Thomas awoke late the next morning having slept much longer than he’d wanted to, this despite the incessant crowing of the cock in the yard next door. He hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder and exited Cocky’s quietly, not wanting to wake him and run the risk of getting squeezed for additional charges.
He paused at the intersection of the laneway and the paved road. Given that the decision to turn left the day before hadn’t led to a particularly fruitful excursion, he opted to turn right.
After walking for ten minutes he heard a noise coming from ahead. He rounded a bend in the road and saw the source of the commotion. Ahead, situated at the ‘T’ intersection of the road, was a bar. Built of concrete, this bar was much larger and more substantial, than the bar in Green Island where he’d met 27. Raucous laughter erupted from within.
As he approached he saw the name of the establishment stencilled on the stucco wall below the open windows:
RED DRAGON BAR
The Finest Drinks in Red Ground
RAGABONES
PROPRIETOR
Silhouettes of highly stylized dragons were painted on the wall. Fearsome gouts of fire belched from their mouths.
A sign next to the door read:
JERK PORK
Etc.
This probably accounted for the half dozen or so mutts that were hanging around out front.
More laughter burst forth. It sounded like a party was in full swing, so Thomas went in.
To his surprise, the Red Dragon was packed – wall to wall. Not with locals, although there were a few, but with white folk.
Thomas scanned the crowd. These people here were not the ‘stay-in-the-hotel-compound-and-maybe-take-a-tour’ types. Rather, the term that sprung to mind was ‘ex-pats’. Most sported deep tans. A wide assortment of tattoos was on display, many of which were large, colourful and elaborate. The majority of the men had long hair, some wore pony tails, others bandannas. There was a lot of facial hair, most of it turning grey. All were dressed in well-worn clothing, the type that was practical for the tropics, rather than the just-bought-for-the-trip look that was the common tourist apparel.
But it was more their attitude that distinguished them; they were relaxed and looked natural in the environment, as if gathering at the Red Dragon for drinks early in the day was a routine event.
The walls inside the bar were festooned with colourful stickers and out-dated licence plates.
Thomas threaded through the crowd and wedged into a narrow opening at the bar. When he finally got the barman’s attention he ordered a beer. “And I would like an order of pork please,” he added.
The barman craned his neck, looking through an open portal, “Pork will be ready in about ten minutes,” he said.
Thomas sipped his Red Stripe and looked around. No one had paid him the least bit of attention. They were all completely occupied with drinking and communing with each other.
This is the ideal place to ask about Randy, he thought. He was surrounded with ex-pats, and those he’d met in MoBay seemed to know all the other ex-pats there. Randy had been in Negril for a couple of years, long enough to be considered a member of the local ex-pat community. Indeed, it was possible that Randy might be in The Red Dragon somewhere in the crush of patrons.
)...anybody have some great old memories of RD or even more recently?
Looks like its not the frist time you have been there! Nov.2010
November 2009
Feb 2011
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