The bus driver said something that sounded nice as he dropped us off, but I didn't quite catch it. Security welcomed us and pointed us to the front office. We head in and we are expected. The front desk lady pulls out a form, confirms the information is correct and gives us room keys, drink vouchers and towel chits. Inside of three minutes we were done. I'm thinking to myself this is a bit weird. I mean, I know we have prepaid, but don't you want to at least get a credit card imprint? Shouldn't I have to sign something? Guess they really do things more casually in Jamaica.

We get to our room and it is fine. It is on the first floor in not a great location, located right near the main office. Since it is on the main path, the patio is not at all private and it feels like everyone walking by is staring into the room. But who cares, we are in Jamaica.

Bags dropped in the room, our first order of business is heading down the beach. At this point is about 4:30 and sunset will be here soon. My goal was to get to the hotel before sunset, so mission accomplished. I was nervous heading out to the beach, having heard so much about the hustlers who ply their trade there. I was happy knowing that Rooms had a bit of a wall, so at least there was something to retreat behind.


We had not yet closed the last 10 feet to the beach wall when young fellow calls over to us from the other side, "Hey, you're from Winnipeg, right?"

"Pardon me?" I say.

"You, you're from Winnipeg."

I glance at Sunshine and down at myself. Nope, no sports gear giveaways or the like on either of us.

This is not cool. Who is this guy and how does he know where we are from? If I wasn't freaked by the hustle before, I sure am now. I'm not proud to say it, but my first visit to the beach lasted less than two minutes and I all but ran away.

I quickly suggest we head back to the room and pour ourselves a drink. That accomplished, we again attempt to head for the beach, drinks in hand. We are here for a week; I am going to have to leave the room sometime. I also promised Sunshine subs and he anxious to sample the local wares.

This time as we walk towards the wall, an older Rasta wanders over, claiming he thought we were some German friends of his. We exchange a few pleasantries; he asks us if we need a sandwich. We express some interest. He assures us that if a snow cone is more our style, he can help with that or most anything else we might want or need. We politely declined but did sort some cold cuts out.

I don't know what a sub ought to cost in a place where cold cuts seem to almost spring up in the ditches, but I know we got taken to the cleaners. I also know that this will the one and only time I ever make that sort of transaction on the beach. It was an unnerving experience, but neither of us was in jail, so it was time to get on with just enjoying the moment.

We picked a piece of real estate on the wall and watched our first Jamaican sunset.


As the sunlight faded, our drinks ran low and we headed back to the room for refills. Sunshine was also anxious to get to a sub. He has the fine motor skills of a bull moose, so sandwich making falls to me.