10 Years, 12 Nights, 6 Hotels, ONE LOVE - April 2012 Trip Report

[Hubby-man]

We were enthusiastic about having our own kitchen. Not that we needed it. Our credit card was on file and anything we could think of, we could just ask to have brought to us. But still, it's kinda cool and new having something amounting to a real apartment in Jamaica! We had a gas-stove with four burners, a toaster, refrigerator, microwave and all kinds of utensils. I would not mind replacing my own kitchen at home with this one.

So after we dried off from snorkeling, we headed off to Wise Choice, maybe a hundred yards down the road. I wasn't gonna whip up a Lobster thermadore tonight, but how about supplies for a midnight sandwich?

On our way out, we were again assured that, if we wished, any staff would be happy to make the run to the store for us (imagine that, I felt like I was Brangelina on vacation!), but of course we are not that type of traveler. Now in our shorts and T-shirts it felt wonderful kicking the dust on the side of the West End Road.

Right next door was the parking lot to Rick's Cafe, where minivans, busses, sedans and scooters where involved in some sort of carnival of motor vehicles. Drivers were honking, gesturing and exchanging banter. In New York City this mess would have surely caused much grief and anger, but here the jam was taken as an opportunity to exchange the latest news between drivers. No one, was going anywhere fast, and as we passed by, it looked as though it was going to stay that way for the time being.

When I tore my eyes off the mayhem, Daisy was leaning down to one of the little boys with a box of waffle chocolate bars.

“Whereareyoufrom?, Youareverypretty!, DoyoulikeitinJamaica?, PleasebuyacandysoIcangotoschool!” He rattled of the phrases like a second grader a Christmas poem. He must have repeated the same sentences so many times, that the words had lost but all meaning to him, just a sound, like a bird song.

Daisy asked him his name. He seemed befuddled, nervously ran his hands through his thick hair, stomped his feet and said: “Anlik!” (Not sure how to spell that (sounds like un-lick)). It seemed like he was chained to this box of chocolates like to an iron ball, I’m sure he would much rather be out playing with his friends.

Daisy of course started digging in her backpack and found four 100 Ja-notes to hand to him. He dutifully counted and handed the appropriate number of severely melted chocolate-waffles to her.

Daisy took only two bars and handed the rest to him. This thoroughly confused him and he ran his hand through his hair again seemingly wanting to pull it out. Daisy took a waffle bar and opened it, then handed it to him.

He looked sort of happy, bit into the waffle and ran to join the other children, who were already chasing another tourist.

Daisy seemed satisfied as well and smiled at me, chocolate smeared all over her cheeks. “How cute was he? Oh man, I wish I could take him home with us...”

“No worry, we'll make our own” I responded with a smile and kissed the chocolate of her face.

A little further down the road lay "Catcha Falling Star" resort. Passing the closed gate brought about a little pinch of pain. Villa Sur Mer being what it is, I certainly had no desire to leave and run to another hotel, but we have such amazing memories there. It felt like passing a relative’s house. And not being “allowed” in just hurts a little. But, no worries, we would make new memories there soon enough!

“Wise Choice” lay straight across the road. The dusty parking lot with the cracked concrete blocks was busy. Motorcycles puttered under their conversing owners, dogs checked out every new-comer for an unlikely treat, a girl was chasing a rooster.

The small window in front of the store always had a congress of people waving pieces of paper and involved in lively discussion. A fellow pushing a bicycle held up a pink slip of paper.

“I put a '10' , Mon, '11' came, MON! One number, Mon, I would have won, Mon!”, he told us with a big laugh. Before we could respond he grabbed another fellow and told him the same story, stabbing his paper-slip violently with one finger.

He was in good spirits despite the dreadful closeness of his lottery miss. It appeared to me that the lottery in Jamaica is much more than just a shot at the Jackpot. It seems it also serves to exhibit ones prowess of prediction. Losing tickets are much discussed. Patterns are imagined and found. The process of picking ones numbers is also much discussed and council is taken or rejected.

A lot of the discussion this morning involved a heated deliberation of how to interpret ones pattern of losing and winning numbers and how close one had gotten. What was one to make of it all, and how would one improve future bets?

A ticket with a near miss is not a total loss at all. It's soooo damn close and therefore sooo damn sweet! The fellow had good reason to smile and show of the printed evidence, that he was indeed one of the best betters today.

The store inside was nearly empty of customers, but stuffed to the ceiling with goods. A true general store with Tomatoes and Eggs, Shampoo and Sunscreen but also hammers and breast pumps. Every available square inch of wall had a hook with merchandize in it. A regular walmart in the space of a seven eleven.



The large lady behind the counter changed her grim face to a smile for one moment as we came in then returned to the algebra on her accounting pad. We grabbed some essentials to make coffee and sandwiches.


Daisy found the hair-product she wanted was not available in the usual containment. Instead it had been portioned off into tiny little plastic bags with roughly enough for one application. She scrunched up her nose to emphasize her most serious “this-will-not-do”-expression, but had no choice but to pile the little crack-bags into her shopping-bin.

We checked out and proud of our groceries headed back down West End Road without mentionable incident.

Next up LTU Pub…

To be continued…