March 03, 2012

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.

No comments: