Sunsets, Rum, Sand and Gizzadas 97 Days in Negril

[Lady Jane]

Is his name Eric? Persistent guy? I think I met him ( no I don't exchange $ with the "boys")

[Kahuna3]

Is his name Eric? Persistent guy? I think I met him ( no I don't exchange $ with the "boys")

Didn't ask him his name. Persistent?!! Yes, as persistent as a mosquito in your ear in the middle of the night.


Another beautiful day here in Negril. It hasn’t rained for a few days now, so the humidity is down and it feels cooler. Cooler in relative terms, of course. Back home it’s -27C with a -39C wind chill. When it’s that cold, the snow crunches when you walk on it.

If I was back home I would be in hibernation mode – sometimes, when the weather is real bad, I don’t leave the house for three or four days. So I’m happy to be here in Jamaica! The windows are all open, the birds are singing and I can hear children playing in the yard next door. And we have another two months here

We’ve noticed that things have quieted down quite a bit since the big, frenetic lead-up to Christmas and New Year’s. No more loud music coming up from town and the frequency of the ‘advertising cars’ driving through the neighbourhood – the cars with loudspeakers on the roof – has dropped right off. Even the dogs have chilled out. Quieter is better.

This morning we were walking up Hermitage Road, returning with our daily haul of groceries. I was feeling like a packhorse; sweat on my brow, trudging up an incline, my backpack loaded down and carrying heavy black grocery bags in each hand. We rounded a curve and someone called out, “Hello, Bea!”

It was a male voice. I glanced in the direction from which it had come. I didn’t see anyone, but we were walking past a small raised clapboard house. It was perched precariously on pinnacles of mortared stones. The windows were slatted, half open. I assumed the man had called from within.

“Hi!” Bea called, and waved toward the house.
“All right,” the voice answered.
“Who’s that?” I asked
“Mikey,” she replied.
“Mikey?”
“Yup, Mikey.”
“Who’s Mikey?”
“Oh, he saw me walking alone the other day and he walked with me a bit and asked me if I had a Jamaican boyfriend.”
“. . . and?” I asked.
“I told him I was all set.”

A white woman walking alone in Negril is likely to be approached by a Jamaican man (or a steady stream of them!) and propositioned. They are constantly on the lookout to recruit a ‘sugar momma’ from foreign who will provide them with money and trinkets for their ‘company’. The ideal situation for the man would be to have a virtual harem of several sugar mommas who wire him money throughout the year and bring presents down when they come to visit.

We have a new friend, Toya. A young Jamaican woman. We’ve had some interesting conversations with her. More later.

Likkle more . . . .

This is a new store on the Sav road across from the bus park. They mashed down a big block house that was there before. Check out the parking. The owner is related to the Chiny Man store owner in town.


Perfect palm, perfect sky, perfect day - Negril


Sometimes I wish I had a better camera for opportunities like this.

[slimjim]

“Hi!” Bea called, and waved toward the house.
“All right,” the voice answered.
“Who’s that?” I asked
“Mikey,” she replied.
“Mikey?”
“Yup, Mikey.”
“Who’s Mikey?”
“Oh, he saw me walking alone the other day and he walked with me a bit and asked me if I had a Jamaican boyfriend.”
“. . . and?” I asked.
“I told him I was all set.”
Too funny!