The last part is just a blur: swim, sun, eat, drink, play, play, play.

God I miss Jamaica. It's exactly one month since I've been home, and I think about Negril all the time. The little town on the little island touches me in everything I do -- I even dream about it at night.

I still can't exactly put my finger on why there is such a strong impulse to return. I guess I feel really, really, really free in Negril.

I gave a bunch of stuff away on my last morning. As I pulled up Seastar Lane on my motor bike for the last time before Clive's would pick me up, I witnessed what looked like a bullying incident between boys, but it turned out they were all cousins. Tough kids, that's all I will say. One of the local neighbors said everything was OK.

It was just me and the driver on the way back. He drove fast because we spent an extra 30 minutes or so trying to track down a pick-up at Sunset on the Palms, but the peeps never showed up. But the foray gave me a chance to look at the property, take in the sights and smells, and I was happy enough to be able to report my findings (nice place) to a fellow boardie who've I've befriended over the months.

That's what negril.com is all about -- helping others and sharing. I've so enjoyed all the reports, reading 'em and writing 'em.

I know I've pushed the envelope a bit, perhaps hurt a few feelings along the way (including my own), and I'm sorry about that.

I probably got taken advantage of a bit, but I've taken advantage of a few myself. Negril can get a little crazy sometimes, and so can I. We're a perfect mix.