Runaway Bay---Winding Up

We'd changed rooms and had an upper unit overlooking the ocean. Fabulous. In the early morning, lone boaters could be seen out on the water (natives) and a few snorkelers from the resort. Knowing that drugs are often brought to resorts via boat, we watched the paddlers with interest. So, it came as no surprise to find Ganja man lounging on the rocks around the boats anchored at the resort.

I was walking back to the area where SF was engaged in a pool game and found Ganja man sauntering along beside me. Dreds tucked up inside his cap, conch shell in hand, and plenty of conversation. We were good until he opened his container and started sifting through his weed. Why me, Lord? It is t-i-i-i-i-m-e to go.  And where did SF disappear to?  We had a good laugh off of that one.  And watched Ganja man row around the resort and make attempts to unobtrusively peddle his wares. It was obvious that he was well known to members of the staff.


Rasta man, on the other hand, put up a show of legitimacy by setting up a display of carvings, paintings, and shell jewelry. Two of his carvings had been made into lamp posts along the walkway. Great work but not in the budget. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything I wanted. He, too, probably had a supply of ganja available as well, if asked.

My pleas and SF's gentle requests failed to move the general manager, Gilbert Blackwood, into selling me the urn in the dining room. I swanee, he's a bright, charming young man but he missed his opportunity. He stated that he would have to bring it up before the general board.  I almost asked if he was a real Jamaican because they have schemed up a deal before you can even think of it.  Or, sold me the urn and moved something else in its place. He suggested that we go into Ochos Rios to the Wassi Art Pottery Works and obtain a piece from there. We didn't and their web site is under perpetual maintenance.

We mentioned our personal tour guide and he knew exactly whom we were talking about. It turns out that he is a nephew to someone on the staff and lived near the hotel. We walked back towards Ziggy's (The Future Home of Wallmart) expecting him to materialize as he had before.  We wanted to give him a little sump'n sump'n but he was not around. Ziggy, however, agreed to having a photo of him and his establishment taken in exchange for something to make it worth his while.

Georgia Henry

Nightly entertainment is offered at the resort by a quartet of four young men. I thought the name of the group was Pharee but on reflection, they may have been saying "For Real."  Soft reggae and pop tunes. Good musicians...even with the hole in the drum. On Saturday night, the dinner moved from the dining room to the outside terrace. After eating, we enjoyed the house band and waited for the appearance of Georgia Henry, all the way from Kingston. She and her backup singer, Janet, gave a great show--even though her spaghetti strap broke mid-way through the show. However, the show must go on and she did just that.

It seemed as though we'd barely closed our eyes before the wake-up call came. Our flight was at 7:20 or so, meaning that we had to be at the airport no later than 6 a.m. Good grief! I still didn't see the countryside because it was pitch black as we went back to Montego Bay.  But I did see the driver blow through the stop sign (he must have been asleep, as well) and then come to a screeching stop midway in the intersection.  Everybody was awake then...including him.

I had purchased coffee at the hotel's gift shop and a souvenir or two, figuring that the shops at the airport would be closed.  Surprise, surprise! The shops were open and who can leave Jamaica without rum? Unfortunately, no one told us that you couldn't take it through Customs when you landed in Miami. You can just about imagine our faces when we were told that it would not be allowed, although it was packaged and sealed. Must be inside your suitcase and the bag must be checked. Fortunately, we had enough time to find space in SF's bag ('cause you know that I took entirely too many clothes), have the bag checked and go through security, again.

Waited to board the puddle jumper back to Memphis.  As we entered the cabin, a very officious man behind me asked the attendant (who closely resembled my son) where could he hang his suit. The young man courteously responded that he would assist him with it after the other passengers were aboard. Not good enough. The question was asked again and the response was given again...just a little more sharply. Steven was very good at his duties. He never raised an eyebrow when asked to find a belt extender for this obese man who could have easily filled two seats without much room to spare. Thank God he was next to his wife who was no lightweight either.  Steven and I shared a grin when he inadvertently splashed soda on a passenger while serving refreshments.  The man was snoring up a storm and never felt the drops of liquid. If he did, he never stirred.

