So, like I said, it was my last full day in Negril. I woke up early, really early, and took a long cruise up the west end, all the way to Westender, as usual. This time, I brought my raft, so I could lay in the rock pool, hear the crashing of the waves, and totally get into it WITHOUT the sounds of 1, other guests; 2, distant music through speakers; 3, hagglers (of course); 4, motorized boats; 5, employees. It was bliss.
I had planned to spend the day alone, except for with my yardies at Margaritaville, but as I was cruising down the road towards Ricks, there was Jody at Sir Lookout (she lives across the street). She's my original girlfriend, not a party girl at all. I had met her on a previous reach when she was working part-time at Bantons (Banton is really down on his luck, he has asked to borrow money like three times), and we've spent a lot of time together. I don't like to spend every moment with her cause she smokes a lot of cigarettes (that's something you have to put up with in Negril), and, as I said before, she is kind of quiet and we don't have a lot in common.
But she is beautiful, and she so enjoys spending time with me, sometimes calling my Negril phone 20 or 30 times a day, so I decided to enjoy my last full day with her and take her to Margaritaville. Oh ya, I had stopped by Keith and Rasta's house, and they were meeting us at Margaritaville, too.
MaryJayne rented a couple of cabanas for everyone, and it was NICE. Jody can't swim at all, I mean she is like a three-year old in the pool for the first time, so panicky. But we floated together on my raft a bit, and she seemed to be enjoying herself, nursing a Red Stripe (she likes them warm), and I soon made a deal with a haggler to take us snorkeling and to Booby Cay for an hour -- the terms very clear, 20 dollars each for me and Jody, and we were in total agreement.
Well, then the old man comes, his boss, you know the one, the guy who always ruins the deal and wants more money, the REAL boss. Dude said no way, we have to pay more money, and the haggler (he used the name Tony Montana) took the boss' side, not mine, even though we not only had a deal, but it was a the SAME deal I had made with Captain Clarke and Famous Vincent, both of whom had no problem with a 20 dollar fee (and had come from farther away, too!). Anyway, I really let this Tony Montana fool have it, just laid into him, and he deserved it. Then, like a rescue boat from a scene in a move, Famous Vincent and his mate Roger appear, so we jump on his boat -- even though this Tony Montana fool said it could not be done!
Supply and demand, the principal of American business. When there are 100 boats and 10 tourists, the tourists have the advantage, baby.
So we went snorkeling (Jody got into the water but could not handle it, and I told Vincent not to push it), then to Booby Cay for an incredible meal that consisted of three lobsters (all for me, Jody is allergic, tough break, ha ha) and some fish -- all for 30 dollars (plus 100 j for a spliff, we ran out).
BTW, my friend Keith flaked again, didnt want to go snorkeling, what a wimp.
I met a dot com guy on Booby Cay, he was there with his wife. Eleven days at Breezes, they did not go anywhere. But dude was feelin' the vibe, having turned off his cell phone for an extended period for the first time in 10 years, he said.
We returned to Margaritaville, everyone was chillin, having a great time. One of yardies, a friend from Austin, Texas, he bought a bunch of pizza from Treehouse (supposed to be the best), and it was good, though not as good as Angelas.
Went back to Seastar Inn, chilled with Jody in my room for a bit (best kisser in Negril, pierced tongue), smoked up, then dropped her off. I went to Catcha, enjoyed another spectacular sunset while drinking punch and reclining on one of their awesome chaise lounges in one of the many little Catcha cubby holes that are perfect for either romance or smokin spliffs, and then I returned to my yard. Later, i drove down to the roundabout, chilled with the locals, enjoyed some Jerk, but I didnt stay out all night. I had a few drinks with the friend I had made from South Dakota, the one at Mi Yard that early morning a couple of days prior.
I went back, fell into a nice deep sleep, totally satisfied.
I still had the morning when i woke up just before 7 a.m. I rode up one more time to Bantons, and I took a girl I met there for a ride. She's the hottie in the pics with the big stalks of weed behind his store, and I had never gotten to know her ... yet. We went to Westender Inn, jumped in the pool together, got a little touchy feely. She wanted to come to Seastar Inn with me, and god was I tempted cause she has a pierced tongue, too, but I only had a couple of hours at this point, I still had to pack, and I just was not in the mood (hey, I don't have an on and off switch, ha ha). I dropped her at Bantons to her grave disappointment, picked up five spliffs for the last couple of hours, and it was back to Seastar Inn for breakfast.
The sun had only been up and hour or so, and the Seastar Inn guests were trickling in for breakfast, including Rick the Prick. As he was walking down, there was some local fool across the way in those little houses across the field from Seastar, and the guy was yelling and screaming about something. At first, cause it was so loud, I thought it was two peeps arguing about splitting the proceeds from a cab fare (important reason to argue among locals, based on my experience), but in fact, it was one dude (drunk and perhaps mentally ill, like Torets or something), and Rick had had a run-in with him on a previous visit.
So in the distance, I see Rick heading to this fool's yard, armed with what looked like a big stick or a maybe a knife, and he yelled at screamed at this fool to quiet down, go to sleep, and shut up! Threatened him, too, and it worked, cause dude did not say another word.
Rick is a tough guy, an ex Vietnam vet, and as he sauntered into breakfast to enjoy his daily plate of eggs, I noticed what he was holding -- a huge stalk of ganga! Only in Negril can you yell and scream at a drunk to go to sleep while holding a massive stick of weed.
I rushed to pack my stuff, took one last swim, then smoked three spliffs on the way to the airport. It was a long day, two flights plus a rushed layover while jamming through customs in Houston. I got home at about 11 p.m., 1 a.m. Negril time, and it felt so nice to be back in my own bed. I had wonderful dreams, dreams of Negril, dreams of cruising my moped, dreams of kissing beautiful girls as House music blared in the background, dreams of swimming with stingrays, of eating Jerk chicken, of enjoying two Hummingbird drinks, side by side, at the pool bar at Seastar Inn.
I had taken down cell numbers, email addresses, promised to keep in tough with some of the yardies, some of the party girls, some of the friends I met. I don't know when I will be back in Negril, but I will be back. And you know what? Next time will be the best time, better than ever, baby. It always is.
