We got cleaned up and into our least casual clothes; the bus to Rockhouse picked us up at the hotel right on time. It is by far the shiniest bus I have seen to date in Negril.

There is only one other couple on board and we aren't making any other stops. They are coming from one of the more expensive AIs, I can't recall which one. Turns out they were, in Canadian terms, from our part of the country (i.e., within 1000 or so miles). He had been to Negril and Red Ground some 25+ years earlier, so their trip was a return for him and an anniversary celebration for them both.

The basics of where you from covered, she gets right into what seems to be an really important question, "What time is your reservation?"

"It's for sunset."

"Well yes," she says, "but what time is your actual reservation?"

I try to clarify, "Well, we called and made a reservation for sunset, so that kind of is the time."

"Well, what time is sunset?"

I'm wondering to myself if this is an AI thing or if this woman is just a bit strange. Sunshine's eyes meet mine and I know he is thinking the exact same thing.

I haven't had a watch on in five days, so I don’t really know what time the sun actually sets. I have been using the old 'sun's getting low in the sky it must be almost sunset' kind of logic. I do want to be helpful though, so I think back to the last webcast I watched from Canoe, "Umm, somewhere between 5:30 and 6:00?"

She turns to her husband, "Oh no, our reservation isn't until 7:00. What will we do? Will we have to wait? It's only just 5 o'clock! Why did we reserve so late?"

I suggested to her that I am sure this would all work out fine, but she was clearly put off.

I got a strong sense that this little jaunt on this bus from their AI to the Rockhouse restaurant was a daring adventure, as they boldly ventured forth to 'see Jamaica.' Her nose almost wrinkled at the prospect of 'staying off resort' as we were doing. She was very interested in learning more about our trip, though her questioning felt more along the lines of someone asking for all the juicy details of some sordid, gossipy tale.

"Do you have a restaurant at your resort?" she asks.

"No, it is closed because it is low season" I reply, "though there is breakfast included."

"So where do you eat?"

Deep down, I want to give her a snarky reply, but I figured it wasn't worth my time. Reminding myself that there is no such thing as a stupid question, I reply "Well, there are lots of restaurants around and the vendors on the beach have lots of options. It is like an endless buffet out there."

I am sure Sunshine can sense where this conversation is going. He is always really good at reading moments like this. He chimes in, naming off a number of the places we have been, generally making it sound wonderful and normal all at the same time. Eating in restaurants is of course normal, but you wouldn't know it from the look on this women's face.

Her eyes got wide and her hand started fluttering up towards her chest. "So you have been eating in Jamaican restaurants?" she says with some alarm, "Haven't you been sick?"

I sneak a quick glance at the bus driver. He is clearly listening, but his face remains a neutral mask. I feel bad that she doesn't understand the insult she has just given, since she basically just implied that Jamaican's don't understand the fundamentals of clean food preparation. There is a vast difference between having fewer material things and being dirty; I haven't really encountered any dirty Jamaicans, it's been quite the opposite really. I try to compensate with an extra enthusiastic reply. "No, actually the food has been great. It is all very fresh and prepared to order. In fact, I am starting to feel like I have spent a week at the health spa. Given all we've been drinking, it must be something in the food."

If you ever want to feel really good about something, get Sunshine to deliver the pitch. When inclined, he is capable delivering a message with of a level of (seemingly) sincere enthusiasm that few can equal. He is starting to lay it on pretty thick.

She's not entirely convinced and continues on her interrogation, "Aren't you worried about your safety?"

I shrug, now actively trying not to look at the bus driver, "Not really, security at the hotel has been great. There are certainly lots of vendors around, but we haven't felt threatened by any of them."

With a small shake of her head, she turned to her husband and started inquiring if there was much he recognized along the route.

By now we are half way up the West End Road and we seem to have hit a bit of a traffic jam. I suspect for anyone who finds driving in Jamaica a bit harry, shuffling through a traffic jam on the West End Road ups the drama. We come around the next corner and we are suddenly faced with a sea of people all dressed in orange. They have noise makers, horns are honking and most everyone seems to be jumping up and down yelling.

Our traveling companion cheerfully asks the driver, "Oh, is this for a sporting event?"

"No man," he replies, "its politics, but it's no problem, yah man."

Her faces falls and she grabs for her husband, exclaiming rather loudly her concern. I thought perhaps she might jump right into his lap. She was most certainly wishing she had never dared to venture out of her resort.

You might recall when planning this trip that I declared to Sunshine that Jamaica was perfectly safe, with the one caveat to that being that it might not be during elections. Where do I find myself now? With an election called and us driving into the middle of a political rally. I'm thinking to myself, please don't let Sunshine remember I said that.

I will admit that my heart rate did go up a notch; to a foreigner, their enthusiasm was intimidating and a bit scary. This was clearly not my best case scenario. The driver sure didn't seem alarmed, but I suspect even if this was bad, his face wouldn't have shown it.

I was waging a bit on an internal war. I was scared, but I was also really annoyed by this fellow Canadian's rather rude disregard for her host's feelings. I'm getting up on my soapbox now. I really hate it when people treat those in the service industry like they aren't there and they have no feelings. How friendly you choose to be is a personal choice, but everyone deserves the respect of at being treated with good manners. Ok, I'm stepping back down. The faces in the crowd looked enthusiastic, not menacing, so annoyed won out.

"Oh this," I said in my most nonchalant tone, "this isn't anything to worry about. You know how at home during elections, everyone puts signs out in their yard? This is like the Jamaica equivalent of yard signs. Look, it is even orange like the NDP!" It was a total lie, but I wanted this woman to stop looking at everything like it was from an alien planet and see things in a relatable way.

I saw the driver's eyes flick in my direction in the rear view mirror. I have no doubt he knew I was full of sh*t, but I like to believe he appreciated the effort. She relaxed her death grip on her husband and I turned to Sunshine and engaged him in inane chatter. I was really done with this woman.

The rally slowed us up a bit, but we were still at the Rockhouse in good time, none the worse for the experience.