gerry, buy me something."

Now I really knew I was in Jamaica. One thing about the locals, they're not hesitant to ask for stuff, even the ones who have full-time jobs. I don't hold it against anyone, it's part of their culture, and I complied.

Then I kind of thought to myself for second for one of those 'only in Jamaica' moments. Imagine in the USA, if you got a shuttle ride from Super Shuttle or LAX shuttle, and the driver bought a girlfriend plus the secretary asked you out of nowhere to buy her a drink. Plus, other queries from the driver, of which I will leave it to your imagination what he was asking that I might want. Such actions might deem a strongly worded letter of complaint or perhaps get someone fired or reprimanded; here, you don't even blink.

I love it. It's like the wild, wild west in Negril, and that's part of the charm.

I bought a case of red stripe (cold), two 750 ml bottles of JB overproof and two bottles of fruit punch for the girls in back. (The driver didn't ask for anything because he figured it might interfere with his tip, I assume). The total came out to like 73 dollars USA, which seemed like a lot, but then I figured out that a case of beer "cold" is more than warm, as the store clerk had asked me specifically if I had wanted it cold. Another difference between California and Jamaica.

Anyway, eventually we hit the turn where it says this way to Negril, and before long we were headed up the hill to Seastar Inn, my home away from home.

I had started the day when my alarm clock first went off at 4 a.m. in Los Angeles, was at the airport by 6, in the air by 8. We had stopped in Miami for a layover, and it was now about 930 p.m., but only 730 p.m. LA time.

It had already been a long day. But never in my long Negril history had I just calmly went to bed upon arrival, and that includes a long series of overnight flights.

I was ready to party.