The swimsuit never left the suitcase. Especially after viewing the photographs.  Now I know why I keep getting invitations to the gym. 

Irie, Mon! Looking forward to a return trip.

Be Safe. Be Blessed.

Runaway Bay -- Continued

There's no such thing as a bad day in Jamaica. The sun is shining brightly and people are moving about. The view from the patio showed a glimpse of the ocean and beautifully-tended landscaping. Off to find breakfast and see about changing rooms.  Daylight showed that the room, while spacious and nicely-appointed, had seen its better days. As we meandered around the grounds, it became evident that an influx of funds was needed. But, breakfast beside a window opening onto a gorgeous view of the ocean made those observations irrelevant.

View of Jetty From Room

Club Ambiance is a small (or intimate, if you prefer) all-inclusive resort. It offers the amenities of a larger resort but on a smaller scale. There are organized activities but the entertainment staff is not pushy.  In other words, join in if you want to...no problem. You can snorkel, canoe, take out the paddle boat, or ride over to Breezes (another resort) in the glass-bottomed boat. The beach is limited so don't expect long walks along the shoreline. You will, however, find plenty of space for sunbathing by the beach, by the pool, wherever. Did I mention that there is also a nude beach?  Some of the folks were lobster-red or the color of shoe leather.  There's also a circular building at the end of a jetty where you can fish or get a drink. The food is good; the drinks non-stop.

Speaking of drinks...when we checked in, we were greeted by a man who had a running drunk. I haven't seen one of those in years. He and his wife took the stairs to the upper level and he fell going up. I was afraid that he was going to tumble back down. We immediately nicknamed him "Stairmaster." And he was on a perpetual drunk until the morning he left. Gregarious.  Everybody was his friend.  Wonder what he's like at home?  There were also the people with the big "buddy" cups.  You know those 1/2 gallon containers?  SF and I missed the memo to bring one. Saves you from having to belly up to the bar on a regular basis.  The kicker was the man who showed up with a gallon container and slapped it on the bar.  Even the bartender was taken aback.

We made arrangements to take the glass-bottomed boat tour.  I thought it would be fantastic to go out around sunset.  On the water, sunset, warm temperatures. Girlfriend's been reading too many books. So when we show up, we're told that they think the water is a little rough and give it an hour. Maybe the waves will have died down.  They're concerned?  Not going at all is fine by me. When we returned, we rescheduled for the next day.

Throughout the main building and in the rooms are great pieces of art--paintings, carvings, ceramic pieces.  I've spotted a fantastic urn in the dining room and the burning question is "will they sell it to me?"  One of the doormen suggested that we check out the business across the street or one two blocks down to see if they had anything of interest.  Off we go.

Now, let me be very clear.  Jamaicans do not observe the speed limit. And, there were no stop lights or crosswalks anywhere in view.  Crossing the street means taking your life into your hands. We sprinted across the busy road (more like a highway) and took a look at the young man's carvings. Nice but nothing to float anyone's boat. Back across the highway and started to walk the "two blocks" to the next business. As SF stated "Two blocks in Jamaica can mean two miles." 

It's hot and I'm thirsty.  Just as we decided to turn around and go back to the hotel, this young boy appeared out of nowhere and announced that he was our tour guide.  Where did he come from?  I swear he popped up from between the cracks in the sidewalk. "What's your name?" "I'm your tour guide." When we explained that we were looking for paintings, etc., he directed us to a man carving under a tree. Everything we wanted was to be found under that tree. We declined and kept walking. Finally, we turned around and found that we had walked past the "shop" we were looking for.  Can't get away from Wally.  Ziggy had named his shop "The Future Wallmart." And who should show up? Our tour guide.

