Back from paradise

You remember those Southwest ads from a few years ago where people are lying out on the beach and a single cloud flits across an otherwise crystal-clear blue sky? They all huff, "God, the weather was so much better yesterday." That pretty much sums up the past week in Montego Bay.

The Texan and I had a wonderfully relaxing time, despite getting off to a rocky start: I dropped his cigarettes in the ocean about .3 seconds after assuring him they were secure with me, something which I can look forward to hearing about for the next five centuries. But it was great. We stayed at an all-inclusive resort, which may have skimped on the quality of its liquor but certainly not the quantity. Having said that, neither of us got that blitzed - it was too nice a trip to mar with an alcoholic haze. The resort also had food available round the clock, which means that I have gotten *way* too used to having piping hot grilled cheese sandwiches at my disposal.

Besides the normal beach resort activities, ours had a salon that offered beach massages. After the first one, The Texan and I rushed back to buy three more. Each. So we spent a lot of time on the masseuses tables, listening partially to the surf and partially to the gossip of the salon employees (they spoke in patois but would often slip into English).

We managed to avoid most of the COLLEGE SPRING BREAK WOO WOO types, although we did go down to the main drag and its piece de resistance, Margaritaville. Now, when I was in Montego Bay eight years ago, that was our anchor. This time, we only went there once at night and once during the day, and that latter trip was only because our party catamaran docked there. However, we figured, might as well take advantage and went down their three-story waterslide. Twice. That waterslide would not fly in the US: our litigatious society would never allow a slide that would dump you out ON ROCKS (I cut my foot on the second trip). But it was an absolute blast, nonetheless.

One of the cool things about this resort was that everyone was super-friendly, guests and employees alike. So we met a lot of people. One couple had been coming there for about 13 years or so and really knew the town. They recommended a driver who we ended up hiring to drive us out to the hills outside of Montego Bay so we could see what life was like for Jamaicans away from the resort areas. Turns out for some of them....not bad at all. There's this one neighborhood called "Ironshore" which has houses worth a couple of million U.S. dollars. More often, though, we saw a lot of goats and corrugated tin shacks. Something I found fascinating was the predilection to abandon cars at the side of the road. The foliage would quickly take over and the car would be eaten away.

One thing I couldn't fathom: this is an island chock full of goats. Why no chevre? They have no problem eating goat meat, why not goat cheese?

And while I managed to avoid getting my hair braided - been there, done that - The Texan folded under the constant pressure of the salon employees (he has gorgeous thick hair that goes about to his shoulderblades, and no I'm not at all threatened by dating a man with prettier hair than mine)(am *thisclose* to putting Nair in his conditioner)(KIDDING, because then he'd start using mine) and got his hair braided. It looks pretty damn good, and it won him the hearts of all the staff at the resort as he was the only white guy in Montego Bay with braids. I think tonight, however, is the unbraidening, as they're starting to fuzz.

The trip ended nicely with the dog and The Texan having a joyous reunion at our front gate. I swear, I thought one of them was going to pass out from happiness. The cat, while much more restrained, was also happy to see us back. The hand that rules the can opener rules the world, you know.