We set sail for Jamaica. There would be a full day of travel
which meant we would be on the boat the entire time. I woke up early and
freshened up, then promptly headed out for breakfast. My itinerant companion
was still with me but things were uneasy. It was me really; I mean she was
blunt but honest in her confession. I don’t think I was ready to accept what
had happened at the little cantina in Mexico, and alcohol would fuel all of my
negative drive throughout the next few days. But first, breakfast.
On our ship, as I’m sure is the case on many luxury ocean
liners, there are innumerable places to sit and gorge oneself. I always picked
French pastries because they were as fresh as they could possibly be- like made
before your eyes- and so sweet. Every day I wished I had one of those
hangy-neck flap things like a pelican has so I could store some for later. But,
I am only human, so after my fill, there was only one thing to do.
Angie, along with nearly every passenger we passed by,
thought it strange that I was holding a Foster’s 24oz beer at 9am wandering
down the halls. But they didn’t know the truth, that was already my second. All
there really was to do on the ship was sit, walk, or play games in the casino
(I told myself), so why not get drunk?
I drank all day, and that evening we (she) decided to go
into a night-club atmosphere sort of dance place thing. Never in my life before
or after have I been in a place like that. It was awful. Disco balls, strobe
lights, booming bass, and dancing. I’ve never written this, but I have an
irrational fear of dancing. I will never do it; I will never try it. Just like
needles, it’s just not for me. Anyhow, I sat alone in the seats off to the side
while she danced the night away with everybody else. I’m sure she could sense
me staring daggers at her every time a new guy would start grinding on her. I
drank myself into oblivion, and then it was morning, and I had my tie on again.
We were in Jamaica.
This is one of my favorite pictures I have ever taken. I had a nice camera at the time, and I took several shots and this was the best. I forgot the name of the flower.
My first impression of Jamaica was that it appeared to be
the most dangerous place in the world. This hypothesis was further promoted by
hundreds of signs, and a rather loud announcement about talking to any people
outside of the tourist attractions. “You may be kidnapped, raped, murdered, or
worse.” Worse? We were in an enclosed area surrounded by barbed wire fences,
much like my future home.
In an enclosed area, the birds are accustomed to humans feeding them so they get up close and personal. Why am I wearing that shirt if I haven't been there yet? Hmmm.
Our shore excursion was a tour of the jungle. Or something
like that. I know I bought some Blue Mountain coffee, and took a few pictures.
I hated that all the tour guides made all of the stupid white people say cliché
things like, “Ya, Mon.” And, “Eire!” Over, and over again. We walked through a
movie set, or at least that’s what it looked like to me. It really was
beautiful, and it really was part of a jungle. But everybody was really pushy about getting tipped, and very
aggressive in their sales techniques of local wares. One man thrust an ugly
figurine in my hand and said I could have it. I said thanks! Then he followed
me and said it would be really nice if I would buy something else since he gave
me something. I said I didn’t want anything they had to offer, and he rudely
snatched the figurine back. Dick.
I did pay $20 for a guy to climb a tree and pick a coconut
for me. He then chopped the top off and poured rum in it. It really wasn’t very
good, and the rum he used was Smirnoff. Fucking Smirnoff rum in Jamaica! Stupid
Americans. Ugh. I was ready to get back to the ship to get drunk, so we went.
Jamaica was not that great, but it wasn’t the worst part of the trip.
We parted ways with the shore, and headed for our next
destination, Grand Cayman. It was nearly the last place I ever was, and
definitely as close to death as I can recall.
Funny story. My memory is completely backwards when it comes to this trip. I didn't realize I was in the Cayman Islands before Jamaica until I put that second picture in, which I didn't do until after I had written everything. So, there ya go. I'm presenting this series of posts Quentin Tarantino style.