The next day was a busy one.  Fingers and toes must be done; the trip on the boat. And, I've got to eat and drink in between. First order of business: the boat. We forgot to bring the bread to feed the fish but...no problem. The problem arose when I saw them bailing out the boat. Another arose when they didn't give me a life vest because they were wet. Lawd, Lawd.  But I really started praying when we got out into deep water and the boat rose and fell with the waves, each landing accompanied by a great SLAP.  Hold on. Nowhere in my books have they ever mentioned anything like this. I'm ready to turn around. No life vest and I don't swim that good.

School of Fish

Oh but when they stopped midway, the anxiety was worth it. A school of fish had amassed under the boat, waiting to be fed. Sea urchins were anchored to rises in the sea floor. Sea fans, coral reefs, and I missed the turtle.

The ride back was much smoother--just as I imagined it to be from my books--we were going with the waves and not against them. I'm so glad that I didn't give into my nerves and insist on going back.  Now I can check that experience off the list of things to do.

Back on shore, drink in hand (to calm the nerves, of course), enjoying the view and breeze,  SF is notified that he has a guest who has been waiting for him for an hour.  Get out!  It was so good to see him after all these years. I declined the invite to tootle off because my manicure appointment would not wait. The hooves were in sore need of attention and I would have been a 5th wheel.

It is possible, boys and girls, to receive an excellent manicure and pedicure absent the accouterments we are accustomed to in the States. Rose did not have the massage chair with the foot bath; the heat lamp and blower to dry the nails. Your toes were done while she rests your foot on her knee. Soaking is done in the same little foot bath we all have tucked away and never use.  And when she whipped out this strange instrument to hack off the husk, my heart jumped into my mouth. An emery/pumice contraption which looked suspiciously like a knife (but wasn't). I've never had a better foot or hand massage. Thanks, Rose.

What's a trip to Jamaica without an encounter with a Rasta man or Ganja man? I'll tell you about mine next. Be Safe  Be Blessed.

Destination: Runaway Bay

Lawd, Lawd.  I hated to come back. SF and I jetted to Jamaica for a few days and it was great!

Of course, drama happened. Starting with a hurried effort to replace the passport which I hid from myself.  It is somewhere here in the house but if you find yourself in need of an immediate replacement, rushmypassport.com, is highly recommended.  Took all of my spending money and then some, but what's a sistah to do?  Received the replacement in the nick of time. The inevitable plane delays resulted in our not getting to the hotel until 1 a.m., when we should have been there around 9 p.m.

But we came back with great tales to tell. Such as the woman in front of us, on the flight to Montego Bay, who took off her wig and gave it a few shakes before replacing it.  Dust motes everywhere.  And there was the quartet of young men waiting with us, one of whom clearly was not wanted on the trip. One of his companions threw, not tossed, his coat to the floor when he walked away.  Play nice, children.

The airport was virtually deserted when we landed and made our way through Customs and all of the other entrance points. Where is SF's bag? I've got mine but his is missing. Consulted baggage personnel; went through the remaining bags over and over.  "What color is it?" "Green."  Wrong, the bag is BLUE. Straggled off to find our transportation; fortunately, they were still there.  Another wait.  We thought the holdup was additional passengers still in the terminal. Not. We were waiting for some of the employees to get off and hitch a ride. 

Headed out of Montego Bay. The resort is over an hour away. The first thing we noticed was the improvement in the roads--signage, clearly marked lanes, the use of deflectors. And my, even in the dark, we could see how the metropolitan area had grown. But it was too dark to see the beautiful countryside. Passed through Trelawney where the young'uns were double-parked in droves outside of the nightspots.  Isn't this Wednesday night?  Work or school in the morning?  Oh, yeah, I'm thinking from an old person's viewpoint. I vaguely remember the days when you partied all night and showed up bright-eyed and bushy tailed the next morning.

