We thought we were pretty clever taking the backseat on the bus as it was a bench seat all the way across the back. This way we could spread out a little and even lie down if needed. The biggest problem, we thought, was a board under the seat cushion making the seat hard. The old country buses also had no suspension to absorb the numerous pot holes so, when we hit one near Orcabessa, we flew up in the air so high we hit the ceiling of the bus only to come down hard making a loud bang. Everyone seemed to turn back around and suppress a laugh at the tourists in the back seat. A little embarrassing.
It got me concentrating on the road ahead as best I could to avoid it again. We came across another giant hole and I knew we could not miss it, so I had us lift our bodies off the seat by about a foot to make room for the jolt. It worked and when everyone turned around to see how we were, we just smiled and gave them a thumb’s up sign. And so, it went for the next 7 or 8 hours until we entered Negril.
By this time, the bus was mainly empty as most people got off in Montego Bay or Lucea and we picked up fewer and fewer passengers as we progressed along the old road to Negril. I made my way up to the conductor and told him we wanted off at Firefly. He nodded and said “soon come” so I returned to our seat. Shortly, the bus pulled over and we were there.
As I remember the place, there was a one story home and office where (I think her name was Valerie), a guy and some kids lived that was still unfinished next to two outdoor showers with concrete walls about 5 feet high. We walked up to the office and gave Valerie the receipt that Peter had given us and waited for her reaction. She readily accepted it and slipped into a pair of sandals and walked us to our cabin.
I think that at the time there were only two cedar wood cabins on a knoll next to the beach and a lifeguard stand just beyond as well. The cabin was small and had bunk beds with a naked light bulb for light. Since we had been living out of a tent up until then, it seemed like a castle to us. We dropped off our packs and locked the door. I headed to the beach and my wife headed to the showers to wash her hair and some dirty clothes as we were running low on clean ones.
I looked down the beach and saw no people as far as I could see. Only an overturned, beached fishing boat or two. Suddenly, just down a bit, a youth on a moped came putting up the beach and stopped in front of me. “Hi, they call me Mushroom Kenny” as he thrust a paper shopping bag into my hands containing magic mushrooms. I handed it back and said I wasn’t interested. He was getting a little annoying and hard to avoid as he began to list almost every drug I had ever heard of and some I never had. I kept saying “No!” and waved him away but he was nothing else but persistent so I just avoided him enough to run into the ocean where he could not follow.
About the time Mushroom Kenny gave up and motored down the beach, my wife emerged ready to join me in a swim. It was just getting dusk and the romantic atmosphere was overwhelming. She said she hated to leave Jah Mikes, but she was glad she was here. That make me very happy. It was getting quite dark and we were very tired by lack of sleep the night before and the long bus ride to get here.
We retired to the cabin and I took the top bunk bed. I was fearful all night long that I might fall out but still managed to feel rested in the morning for our last full day in Negril and Jamaica.