Pulled into the driveway for Club Ambiance, located smack dab in the middle of the neighborhood. Oh, Lord...what can we expect?  Never heard of it and neither had any of the people we contacted. Well, looky here. We're greeted with a cold drink at 1 a.m.  Things might not be too bad.  Too late for food. The evening snacks ended at midnight. Lawd, Lawd.  Thankfully, I'd bought some snacks in Miami, just in case.

We were shown to our room and I was not happy. Immediately wished I'd booked a room on the upper level. Nothing wrong with the room but I wasn't comfortable with its location. Down a long corridor, around the corner, and isolated. Thoughts of the recent experience by the Supreme Court justice who was robbed while on vacation, by a man wielding a machete, sprang into my head. I was assured that we would move in the morning. In that case, no need to unpack.  Fell into bed, exhausted.

Part 2 coming up.  Be Safe. Be Blessed.

WARNING!

It has been abnormally warm in my neck of the woods.  As a matter of fact, the temperature is currently 77 degrees and it is only the second of March. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

Daffodils started peeking a few weeks ago and are now gaily waving. The forsythia is in bloom. My tulip tree and the Bradford pear trees around town are in full regalia.  It's too early! My perennials are starting to pop up.  Full-scale yard work will be needed soon.

So what happened to winter?  Even the weathermen are astounded at the above-normal temperatures. And even more shocked at the number of intense (as if they could be anything else) tornadoes racing across the region.

The Big Rip is currently under two warnings: one for fire; and the other for tornadoes. I'm afraid of both. Clouds are racing across the sky; leaves are floating on the air; and the trees are swaying.  It seems that the forecasters expect direct hits to Nashville and other areas, whereas we are just under a watch.  And, I'm watching because as we've learned, tornadoes are unpredictable. My spot in the closet is waiting, just in case.

Everyone stay safe.  Be Blessed.

A Time to Mourn

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;...He has made every thing beautiful in its time: also he has put eternity in men's hearts, so that no man can find out the work that God does from the beginning to the end....

Turning to Ecclesiastes 3 this morning. It is only the second month into this new year and we have lost so many luminaries who influenced our lives in some way. Among them: Angelo Dundee; Kevin White; Jimmy Castor; Joe Paterno; Don Cornelius; Etta James; David Peaston and, now, Whitney Houston.

I grew up listening to the gritty, soulful sounds of Etta James, "Something's Got a Hold on Me," "All I Could Do Was Cry," both on the radio and on albums played on the glamorous hi-fi console which my mother proudly paid for with weekly installments. Saw her, among others, at the illustrious Howard Theater, that venerable institution, a major stop on the Chittling Circuit, which introduced us to so many stars.

I met Kevin White, former mayor of Boston, in a Boston eatery. My son was wearing a NY Yankees hat. Angelo Dundee's signature adorns a poster of Muhammad Ali.  Met them at a prefight exhibition in Landover, Maryland.  Lawd, Lawd, Muhammad was prime!

Don Cornelius and Soul Train brought me through my very early adulthood.  Who can forget the Soul Train Line and the colorful, cutting edge, clothing, platform shoes, and gigantic Afros? Entertainers walked, danced, and sang themselves right into the living room. And danced myself crazy with Jimmy Castor's "Hey, Leroy," "Bertha Butt Boogie," and "Troglodyte."

David Peaston's "Can I?" , "God Bless the Child," and others will be long remembered for his silky, smooth, renditions.

And then, there's Whitney. Whitney Houston, America's Songbird, our troubled child, The Voice. Glamorous, beyond talented, gifted. Her personal trials, like her triumphs, played out in the media in minute detail, brought us joy, pain, exasperation, and anger for a waste of her God--given gift. Her hit list is too numerous. We all have a favorite or two.  We will never forget her singing of the national anthem...no one has done it better...it was played for days after on the radio. Or the remakes of "I Will Always Love You," "I'm Every Woman," and "The Greatest Love."  A personal favorite is "I Look to You."  May she find peace.

Regardless of their age or circumstances, they are all "Gone Too Soon." Be Safe. Be Blessed.